Alain Locke
1885-1954: The "Dean" of the Harlem Renaissance .
"The New Negro" published in 1925
an anthology of fiction, poetry, and essays about African American art and literature, Claimed as the first national book of African Americans and the definitive text of the movement..
". . . not by way of the forced and worn formula of Romanticism, but through the closeness of an imagination that has never broken kinship with nature. Art must accept such
gifts, and revaluate the giver."
W. E. B. Dubois 1868-1963,
"Criteria of Negro Art"
written 1926 in the "Crisis" (1910) editor.
In the Crisis Dubois promoted African American artist through his writings. With the emergence of the Harlem Renaissances in the 1920's, his article "A Negro Art Renaissance" marked what he believed to be black art as voyeurism, and not genuine appreciation of black art.
"...a black artist is first of all a black artist."
"I do not care a damn for any art that is not used for propaganda."
Zora Neal Hurston 1891-1960
"Their Eyes Were Watching God"1937
performed by Ruby Dee- see link:
Hurston arrived in Harlem in 1925 at the peak of the Harlem Renaissance as a powerful writer.
"A thing is mighty big when time and distance
cannot shrink it."
Langston Hughes 1902- 1967
The Harlem Renaissance Poet,
"The Negro Artist" and "The Racial Mountain" 1926
“The Weary Blues” 1926-
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway . . .
He did a lazy sway . . .
To the tune o' those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man's soul.
O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan--
"Ain't got nobody in all this world,
Ain't got nobody but ma self.
I's gwine to quit ma frownin'
And put ma troubles on the shelf."
Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more--
"I got the Weary Blues
And I can't be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues
And can't be satisfied--
I ain't happy no mo'
And I wish that I had died."
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.
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