Poets & Poetry
Maya Angelou
A Saint Louis native, Maya Angelou was born in 1928 and went on to have an incredibly successful career as a poet, essayist, actor, and producer.
She was awarded the President Medal of Freedom in 2011 and received Grammy awards in 1993, 1995, and 2002. Read more about her life at The Poetry Foundation.
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Phenomenal Woman
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Explore Her Poetry
The Mothering Blackness (1971)
Kin (1978)
California Prodigal (1978)
A Plagued Journey (1983)
Caged Bird (1983)
On the Pulse of Morning (1993)
Kin
You fought to die, thinking
In destruction lies the seed
Of birth. You may be right.
Langston Hughes
Born in Joplin, Missouri in 1902, James Mercer Langston Hughes had his first poem published after graduating from high school. He is most well known for his leadership in the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s and 30s.
He is known for his innovations in jazz poetry and for writing poetry specifically for Black people. Read more about his life at The Poetry Foundation.
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Cross
My old man’s a white old man
And my old mother’s black.
If ever I cursed my white old man
I take my curses back.
If ever I cursed my black old mother
And wished she were in hell,
I’m sorry for that evil wish
And now I wish her well.
My old man died in a fine big house.
My ma died in a shack.
I wonder where I’m gonna die,
Being neither white nor black?
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Catch
Big Boy came
Carrying a mermaid
On his shoulders
And the mermaid
Had her tail
Curved
Beneath his arm.
Being a fisher boy,
He’d found a fish
To carry—
Half fish,
Half girl
To marry.
John Keene
John Keene, born in 1965, is a Saint Louis native who received the National Book Award for Poetry in 2022 for his collection, Punks: New and Collected Poems.
His work has been considered experimental and an influence on the direction of literary fiction in the 21st century. He is also a translator and professor. Read more about his life at The Poetry Foundation.
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vesey on the eve
Maybe he should have split every tongue
among his fellow Israelites whether they swore
on their souls or not. Or gone it alone,
based on the signs he read in the cowries
and cob wheels, the gris-gris of his motherwit.
But that wouldn’t have been practical.
How many turncoats’ throats can one man slit,
how many ships commandeer, homesteads level
to ash by sunup? In his bones he knows
a fool or traitor one will step forward to sow
his plan like feed among the buckras,
and his name from that moment will be blacker
than blood. Some know no other way.
On the other side of the river of souls the scale
will tip in his favor. Men sleep as sure in their skins
in heaven as liberated ghosts in Pétion’s nation.
Faith alone leaves only a small window
to leap through, with his map, kerosene,
his dagger, his Bible, the axe. Though his heart
is flapping like a mainsail in a hurricane,
from South Santee to the Euhaws the silent
cry sounds: “Peter, Gullah Jack, gather
my children! Our hour of battle is on.”
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blackness
after Miguel James
When I begin a poem I often do so
because I love black people.
When I choose not to write
a poem I still love black people.
If I write I love black people
it’s because I love black people.
If I don’t write I love black people
I still love black people. Every metaphor,
every simile is rooted in the fact
I love black people. Even if I forgo
figurative language altogether I still
love black people. Whenever I start
an essay or a short story or novel
I can feel all the way to the very bottom
of my soul that I love black people.
Those times when I stare
at the blank white screen or page
I may despair that I cannot show
or testify how much I love black
people and want other black people
and all people to love black people. But
it is enough to know deep in my soul
and heart how much I love black people
and to say and urge others to say
publicly that they love black
people which is to say I have learned
to love myself and to love black people
and to recognize that despite all that
we face in the world from the moment
of our birth to the day we die
that even the black period that will end
this poem is a sign and seal
to me and anyone who cares
that I love black people.
Naomi Long Madgett
Madgett moved to Saint Louis as a teenager with her family in 1937 where her father pastored the Central Baptist Church. She graduated from Sumner High School.
At 17, shortly after graduate she published her first book of poetry. Her poetry focused on themes surrounding civil rights and African American spirituality. Read more about her life at The Poetry Foundation.
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Alabama Centennial
They said, "Wait." Well, I waited.
For a hundred years I waited
In cotton fields, kitchens, balconies,
In bread lines, at back doors, on chain gangs,
In stinking "colored" toilets
And crowded ghettos,
Outside of schools and voting booths.
And some said, "Later."
And some said, "Never!"
Then a new wind blew, and a new voice
Rode its wings with quiet urgency,
Strong, determined, sure.
"No," it said. "Not 'never,' not 'later."
Not even 'soon.'
Now.
Walk!"
And other voices echoed the freedom words,
"Walk together, children, don't get weary,"
Whispered them, sang them, prayed them, shouted them.
"Walk!"
And I walked the streets of Montgomery
Until a link in the chain of patient acquiescence broke.
Then again: Sit down!
And I sat down at the counters of Greensboro.
Ride! And I rode the bus for freedom.
Kneel! And I went down on my knees in prayer and faith.
March! And I'll march until the last chain falls
Singing, "We shall overcome."
Not all the dogs and hoses in Birmingham
Nor all the clubs and guns in Selma
Can turn this tide.
Not all the jails can hold these young black faces
From their destiny of manhood,
Of equality, of dignity,
Of the American Dream
A hundred years past due.
Now!
Midway
I've come this far to freedom and I won't turn back
I'm climbing to the highway from my old dirt track
I'm coming and I'm going
And I'm stretching and I'm growing
And I'll reap what I've been sowing or my skin's not black
I've prayed and slaved and waited and I've sung my song
You've bled me and you've starved me but I've still grown strong
You've lashed me and you've treed me
And you've everything but freed me
But in time you'll know you need me and it won't be long.
I've seen the daylight breaking high above the bough
I've found my destination and I've made my vow;
so whether you abhor me
Or deride me or ignore me
Mighty mountains loom before me and I won't stop now.
Dr. Eugene Redmond
East Saint Louis Poet Laureate Eugene Redmond, was born in Saint Louis in 1937. He became influential in the Black Arts movement of the 1960s and 70s.
In 1976, he published his 200 year survey of African American poetry. Read more about his life at the African American Literature Book Club.
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The Eye in the Ceiling
You sit snug in my ceiling
Staring at the room
While insects worship you.
But I can hide you in the night
And you body like a corpse
Loses its heat in seconds.
This time however
Resurrection is simple,
Far simpler than the painful
Mathematics of your birth:
Though in your final death
I'll go through the clumsy
Ritual of winding you,
Knowing I could not
Have touched you
in your citadel an hour ago.
Explore His Poetry
A Kwansaba for Mother Richie
Lika a comfort, Mother Richie spread out
Across Her Century, a prayer-carpet riding
The backs of storms down decades of
Turmoil & joy, down roads of Willing-Work,
Cousin-heart to Haves & Have-Nots,
Noons & moons, birthin'legions & legends
By the candle-light of s/heroic example.
Local Poets and Poetry Organizations
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St. Louis Black Authors of Children’s Literature is committed to fostering awareness about the importance of early literacy by creating innovative opportunities for all children to have access to Black children’s literature.
Visit their website here: https://stlblackauthors.com
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In 1946, Mrs. Fred Armstrong saw the need to establish “a facility for writers as a means for stimulating the writing of poetry.” She became Saint Louis Poetry Center’s first Chairman. Having continued since Mrs. Armstrong’s visionary inception, Saint Louis Poetry Center is the oldest poetry organization of its kind west of the Mississippi River. The first meetings were held on Sundays at the downtown Public Library. During the early days, writers attending included Tennessee Williams and William Inge, poets who would become luminaries! Eventually, Saint Louis Poetry Center relocated from the downtown Public Library to Bishop Tuttle Memorial in the renowned Christ Church Cathedral. Then, in October, 1974, the organization moved again, to Clayton Federal Savings Bank in Webster Groves, where monthly workshops were held on the second floor “at no expense to the Center.”
Visit their website here: https://stlouispoetrycenter.org