But I must own that I also felt stirred by an unselfish desire to voice all the joys and sorrows, the hopes and ambitions, of the American Negro, in classic musical form.
quote by James Weldon Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Do Lack Nothing
Asian classic,
African classic,
American classic,
Canadian classic,
European classic,
Austratian classic,
Like life at the 'four blocks of hell' to share my mind with you.
Vancouver,
The State of Glass;
Of a three-hundred-year-old tree to share my mind with you.
By faith, Abel offered more excellent sacrifice than Cain;
But i will renew my covenant with you my love.
Vancouver! !
Don't throw stones if you are living in a glass house;
Like the voice of the malak gadol,
Walk honestly to all and do lack nothing.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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When It Sings
All the words you say to me
Have music in them
All the sorrows and the joys like magnetism
And a selfish boy looks through a prism
And says what is
But never asks what isn't
But a voice contains many precious things
It laughs
And then it sings
And all the lies that we can tell
To our foolish selves
Maybe this is the love song that I refused to
Write her when I loved her like I used to
And I fear my heart may spin and fracture
Like tears of stone falling from a statue
But a voice contains all that's true and false
Then cries for someone else
And for some honest tenderness
So I must confess
All the words you say to me
Have music in them
All the sorrows and the joys like magnetism
And a selfish boy looks through a prism
And says what is
But never asks what isn't
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Voice of the Negro
All ye nations, pause a moment! listen to the Negro's voice,
Coming up from all vocations where his life has made a choice!
Listen to each rank or station, as you cross the sea of time,
It is heard in ev'ry nation, any race and ev'ry clime.
If you'll go among the tradesmen and their work of worth inspect,
If you'll tarry with the lowly and their lack of skill detect,
If you'll travel o'er the planet, filled with thought, with action stirred,
In them all you'll find, my brother, that the Negro's voice is heard.
Search the patents of invention, or the soldiers record find,
Peep into the author's study, or the poet keep in mind,
In the avenues of science or the broadest fields of art,
You. will hear the voice of Negroes as they bravely play their part.
As good lawyers and physicians, or as men who're called to preach.
As an orator and statesman who the hearts of people reach,
As you view the great professions that have made the world rejoice,
If you'll listen for a moment, you will hear the Negro's voice.
'Tis a voice that cries for justice, not for favors to be shown,
For an equal chance with others, for a manhood of its own,
Give that voice a proper hearing in the forum of the world,
Then all prejudice and envy from the race will soon be hurled.
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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An adolescent is somebody who is in between things. A teenager is somebody who's kind of permanently there. And so living with them through the various teenage hopes and sorrows and joys was curiously enough a maturing experience for me.
quote by Andrew Greeley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Joys And Sorrows
Joys dissolve
Like sugar added to tea
Lending life, a new flavour.
Sorrows sink to the bottom
To be brought to the surface
With every slight stir,
Like the dreg that settles
At the bottom of a tea cup
Making it unsavoury to sip
But joys and sorrows together make life.
poem by Valsa George
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Trumpet Player
The Negro
With the trumpet at his lips
Has dark moons of weariness
Beneath his eyes
where the smoldering memory
of slave ships
Blazed to the crack of whips
about thighs
The negro
with the trumpet at his lips
has a head of vibrant hair
tamed down,
patent-leathered now
until it gleams
like jet-
were jet a crown
the music
from the trumpet at his lips
is honey
mixed with liquid fire
the rhythm
from the trumpet at his lips
is ecstasy
distilled from old desire-
Desire
that is longing for the moon
where the moonlight's but a spotlight
in his eyes,
desire
that is longing for the sea
where the sea's a bar-glass
sucker size
The Negro
with the trumpet at his lips
whose jacket
Has a fine one-button roll,
does not know
upon what riff the music slips
It's hypodermic needle
to his soul
but softly
as the tune comes from his throat
trouble
mellows to a golden note
poem by Langston Hughes
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Sonnet: Earthly Life
I’ve traveled more than half my road on earth;
Some more remains to be covered by me;
I’ve witnessed sorrows more than any mirth;
But on the whole, I’ve spent life usefully.
But what if life brought sorrows entirely!
Or life was full of joys without an end;
Neither of these, I would prefer truly;
The subtle mixture, I would recommend.
For, life’s monotony can kill the mind,
And dampen spirits, causing, umpteen ills;
The clock of life, none can ever rewind,
Producing tonsured, barren, naked hills.
Life is wholesome when joys and woes combine;
Joys only call on us in life divine!
9-15-2002
poem by John Celes
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You Are The Sky
You are the sky
I always look upon.
You are the sky
I always speak to
about everything in myheart
my wishes
my hopes
my joys
my sorrows.
You are the sky...
'though speechless
you give me comfort
in times of too much stress
in my daily life.
You are the sky...
someday I will join you
when the gate of eternity
opens for me.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Lorcas Novena
Ignacio lay dying in the sand
A single red rose clutched in a dying hand
The women wept to see their hero die
And the big black birds gathered in the sky
Mother of all our joys, mother of all our sorrows
Intercede with him tonight
For all of our tomorrows
The years went by and then the killers came
And took the men and marched them up the hill of pain
And lorca the faggot poet they left till last
Blew his brains out with a pistol up his arse
Mother of all our joys, mother of all our sorrows
Intercede with him tonight
For all of our tomorrows
The killers came to mutilate the dead
But ran away in terror to search the town instead
But lorcas corpse, as he had prophesied, just walked away
And the only sound was the women in the chapel praying
Mother of all our joys, mother of all our sorrows
Intercede with him tonight
For all of our tomorrows
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Blues Line
Hear blues arrived from Southern starlight,
like musical blackbirds in flight.
Originally with negro spiritual flow,
underlined with the hard blues glow.
Moving across mason dixie line,
discovering Chicago rhythm and rhyme.
Where going electric was the thing,
man did you hear the sounds ring.
The howling wolf amongst others,
Muddy Waters, BB-King were brothers.
Creating chess musical legends anew,
whose fiery blues sound rang true.
Across the Atlantic ocean way,
the Chicago blues found a new day.
A new British scene was born,
another blues voice found form.
Blues stars like the great John Mayall,
created a new sound to set sail.
The Yardbirds and The Cream,
set fire to the blues guitar dream.
Blues music lets us feel,
allowed us to often heal.
Gives rise to higher emotion,
lets us share some sweet devotion.
2012 has blues musicians anew,
sons and daughters take musical cue.
Play those twelve bar song blues,
man have you heard the news.
The blues sound remains forever,
blues cats will forsake never.
As long as sunlight shall shine,
rhythm song beat shall rhyme.
poem by Wayne Falconer
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The Master-Chord
LIKE a musician that with flying finger
Startles the voice of some new instrument,
And, though he know that in one string are blent
All its extremes of sound, yet still doth linger
Among the lighter threads, fearing to start
The deep soul of that one melodious wire,
Lest it, unanswering, dash his high desire,
And spoil the hopes of his expectant heart;
Thus, with my mistress oft conversing, I
Stir every lighter theme with careless voice,
Gathering sweet music and celestial joys
From the harmonious soul o’er which I fly;
Yet o’er the one deep master-chord I hover,
And dare not stoop, fearing to tell—I love her.
poem by William Roscoe
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Musical Instruments To Produce Love
Cymbal for Zambia
Zambia for Cymbal
Zambia cymbal music
Harps to produce musical sounds
Tambourines to produce musical dances
Dances for Serbia Ladies
Samba shake body make bottom dazzle our eyes for laughter
I did not have shoes, i complained crying profusely until i saw a man without legs, i have legs and i can dance
Love sparkles beauty
Beauty sparkles dance
Dance for all is fun
Cymbal for Zambia
Zambia for cymbal
Zambia cymbal music
Harps to produce musical sounds
Tambourines to produce musical dances, we are dancing
Babies Bobos want to dance, dance away your sorrows until day - break
We are dancing
Musical instruments produce melodious sound for love flow, caresses and kisses
Dance away your sorrows
We are dancing
poem by Olayemi Ayo
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The highest form of worship is the worship of unselfish Christian service. The greatest form of praise is the sound of consecrated feet seeking out the lost and helpless.
quote by Billy Graham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ebony Life
A frightening stillness will mark that day
And the shadow of streetlights and fire-alarms will exhaust the light
All things, the quietest and the loudest, will be silent
The suckling brats will die
The tugboats the locomotives the wind will glide by in silence
We will hear the great voice which coming from far away will pass over the city
We will wait a long time for it
Then at the rich man's time of day
When the dust the stones the missing tears
form the sun's robe on the huge deserted squares
We shall finally hear the voice.
It will growl at doors for a long while
It will pass over the town tearing up flags and breaking windowpanes.
We will hear it
What silence before it, but still greater the silence
it will not disturb but will hold guilty will brand and denounce
Day of sorrows and joys
The day the day to come when the voice will pass over the city
A ghostly seagull told me she loved me as much as I loved her
That this great terrible silence was my love
That the wind carrying the voice was the great revolt of the world
And that the voice would look kindly on me.
poem by Robert Desnos
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When the Negro cries with pain from his deep hurt and lays his petition for elemental justice before the nation, he is calling upon the American people to kindle about that crucible of race relationships the fires of American faith.
quote by Mordecai Wyatt Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Your Face
In your face.
And scrutinized on a daily basis,
That should not take place with such curiosity.
But it does with the getting of attention.
I am an American man.
And labelled black to be made aware of that.
To offend many when my proudness is expressed.
I have always had ambitions to be my best.
With a dignity I wear my identity to expose.
I have never had a wish to be depicted as a stereotype,
To appease those who are white to please appetites.
Not me I am happy to be who I am.
And then there are those who wish to be viewed,
As 'good' Negroes.
With obedience and subservience,
Served to those they'd rather not upset.
I am an American man.
And labelled black to be made aware of that.
To offend many when my proudness is expressed.
I have always had ambitions to be my best.
Does this confession make me 'less' patriotic?
Or am I 'more' American because I have beliefs...
To be the best human being that I can be.
Regardless of any images that provide others with relief.
How you depict with descriptions to abuse and define?
Is a problem you have to overcome in your limited mind.
With time given to dread or not.
And 'that' will never be a question you will hear me ask!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Jazz is known all over the world as an American musical art form and that's it. No America, no jazz. I've seen people try to connect it to other countries, for instance to Africa, but it doesn't have a damn thing to do with Africa.
quote by Art Blakey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tenorman
Sweet sad young tenor
Horn slumped around neck
Bearded full of junk
Slouches waiting
For Apocalypse,
Listens to the new
Negro raw trumpet kid
Tell him the wooden news;
And the beat of the bass
The bass—drives in
Drummer drops a bomb
Piano tinkle tackles
Sweet tenor lifting
All American sorrows
Raises mouthpiece to mouth
And blows to finger
The iron sounds
poem by Jack Kerouac
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Passion Lost or Found
The passion for life I had surrendered
The passion for love I could not remember
I felt like passion was now and fore ever forbidden
I kept myself entangled and hidden
From the world I felt was so unforgiving
Till a stranger walked in at the beginning of December
As I looked at him I said to my self no that's forbidden
Then i asked my self do i dare or shall i surrender
Then my passion for love had been unbroken
Then i knew I was in control of the world that was so unforgiving
With tears in my eyes and my stranger at my side
My hopes and dreams drowned all my sorrows in to the night
Then all of a sudden my hopes and dreams came back to me never again to be forbidden or taken back......
poem by Crystal Beard
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American Boys, Hello!
Oh! we love all the French, and we speak in French
As along through France we go.
But the moments to us that are keen and sweet
Are the ones when our khaki boys we meet,
Stalwart and handsome and trim and neat;
And we call to them-'Boys, hello!'
'Hello, American boys,
Luck to you, and life's best joys!
American boys, hello!'
We couldn't do that if we were at home-
It never would do you know!
For there you must wait till you're told who's who,
And to meet in the way that nice folks do.
Though you knew his name, and your name he knew-
You never would say 'Hello, hello, American boy!'
But here it's just a joy,
As we pass along in the stranger throng,
To call out, 'Boys, hello!'
For each is a brother away from home;
And this we are sure is so,
There's a lonesome spot in his heart somewhere,
And we want him to feel there are friends
right there
In this foreign land, and so we dare
To call out 'Boys, hello!'
'Hello, American boys,
Luck to you, and life's best joys!
American boys, hello!'
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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