Robert Hayden
Born
in Detroit, The United States
August 04, 1913
Died
February 25, 1980
Genre
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Collected Poems
by
13 editions
—
published
1984
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Those Winter Sundays
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Angle of Ascent: New and Selected Poems
3 editions
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published
1975
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American Journal
5 editions
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published
1982
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Words in the Mourning Time: Poems
4 editions
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published
1970
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Middle Passage
4 editions
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published
1962
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The night-blooming cereus (Heritage series)
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Kaleidoscope; Poems by American Negro Poets
3 editions
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published
1967
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Selected Poems
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Heart-Shape in the Dust: Poems
—
published
1940
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“We must not be frightened nor cajoled
into accepting evil as deliverance from evil.
We must go on struggling to be human,
though monsters of abstraction
police and threaten us.
Reclaim now, now renew the vision of
a human world where godliness
is possible and man
is neither gook nigger honkey wop nor kike
but man
permitted to be man.”
― Collected Poems
into accepting evil as deliverance from evil.
We must go on struggling to be human,
though monsters of abstraction
police and threaten us.
Reclaim now, now renew the vision of
a human world where godliness
is possible and man
is neither gook nigger honkey wop nor kike
but man
permitted to be man.”
― Collected Poems
“Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?”
― Collected Poems
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?”
― Collected Poems
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