Harlem Renaissance

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Discipline:
Social Studies
Subject:
American History
Grade:
9

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Harlem Renaissance

HarlemRenaissance

The Harlem Renaissance was a time when culture, social and arts grew a ton and took place in Harlem.

Song #1: God Bless The ChildThem that's got shall haveThem that's not shall loseSo the Bible said and it still is newsMama may have, Papa may haveBut God bless the child that's got his ownThat's got his ownYes, the strong gets moreWhile the weak ones fadeEmpty pockets don't ever make the gradeMama may have, Papa may haveBut God bless the child that's got his ownThat's got his ownMoney, you've got lots of friendsCrowding round the doorWhen you're gone, spending endsThey don't come no moreRich relations giveCrust of bread and suchYou can help yourselfBut don't take too muchMama may have, Papa may haveBut God bless the child that's got his ownThat's got his ownMama may have, Papa may haveBut God bless the child that's got his ownThat's got his own

Song #2: Take the "A" TrainYou must take the "A" trainTo go to Sugar Hill, way up in HarlemIf you miss the "A" trainYou'll find you missed the quickest way to HarlemHurry, get on, now it's comingListen to those rails a-thrumming all aboardGet on the "A" trainSoon you will be on Sugar Hill in HarlemYou must take the "A" trainTo go to Sugar Hill, way up in HarlemYou must take the "A" trainTo go to Sugar Hill, way up in HarlemIf you miss the "A" trainYou'll miss the quickest way to HarlemHurry, get on board, it's comin'Listen to those rails a-thrumming all aboardGet on the "A" trainSoon you will be on Sugar Hill in HarlemHarlem, boyNext stop is HarlemNext stop, HarlemCome on, get aboard the "A" trainGet aboardNext stop is HarlemTake the "A" train

Contributer: Claude McKayClaude McKay (picture under Langston Hughes) was a well known poet during the Harlem Renaissance. He contributed poems that helped younger African American poets gain respect. This helped set the tone for the Harlem Renaissance.

What is it?

Dance Video

Poem #2:Let America Be America Again

Let America be America again.Let it be the dream it used to be.Let it be the pioneer on the plainSeeking a home where he himself is free.(America never was America to me.)Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—Let it be that great strong land of loveWhere never kings connive nor tyrants schemeThat any man be crushed by one above.(It never was America to me.)O, let my land be a land where LibertyIs crowned with no false patriotic wreath,But opportunity is real, and life is free,Equality is in the air we breathe.(There’s never been equality for me,Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.I am the red man driven from the land,I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—And finding only the same old stupid planOf dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.I am the young man, full of strength and hope,Tangled in that ancient endless chainOf profit, power, gain, of grab the land!Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!Of work the men! Of take the pay!Of owning everything for one’s own greed!I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.I am the worker sold to the machine.I am the Negro, servant to you all.I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—Hungry yet today despite the dream.Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!I am the man who never got ahead,The poorest worker bartered through the years.Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dreamIn the Old World while still a serf of kings,Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,That even yet its mighty daring singsIn every brick and stone, in every furrow turnedThat’s made America the land it has become.O, I’m the man who sailed those early seasIn search of what I meant to be my home—For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,And torn from Black Africa’s strand I cameTo build a “homeland of the free.”The free?Who said the free? Not me?Surely not me? The millions on relief today?The millions shot down when we strike?The millions who have nothing for our pay?For all the dreams we’ve dreamedAnd all the songs we’ve sungAnd all the hopes we’ve heldAnd all the flags we’ve hung,The millions who have nothing for our pay—Except the dream that’s almost dead today.O, let America be America again—The land that never has been yet—And yet must be—the land where every man is free.The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—Who made America,Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,Must bring back our mighty dream again.Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—The steel of freedom does not stain.From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,We must take back our land again,America!O, yes,I say it plain,America never was America to me,And yet I swear this oath—America will be!Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,We, the people, must redeemThe land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.The mountains and the endless plain—All, all the stretch of these great green states—And make America again!

Poem #1:Song of the Son

Contributer:Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes was an important writer during the Harlem Renaissance time. He contributed different writing pieces that helped shapped the American Culture.

Pour O pour that parting soul in song, O pour it in the sawdust glow of night, Into the velvet pine-smoke air to-night, And let the valley carry it along. And let the valley carry it along.O land and soil, red soil and sweet-gum tree,So scant of grass, so profligate of pines,Now just before an epoch’s sun declinesThy son, in time, I have returned to thee,Thy son, I have in time returned to thee.In time, for though the sun is setting onA song-lit race of slaves, it has not set;Though late, O soil, it is not too late yetTo catch thy plaintive soul, leaving, soon gone,Leaving, to catch thy plaintive soul soon gone.O Negro slaves, dark purple ripened plums,Squeezed, and bursting in the pine-wood air,Passing before they stripped the old tree bareOne plum was saved for me, one seed becomesAn everlasting song, a singing tree,Caroling softly souls of slavery,What they were, and what they are to me,Caroling softly souls of slavery.

African American Herritage:The Harlem Renaissance celebrated the Aftican American Herritage by showing off/celebrating their accomplishments through poems,music,writing,dancing etc.


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