Countee Cullen was one of the most influential voices of the Harlem Renaissance. He was a poet, novelist, children’s writer, and more. Today, many poets credit Countee Cullen as one of their primary influences.
‘Any Human to Another’ by Countee Cullen connects humans through the shared experience of sorrow, advocating empathy and compassion.
The ills I sorrow at
Not me alone
Like an arrow
Pierce to the marrow,
‘Tableau’ by Countee Cullen is a powerful poem about two men, one black and one white, who appear to be romantic partners.
Locked arm in arm they cross the way
The black boy and the white,
The golden splendor of the day
The sable pride of night.
‘To John Keats, Poet, at Spring Time’ by Countee Cullen is a poem about spring and poetry. It is addressed to John Keats and spends its lines praising spring and the deceased poet’s influence.
I cannot hold my peace, John Keats;
There never was a spring like this;
It is an echo, that repeats
My last year's song and next year's bliss.
‘Atlantic City Waiter’ by Countee Cullen is a deeply thoughtful poem. In it, Cullen describes the actions, strength, and pride of an Atlantic City waiter.
With subtle poise he grips his tray
Of delicate things to eat;
Choice viands to their mouths half way,
The ladies watch his feet
‘From the Dark Tower’ by Countee Cullen is a thoughtful poem about the Black experience. It suggests that there is a brighter future on the horizon.
We shall not always plant while others reap
The golden increment of bursting fruit,
Not always countenance, abject and mute,
That lesser men should hold their brothers cheap;
‘Incident’ by Countee Cullen describes a terrible incident from the poet’s youth that occurred when he was happily visiting Baltimore.
Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.
‘Yet Do I Marvel’ by Countee Cullen is a poem about faith. No matter the darkness the speaker sees in the world, he maintains his faith in his own role in God’s plan.
I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind,
And did He stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind,
Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,