From the opening "Proem" (prologue poem) he offers in this first book-"I am a Negro: / Black as night is black, / Black the depths of my Africa"-Hughes spoke directly, intimately, and powerfully of the experiences of African Americans, at a time when their voices were newly being heard in our literature. As his Knopf editor Carl Van Vechten wrote in a brief introduction to the original 1926 volume, illuminating the potential of this promising young voice, "His cabaret songs throb with the true jazz rhythm; his sea-pieces ache with a calm, melancholy lyricism; he cries bitterly from the heart of his race...Always, however, his stanzas are subjective, personal" and, he concludes, they are "the expression [of] an essentially sensitive and subtly illusive nature." That illusive nature darts among these early lines and begins to reveal itself, sometimes with shocking confidence and clarity: "Bring me all of your / Heart melodies / That I may wrap them / In a blue cloud-cloth / Away from the too-rough fingers/ Of the world."

    DuBois, Locke has constructed a vivid look at the new negro, the changing African American finding his place in the ever shifting sociocultural landscape that was 1920s America. With poetry, prose, and nonfiction essays, this collection is widely praised for its literary strength as well as its historical coverage of a monumental and fascinating time in the history of America.

    Published the same year Cullen entered Harvard to pursue a masters in English, Color was a brilliant debut by a poet who had already gained a reputation as a leading young artist of the Harlem Renaissance. Deeply personal and attuned to poetic tradition, Cullen’s verses capture the spirit of creative inquiry that defined a generation of writers, musicians, painters, and intellectuals while changing the course of American history itself.“Over three centuries removed / From the scenes his fathers loved, / Spicy grove, cinnamon tree, / What is Africa to me?” In “Heritage,” Cullen investigates his relationship with the past as a black man raised in a nation his people were forced to build. His question bears a dual sense of genuine wonder and cynical doubt, and ultimately produces no easy answer. For Cullen could have just as easily asked “What is America to me?”, to which his poem “Incident” might respond: “I saw a Baltimorean / Keep looking straight at me. / […] / And so I smiled, but he poked out / His tongue, and called me, ‘Nigger.’ / […] Of all the things that happened there / That’s all I can remember.” In these lines, a single memory serves to define an entire city; an entire childhood, even, is defined by the violent response of a white man consumed with hatred. Cullen’s relationship to place, whether Africa, America, or Baltimore, is inextricably linked to his experience of racial violence. With this knowledge, he navigates the spaces between these places, inhabiting a language and a poetic tradition thrust upon him at birth. For Cullen, poetry is as much a means of survival and self-invention as it is a form of art―without it, where would he be?