One reason that cats are happier than people is that they have no newspapers.
Gwendolyn BrooksMots clés cats news newspapers
Very early in life I became fascinated with the wonders language can achieve. And I began playing with words.
Gwendolyn BrooksShe was learning to love moments. To love moments for themselves.
Gwendolyn BrooksSurely--But I am very off from that.
From surely. From indeed. From the decent arrow
that was my clean naivete and my faith.
This morning, men deliver wounds and death.
They will deliver death and wounds tomorrow.
And I doubt all. You. Or a violet.
What, what am I to do with all of this life?
Gwendolyn BrooksMots clés black-literature
We are each other's harvest; we are each other's business; we are each other's magnitude and bond.
Gwendolyn BrooksMots clés humanity understanding unity
When You Have Forgotten Sunday: The Love Story
-- And when you have forgotten the bright bedclothes on a Wednesday and a Saturday,
And most especially when you have forgotten Sunday --
When you have forgotten Sunday halves in bed,
Or me sitting on the front-room radiator in the limping afternoon
Looking off down the long street
To nowhere,
Hugged by my plain old wrapper of no-expectation
And nothing-I-have-to-do and I’m-happy-why?
And if-Monday-never-had-to-come—
When you have forgotten that, I say,
And how you swore, if somebody beeped the bell,
And how my heart played hopscotch if the telephone rang;
And how we finally went in to Sunday dinner,
That is to say, went across the front room floor to the ink-spotted table in the southwest corner
To Sunday dinner, which was always chicken and noodles
Or chicken and rice
And salad and rye bread and tea
And chocolate chip cookies --
I say, when you have forgotten that,
When you have forgotten my little presentiment
That the war would be over before they got to you;
And how we finally undressed and whipped out the light and flowed into bed,
And lay loose-limbed for a moment in the week-end
Bright bedclothes,
Then gently folded into each other—
When you have, I say, forgotten all that,
Then you may tell,
Then I may believe
You have forgotten me well.
Mots clés love forgetting
I am a writer perhaps because I am not a talker.
Gwendolyn BrooksMots clés writing
Books are meat and medicine
and flame and flight and flower
steel, stitch, cloud and clout,
and drumbeats on the air.
Mots clés books
We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon.
Mots clés poetry
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