Les plus lus ▸
Sherwood Anderson
Long lanes of fire, dead cornstalks burning,
Run now — head downward — plunging and crying,
Hold hard the breath now,
Forward we run.
Out of Nebraska, on into Kansas, now the word runs,
Runs with the wind, runs with the news of war, crying and screaming.
Now the word runs.
Out on low ridges, black 'gainst the night sky;
Farmer boys running, factory boys running;
Boys from Ohio
And my Illinois.
Questions and answers, over the land,
Questions that hurt, answers that hurt,
Questions of courage
That cannot but hurt.
Deep in the cornfields the gods come to life,
I see you, refulgent ones,
Burning so steadily
Like big white arc lights...
There are so many of you.
I like to watch you weaving--
Altogether and with precision
Each his ray--
Your tracery of light,
Making a shining way about America.
I note your infinite reactions--
In glassware
And sequin
And puddles
And bits of jet--
And here and there a diamond...
But you do not yet see me,
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I’ll sit at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.
Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth!
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate.
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time’s unerring hand,
Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.