FIRE!!

Devoted to Younger Negro Artists

Foreword

Fire, Fire, Lord! Fire gonna burn ma soul!

I ain't been good, I ain't been clean — I been stinkin', low-down, mean.

Fire, Fire, Lord! Fire gonna burn ma soul!

Tell me, brother, Do you believe If you wanta go to heaben Got to moan an' grieve?

Fire, Fire, Lord! Fire gonna burn ma soul!

I been stealin', Been tellin' lies, Had more women Than Pharaoh had wives.

Fire, Fire, Lord! Fire gonna burn ma soul!

I means Fire, Lord! Fire gonna burn ma soul!

FIRE!! A Literary Quaterdecennial Devoted to Younger Negro Artists

Issue edited by KAT LADNER In Assocation With Langston Huges and Dorothy West

Table of Contents LES FETICHES, Cover Design (1938)...... Lois Maliu Jones FOREWORD, The Poem “Fire”(1938)...... Langston Hughes 1 REGGIE, Print (1940)...... Raymond Steth 3 MARIHUANA AND A PISTOL, A Story (1940)...... Chester B Himes 4 ETHICS OF LIVING JIM CROW, An Autobiographical Sketch (1937)..Richard Wright 6 LOVERS, Print (1938)...... Ernest Crichlow 9 FROM THOSE SHORES WE HAVE COME…...... A Section of Poetry 13 Owen Dodson Robert Hayden Frank Yerby Gwendolyn Brooks Pauli Murray Frank Marshall Davis RAISING LAZARUS, Painting (1940)...... Romare Bearden 21 THE BIRTH MARK, A Story (1940)...... Ralph Ellison 22 THE LIFE OF, Three Paintings...... Aaron Douglas 25 YALLUH HAMMMUH, A Dialectic Story (1937)...... Margaret Walker 29 AN ARTIST’S LIFE #3, Print (1939)...... Hughie Lee Smith 29 DARK SYMPHONY, An Epic Poem (1940)...... Melvin B Tolson 31 EMBERS, An Update on Previous Contributors...... Kat Ladner 33 FIRE BURNS, Editorial Essay (2017)...... Kat Ladner 35 BIBLIOGRAPHY...... Kat Ladner 36 INCIDENTAL ART DECORATIONS...... Aaron Douglas

Volume Two

EDITORIAL OFFICES 405 North Main Street, Davidson, North Carolina Issued Every 14 Years

Marihuana and a Pistol ED” Caldwell bought two “weeds” and went his girl friend. In fact it was an absolutely novel to the room where he lived and where he idea and the completely detailed execution of it kept his pearl handled blue-steel .38 revolver in exploded in his mind like a flare, showing with a the dresser drawer and smoked them. Red was stark, livid clarity his every action from the despondent because his girl friend had quit him moment of his entrance into the bank until he left when he didn’t have any more money to spend on it with the money from the vault. but in reviewing her. But at the height of his jag, despondency it, the detailed plan of execution eluded him so became solid to the touch and attained weight that in the next phase it contained a pistol and the which rested so heavily upon his head and Trust Company had turned into a theater. shoulders that he forgot his girl friend in the Perhaps ten minutes more passed in feeling of the weight. aimless wanderings about the two-by-four room As night came on it grew dark in the room; before he came upon a pistol, a pearl handled but the darkness was filled with colors of dazzling blue-steel .38. But it didn’t mean anything other hue and grotesque pattern in which he abruptly than a pistol, cold and sinister to the touch, and he lost his despondency and focused instead on the was extremely puzzled by the suggestion it sudden, brilliant idea of light. presented that he go out into the street. Already In standing up to turn on the light, his he had lost the thought of committing a robbery. hand gripped the rough back of the chair. He Walking down the street was difficult snatched his hand away, receiving the sensation of because he body was so light, and he became a bruise. But the light bulb, which needed angry and annoyed because he could not get his twisting, was cool and smooth and velvety and feet down properly. As he passed the pleasing to the touch so that he lingered awhile to confectionary store his hand was tightly gripping caress it. He did not turn it on because the idea of the butt of the pistol and he felt its sinister turning it on was gone, but he returned slowly to coldness. All of a sudden the idea came back to the middle of the floor and stood there absorbed him complete in every detail – only this time it was in vacancy until the second idea came to him. a confectionery store. he could remember the idea He started giggling and then began to coming before, but he could not remember it as laugh and laugh and laugh until his guts retched ever containing anything but the thought of because it was such a swell idea, so amazingly robbing a confectionery store. simple and logical and perfect that it was He opened the door and went inside, but excruciatingly funny that he never thought of it by that time the idea was gone again and he stood before – he would stick up the main offices of the there without knowing what for. The sensation of Cleveland Trust Company at Euclid and Ninth coldness produced by the gun made him think of with two beer bottles stuck in his pockets. his finger on the trigger, and all of a sudden the His mind was not aware that the thought scope of the fascinating possibilities opened up had come from any desire for money to win back before him , inspired by the feeling of his finger Page 6 FIRE December, 1940 on the trigger of the pistol. He could shoot a man louder and harder, abruptly stopping at sight of – or even two, or three, or he could go hunting the long pink and white sticks of peppermint and kill everybody. candy behind the showcase. He felt a dread fascination of horror They looked huge and desirable and growing on him which attracted him by the very delicious beyond expression and he would have essence of horror. He felt on the brink of a died for one; and then he was eating one, and then powerful sensation which he kept trying to two, reveling in the sweetish mint taste like a hog capture but which kept eluding him. His mind in slop, and then he was eating three, and then kept returning again and again to his finger on the four, and then he was gorged and the trigger of the pistol, so that by the time the deliciousness was gone and the taste in his mouth storekeeper asked him what he wanted, he was was bitter and brackish and sickening. He spat out frantic and he pulled the trigger five startling what he had in his mouth. He felt like vomiting. times, feeling the pressure on his finger and the In bending over to vomit he saw the body kick of the gun and then becoming engulfed with of an old man lying in a puddle of blood and it so stark, sheer terror at the sound of the shots. shocked him that he jumped up and ran out of the His hands flew up, dropping the pistol on store and down the street. the floor. The pistol made a clanking sound, He was still running when the police attracting his attention, and he looked down at it, caught him but by that time he did no know what recognizing it as a pistol and wondering who he was running for. would leave a pistol on a store floor. A pistol on a store floor. It was funny and CHESTER B HIMES. he began to giggle, thinking, a pistol on a store floor, and then he began to laugh, louder and

Page 7 FIRE December, 1940 Ethics of Living Jim Crow 1.

Y first lesson in how to live as a Negro me. It was all right to throw cinders. The greatest came when I was quite small. We were harm a cinder could do was leave a bruise. But living in Arkansas. Our house stood behind the broken bottles were dangerous; they left you cut, railroad tracks. Its skimpy yard was paved with bleeding, and helpless. black cinders. Nothing green ever grew in that When night fell, my mother came from the yard. The only touch of green we could see was far white folks' kitchen. I raced down the street to away, beyond the tracks, over where the white meet her. I could just feel in my bones that she folks lived. But cinders were good enough for me, would understand. I knew she would tell me and I never missed the green growing things. And exactly what to do next time. I grabbed her hand anyhow, cinders were fine weapons. You could and babbled out the whole story. She examined always have a nice hot war with huge black my wound, then slapped me. cinders. All you had to do was crouch behind the "How come yuh didn't hide?" she asked me. brick pillars of a house with your hands full of "How come yuh awways fightin'?" gritty ammunition. And the first woolly black head I was outraged, and bawled. Between sobs I you saw pop out from behind another row of told her that I didn't have any trees or hedges to pillars was your target. You tried your very best to hide behind. There wasn't a thing I could have knock it off. It was great fun. used as a trench. And you couldn't throw very far I never fully realized the appalling when you were hiding behind the brick pillars of a disadvantages of a cinder environment till one day house. She grabbed a barrel stave, dragged me the gang to which I belonged found itself engaged home, stripped me naked, and beat me till I had a in a war with the white boys who lived beyond the fever of one hundred and two. She would smack tracks. As usual we laid down our cinder barrage, my rump with the stave, and, while the skin was thinking that this would wipe the white boys out. still smarting, impart to me gems of Jim Crow But they replied with a steady bombardment of wisdom. I was never to throw cinders any more. I broken bottles. We doubled our cinder barrage, was never to fight any more wars. I was never, but they hid behind trees, hedges, and the sloping never, under any conditions, to fight white folks embankments of their lawns. Having no such again. And they were absolutely right in clouting fortifications, we retreated to the brick pillars of me with the broken milk bottle. Didn't I know she our homes. During the retreat a broken milk was working hard every day in the hot kitchens of bottle caught me behind the ear, opening a deep the white folks to make money to take care of me? gash which bled profusely. The sight of blood When was I ever going to learn to be a good boy? pouring over my face completely demoralized our She couldn't be bothered with my fights. She ranks. My fellow-combatants left me standing finished by telling me that I ought to be thankful paralyzed in the center of the yard, and scurried to God as long as I lived that they didn't kill me. for their homes. A kind neighbor saw me and All that night I was delirious and could not rushed me to a doctor, who took three stitches in sleep. Each time I closed my eyes I saw monstrous my neck. white faces suspended from the ceiling, leering at I sat brooding on my front steps, nursing my me. wound and waiting for my mother to come from From that time on, the charm of my cinder work. I felt that a grave injustice had been done yard was gone. The green trees, the trimmed Page 8 FIRE December, 1940 hedges, the cropped lawns grew very meaningful, "I'd like it fine, sir," I said, happy. I had became a symbol. Even today when I think of visions of "working my way up." Even Negroes white folks, the hard, sharp outlines of white have those visions. houses surrounded by trees, lawns, and hedges "All right," he said. "Come on." are present somewhere in the background of my I followed him to the small factory. mind. Through the years they grew into an "Pease," he said to a white man of about overreaching sym- bol of fear. thirty-five, "this is Richard. He's going to work It was a long time before I came in close for us." contact with white folks again. We moved from Pease looked at me and nodded. Arkansas to Mississippi. Here we had the good I was then taken to a white boy of about fortune not to live behind the railroad tracks, or seventeen. close to white neighborhoods. We lived in the "Morrie, this is Richard, who's going to work very heart of the local Black Belt. There were for us." black churches and black preachers; there were "Whut yuh sayin' there, boy!" Morrie black schools and black teachers; black groceries boomed at me. and black clerics. In fact, everything was so solidly "Fine!" I answered. black that for a long time I did not even think of The boss instructed these two to help me, white folks, save in remote and vague terms. But teach me, give me jobs to do, and let me learn this could not last forever. As one grows older one what I could in my spare time. eats more. One's clothing costs more. When I My wages were five dollars a week. finished grammar school I had to go to work. My I worked hard, trying to please. For the first mother could no longer feed and clothe me on her month I got along O.K. Both Pease and Morrie cooking job. seemed to like me. But one thing was missing. There is but one place where a black boy who And I kept thinking about it. I was not learning knows no trade can get a job. And that's where the anything, and nobody was volunteering to help houses and faces are white, where the trees, lawns, me. Thinking they had forgotten that I was to and hedges are green. My first job was with an learn something about the mechanics of grinding optical company in Jackson, Mississippi. The lenses, I asked Morrie one day to tell me about the morning I applied I stood straight and neat before work. He grew red. the boss, answering all his questions with sharp "Whut yuh tryin' t' do, nigger, git smart?" he yessirs and nosirs. I was very careful to pronounce asked. my sirs distinctly, in order that he might know that "Naw; I ain' tryin' t' -it smart," I said. I was polite, that I knew where I was, and that I "Well, don't, if yuh know whut's good for knew he was a white man. I wanted that job badly. yuh!" He looked me over as though he were I was puzzled. Maybe he just doesn't want to examining a prize poodle. He questioned me help me, I thought. I went to Pease. closely about my schooling, being particularly "Say, are you crazy, you black bastard?" insistent about how much mathematics I had had. Pease asked me, his gray eyes growing hard. He seemed very pleased when I told him I had had I spoke out, reminding him that the boss had two years of algebra. said I was to be given a chance to learn something. "Boy, how would you like to try to learn "Nigger, you think you're white, don't you?" something around here?" he asked me. "Naw, sir!" "Well, you're acting mighty like it!" "But, Mr. Pease, the boss said . . ." Page 9 FIRE December, 1940

Pease shook his fist in my face. If I had said: No, sir, Mr. Pease, I never called "This is a white man's work around here, and you Pease, I would have been automatically calling you better watch yourself!" Morrie a liar. And if I had said: Yes, sir, Mr. Pease, From then on they changed toward me. They I called you Pease, I would have been pleading said good-morning no more. When I was just a bit guilty to having uttered the worst insult that a slow in performing some duty, I was called a lazy Negro can utter to a southern white man. I stood black son-of-a-bitch. hesitating, trying to frame a neutral reply. Once I thought of reporting all this to the "Richard, I asked you a question!" said boss. But the mere idea of what would happen to Pease. Anger was creeping into his voice. me if Pease and Morrie should learn that I had "I don't remember calling you Pease, Mr. "snitched" stopped me. And after all, the boss Pease," I said cautiously. "And if I did, I sure was a white man, too. What was the use? didn't mean . . ." The climax came at noon one summer day. "You black son-of-a-bitch! You called me Pease called me to his work-bench. To get to him I Pease, then!" he spat, slapping me till I bent had to go between two narrow benches and stand sideways over a bench. Morrie was on top of me, with my back against a wall. demanding: "Yes, sir," I said. "Didn't yuh call 'im Pease? If yuh say yuh "Richard, I want to ask you something," didn't, I'll rip yo' gut string loose with this f--kin' Pease began pleasantly, not looking up from his bar, yuh black granny dodger! Yuh can't call a work. white man a lie 'n' git erway with it, you black "Yes, sir," I said again. son-of-a-bitch!" Morrie came over, blocking the narrow I wilted. I begged them not to bother me. I passage between the benches. He folded his arms, knew what they wanted. They wanted me to leave. staring at me solemnly. "I'll leave," I promised. "I'll leave right I looked from one to the other, sensing that now." something was coming. They gave me a minute to get out of the "Yes, sir," I said for the third time. factory. I was warned not to show up again, or tell Pease looked up and spoke very slowly. the boss. "Richard, Mr. Morrie here tells me you called I went. me Pease." When I told the folks at home what had I stiffened. A void seemed to open up in me. I happened, they called me a fool. They told me that knew this was the show-down. I must never again attempt to exceed my He meant that I had failed to call him Mr. boundaries. When you are working for white Pease. I looked at Morrie. He was gripping a steel folks, they said, you got to "stay in your place" if bar in his hands. I opened my mouth to speak, to you want to keep working. protest, to assure Pease that I had never called him 2 simply Pease, and that I had never had any My Jim Crow education continued on my next intentions of doing so, when Morrie grabbed me job, which was portering in a clothing store. One by the collar, ramming my head against the wall. morning, while polishing brass out front, the boss "Now, be careful, nigger!" snarled Morrie, and his twenty-year-old son got out of their car baring his teeth. "1 heard yuh call 'im Pease! 'N' and half dragged and half kicked a Negro woman if yuh say yuh didn't, yuh're callin' me a lie, see?" into the store. A policeman standing at the corner He waved the steel bar threateningly. looked on, twirling his nightstick. I watched out of the corner of my eye, never slackening the strokes Page 10 FIRE December, 1940 of my chamois upon the brass. After a few "Shucks! Man, she's a lucky bitch!" he said, minutes, I heard shrill screams coming from the burying his lips deep into a juicy hamburger. rear of the store. Later the woman stumbled out, "Hell, it's a wonder they didn't lay her when they bleeding, crying, and holding her stomach. When got through." she reached the end of the block, the policeman 3 grabbed her and accused her of being drunk. I was learning fast, but not quite fast enough. Silently I watched him throw her into a patrol One day, while I was delivering packages in the wagon. suburbs, my bicycle tire was punctured. I walked When I went to the rear of the store, the boss along the hot, dusty road, sweating and leading my and his son were washing their hands at the sink. bicycle by the handle-bars. They were chuckling. The floor was bloody, and A car slowed at my side. strewn with wisps of hair and clothing. No doubt I "What's the matter, boy?" a white man must have appeared pretty shocked, for the boss called. slapped me reassuringly on I told him my bicycle the back. was broken and I was "Boy, that's what we walking back to town. do to niggers when they "That's too bad," he don't want to pay their said. "Hop on the run- bills," he said, laughing. ning board." His son looked at me He stopped the car. I and grinned. clutched hard at my "Here, hava cigarette- bicycle with one hand and ete," he said. clung to the side of the car Not knowing what to with the other. do, I took it. He lit his and "All set?" held the match for me. "Yes, sir," I answ- This was a gesture of ered. The car started. kindness, indicating that It was full of young even if they had beaten white men. They were the poor old woman, they drinking. I watched the would not beat if I knew flask pass from mouth to enough to keep my mouth. mouth shut. "Wanna drink, boy?" one asked. "Yes, sir," I said, and asked no questions. I laughed, the wind whipping my face. After they had gone, I sat on the edge of a Instinctively obeying the freshly planted precepts packing box and stared at the bloody floor till the of my mother, I said: cigarette went out. "Oh, no!" That day at noon, while eating in a hamburger The words were hardly out of my mouth joint, I told my fellow Negro porters what had before I felt something hard and cold smash me happened. No one seemed surprised. One fellow, between the eyes. It was an empty whisky bottle. I after swallowing a huge bite, turned to me and saw stars, and fell backwards from the speeding asked car into the dust of the road, my feet becoming "Huh. Is tha' all they did t' her?" entangled in the steel spokes of my bicycle. The "Yeah. Wasn't tha' enough?" I asked. white men piled out, and stood over me. Page 11 FIRE December, 1940

"Nigger, ain' yuh learned no better sense'n when they could find nothing incriminating. tha' yet?" asked the man who hit me. "Ain' yuh Finally, one of them said: learned t' say sir t' a white man yet?" "Boy, tell your boss not to send you out in Dazed, I pulled to my feet. My elbows and legs white neighborhoods this time of night." were bleeding. Fists doubled, the white man As usual, I said: advanced, kicking my bicycle out of the way. "Yes, sir." "Aw, leave the bastard alone. He's got 5 enough," said one. My next job was as hall-boy in a hotel. Here They stood looking at me. I rubbed my shins, my Jim Crow education broadened and deepened. trying to stop the flow of blood. No doubt they felt When the bell-boys were busy, I was often called a sort of contemptuous pity, for one asked: to assist them. As many of the rooms in the hotel "Yuh wanna ride t' town now, nigger? Yuh were occupied by prostitutes, I was constantly reckon yuh know enough t' ride now?" called to carry them liquor and cigarettes. These "I wanna walk," I said, simply. women were nude most of the time. They did not Maybe it sounded funny. They laughed. bother about clothing even for bell-boys. When "Well, walk, yuh black son-of-a-bitch!" you went into their rooms, you were supposed to When they left they comforted me with: take their nakedness for granted, as though it "Nigger, yuh sho better be damn glad it wuz startled you no more than a blue vase or a red rug. us yuh talked t' tha' way. Yuh're a lucky bastard, Your presence awoke in them no sense of shame, 'cause if yuh'd said tha' t' somebody else, yuh for you were not regarded as human. If they were might've been a dead nigger now." alone, you could steal sidelong glimpses at them. 4 But if they were receiving men, not a flicker of Negroes who have lived South know the dread your eyelids must show. I remember one incident of being caught alone upon the streets in white vividly. A new woman, a huge, snowy-skinned neighborhoods after the sun has set. In such a blonde, took a room on my floor. I was sent to wait simple situation as this the plight of the Negro in upon her. She was in bed with a thick-set man; America is graphically symbolized. While white both were nude and uncovered. She said she strangers may be in these neighborhoods trying to wanted some liquor, and slid out of bed and get home, they can pass unmolested. But the color waddled across the floor to get her money from a of a Negro's skin makes him easily recognizable, dresser drawer. I watched her. makes him suspect, converts him into a "Nigger, what in hell you looking at?" the defenseless target. white man asked me, raising himself upon his Late one Saturday night I made some elbows. deliveries in a white neighborhood. I was pedaling "Nothing," I answered, looking miles deep my bicycle back to the store as fast as I could, into the blank wall of the room. when a police car, swerving toward me, jammed "Keep your eyes where they belong, if you me into the curbing. want to be healthy!" "Get down and put up your hands!" the "Yes, sir," I said. policemen ordered. 6 I did. They climbed out of the car, guns One of the bell-boys I knew in this hotel was drawn, faces set, and advanced slowly. keeping steady company with one of the Negro "Keep still!" they ordered. maids. Out of a clear sky the police descended I reached my hands higher. They searched my upon his home and arrested him, accusing him of pockets and packages. They seemed dissatisfied bastardy. The poor boy swore he had had no Page 12 FIRE December, 1940 intimate relations with the girl. Nevertheless, they This watchman boasted of having killed two forced him to marry her. When the child arrived, Negroes in self-defense. it was found to be much lighter in complexion Yet, in spite of all this, the life of the hotel ran than either of the two supposedly legal parents. with an amazing smoothness. It would have been The white men around the hotel made a great joke impossible for a stranger to detect anything. The of it. They spread the rumor that some white cow maids, the hall-boys, and the bell-boys were all must have scared the poor girl while she was smiles. They had to be. carrying the baby. If you were in their presence 9 when this explanation was offered, you were I had learned my Jim Crow lessons so supposed to laugh. thoroughly that I kept the hotel job till I left 7 Jackson for Memphis. It so happened that while in One of the bell-boys was caught in bed with a Memphis I applied for a job at a branch of the white prostitute. He was castrated, and run out of optical company. I was hired. And for some town. Immediately after this all the bell-boys and reason, as long as I worked there, they never hall-boys were called together and warned. We brought my past against me. were given to understand that the boy who had Here my Jim Crow education assumed quite a been castrated was a "mighty, mighty lucky different form. It was no longer brutally cruel, but bastard." We were impressed with the fact that subtly cruel. Here I learned to lie, to steal, to next time the management of the hotel would not dissemble. I learned to play that dual role which be responsible for the lives of "trouble-makin' every Negro must play if he wants to eat and live. niggers." For example, it was almost impossible to get a book to read. It was assumed that after a Negro had imbibed what scanty schooling the state 8 furnished he had no further need for books. I was One night, just as I was about to go home, I always borrowing books from men on the job. met one of the Negro maids. She lived in my One day I mustered enough courage to ask one of direction, and we fell in to walk part of the way the men to let me get books from the library in his home together. As we passed the white name. Surprisingly, he consented. I cannot help nightwatchman, he slapped the maid on her but think that he consented because he was a buttock. I turned around, amazed. The watchman Roman Catholic and felt a vague sympathy for looked at me with a long, hard, fixed under stare. Negroes, being himself an object of hatred. Suddenly he pulled his gun, and asked: Armed with a library card, I obtained books in the "Nigger, don't yuh like it?" following manner: I would write a note to the I hesitated. librarian, saying: "Please let this nigger boy have "I asked yuh don't yuh like it?" he asked the following books." I would then sign it with the again, stepping forward. white man's name. "Yes, sir," I mumbled. When I went to the library, I would stand at "Talk like it, then!" the desk, hat in hand, looking as unbookish as "Oh, yes, sir!" I said with as much heartiness possible. When I received the books desired I as I could muster. would take them home. If the books listed in the Outside, I walked ahead of the girl, ashamed note happened to be out, I would sneak into the to face her. She caught up with me and said: lobby and forge a new one. I never took any "Don't be a fool; yuh couldn't help it!" chances guessing with the white librarian about what the fictitious white man would want to read. Page 13 FIRE December, 1940

No doubt if any of the white patrons had hat on. Two white men stared at me coldly. Then suspected that some of the volumes they enjoyed one of them very kindly lifted my hat and placed it had been in the home of a Negro, they would not upon my armful of packages. Now the most have tolerated it for an instant. accepted response for a Negro to make under The factory force of the optical company in such circumstances is to look at the white man out Memphis was much larger than that in Jackson, of the corner of his eye and grin. To have said: and more urbanized. At least they liked to talk, "Thank you!" would have made the white man and would engage the Negro help in conversation think that you thought you were receiving from whenever possible. By this means I found that him a personal service. For such an act I have seen many subjects were taboo from the white man's Negroes take a blow in the mouth. Finding the point of view. Among the topics they did not like first alternative distasteful, and the second to discuss with Negroes were the following: dangerous, I hit upon an acceptable course of American white women; the Ku Klux Klan; action which fell safely between these two poles. I France, and how Negro soldiers fared while there; immediately-no sooner than my hat was lifted- French women; Jack Johnson; the entire northern pretended that my packages were about to spill, part of the United States; the Civil War; Abraham and appeared deeply distressed with keeping them Lincoln; U. S. Grant; General Sherman; in my arms. In this fashion I evaded having to Catholics; the Pope; Jews; the Republican Party; acknowledge his service, and, in spite of adverse slavery; social equality; Communism; Socialism; circumstances, salvaged a slender shred of the 13th and 14th Amendments to the personal pride. Constitution; or any topic calling for positive How do Negroes feel about the way they have knowledge or manly self-assertion on the part of to live? How do they discuss it when alone among the Negro. The most accepted topics were sex and themselves? I think this question can be answered religion. in a single sentence. A friend of mine who ran an There were many times when I had to exercise elevator once told me: a great deal of ingenuity to keep out of trouble. It "Lawd, man! Ef it wuzn't fer them polices 'n' is a southern custom that all men must take off them of lynchmobs, there wouldn't be nothin' but their hats when they enter an elevator. And uproar down here!" especially did this apply to us blacks with rigid force. One day I stepped into an elevator with my RICHARD WRIGHT arms full of packages. I was forced to ride with my

From These Shores We Have Come A Section of Poetry

Page 15 FIRE December, 1940

From Those Shores We Have Come

rom those shores we have come Where anguish spilled over the sand; Where the sea was a hum Of cries when the life hand took leave of the death hand. Now our prophets forget: The earth has been fertile with them. We are left with our dream of the wet Sea-wrath and the sand flower’s withering stem. OWEN DODSON

Page 16 FIRE December, 1940

Weltschmerz

or they who fashion songs must live too close to pain, Acquaint themselves too well with grief and tears: Must make the slow, deep, throbbing pulse of years And their own heartbeats one; watch the slow train Of passing autumns paint their scarlet stain Upon the hills, and learn that beauty sears. The whole world’s woe and heartbreak must be theirs, And theirs each vision smashed, each new dream slain.

But sing again, oh you who have the heart, Sweet songs as fragile as a passing breath, Although your broken heartstrings make your lyre, And each pure strain must rend the soul apart; For it was ever thus: to sing is death; And in your spirit flames your body’s pyre. FRANK YERBY

Page 17 FIRE December, 1940

Mulatto’s Dilemma

curse the summer sun That burned me thus to fateful recognition. Should such a though strike terror to my frame More than another? I am the strongest of this lot And fit to do the work of two. Were I but paler By a single tone they would not see me tremble; Or if in shackles here, they’d buy my strength And let another starve – but being free, (If being dark is freedom), -- they stare At me; they note the curl below my hate ; They trace the darker line below my chin.

Oh God! My face has slipped them but my soul Cries with the fear of brownness before a bar Where brown’s already judged by sight. Can I Endeure the killing weight of time it takes them To be sure?

If I could lay my quivering brain Before them, they’d see a brain is but a brain And know that brown men think and feel, are hurt And broken eve as they.

Oh, for the pride Of blackness! To stand unmasked before them, Nor moved by inquisition. Accepted or refused – Not crucified. PAULI MURRAY

Page 18 FIRE December, 1940

Diana lords of purity, keepers of the white rose of whiter womanhood, seize the black man who has come upon Diana bathing naked amid oleanders.

Cry: “Black man-beast, obsecene, black satyr!” See the hot hands, the eager sexual eyes! Flay, rend, burn, burn, burn, BURN!”

Nor regard, O keepers of the white rose, the lewd “come, take me, black boy” in Diana’s eyes; nor remember how she was pointing to her breasts when you came to save her, and how her thighs --- before she screamed, surprised, at sight of you --- were quivering towards him, imploring the hard male touch of him.

Play, rend, burn, O most high keepers of purity, burn, burn, BURN the black man-beast, obscene, black satyr; (save the chaste harlot) her venereal virginity. ROBERT HAYDEN

Page 19 FIRE December, 1940

Mrs. Corley’s Maid

ND John, I caught her kissing baby yesterday! I want by baby loved, But servant-love, I think, should be a bit restrained. If she just keeps him clean And warms his formula correctly And Wheels him out for air— And pats his bruised knee when he falls and cries – (and even then, I say, With not a too-familiar gentleness)—and if She pulls him from the fireplace, So that he cannot suck the artificial coals, Why, that is love enough to come from her.

Dark, waddling animal, So different from ourselves! What does she know of this – Of soft, rich crimson rugs, of sturdy furniture – What does she know of clothes? Her whole week’s salary is not enough to buy A halfway decent hat. you ask me why it is I do not give her more. My Dear, she’s satisfied. Enough to eat – a bad— That’s all these colored women want. GWENDOLYN BROOKS

Page 20 FIRE December, 1940

Returned

hen I tire of life, when the wheels start to jam, let me die some red dawn. . .poof . . .the brown flesh men called men called me back to thin sand again . . . poof . . .dreams handed back to the stars

One spermatozoan which survived . . .a leopard, a lamb, a sage, a fool . . . dipped in the paintpots of civilization, hung on the line to dry, put on the counter to be bought . . .maybe . . .and rust . . .but I want to beat the wagon to the city dump.

I would use neither loud led nor messy steel but the hot quick kiss of a poison . . .and when Death opens the door I want to take him by the hand and say “Come on, Old Boy, let’s get goin’ . . .”

He’ll give the leopard his jungle, send the lamb to his flock . . .he’ll give the fool a book, the sage a dunce’s cap

Let Death come to me at a cabaret while a jazz band prays to its god . . .let the jazz heart miss a beat . . .then let a trumpet cry, a saxophone sob out Handy’s hymn of the St. Louis Blues . . .Life’s a ragtime da-de-da, da- de-da . . .you stay in tune or quit the band

In the cool soft loam I shall snore . . .the same six feet of damp sod hugging banker and ragpicker, lyncher, and lynched . . .the lover who always wins

I am but dirt and dreams, matter and sky dust, egotistic owner of nothing . . .a tune frozen into flesh by the infinite . . .borrower among borrowers . . .melodies end and lenders must be repaid

When a marcher quits the goose-step what’s the difference? . . .they call out to another and keep going . . .”Sorry but we can’t use you anymore . . .we need your space for a smoother and better worker . . .” FRANK MARSHAL DAVIS

Page 21 FIRE December, 1940

I Sing No New Songs

nce I cried for new songs to sing. . . a black rose . . . a brown sky . . . the moon for my buttonhole . . . pink dreams for the table

zLater I learned life is a servant girl . . . dusting the same pieces yesterday, today, tomorrow . . . a never ending one two three one two three one two three

The dreams of Milton were the dreams of Lindsay . . . drinking corn liquor, wearing a derby, dancing a foxtrot . . . a saxophone for a harp

Ideas rise with new mornings but never die . . . only names, places, people change . . . you are born, love, fight, tire and stop being . . . Caesar died with a knife in his guts . . . Jim Colosimo from revolver bullets

So I shall take aged things . . . bearded dreams . . . a silver dollar moon worn thin from the spending . . . model a new dress for this one . . . get that one a new hat . . . teach the other to forget the minuet . . . then I shall send them into the street

And if passersby stop and say "Who is that? I never saw this pretty girl before" or if they say . . . "Is that old woman still alive? I thought she died years ago" . . . if they speak these words, I shall neither smile nor swear . . . those who walked before me, those who come after me, may make better clothes, teach a more graceful step . . . but the dreams of Homer neither grow nor wilt . . . FRANK MARSHALL DAVIS

Page 23 FIRE December, 1940

The Birth Mark

The police insisted it was an auto accident. But Matt and Clara called it something else.

HE summer heat struck them in a wave "I got to know for myself, Matt," she said, as they stepped from the car into the "I'll he all right." highway. Matt and Clara stood quietly, watching The white men exchanged glances as Matt the highway patrolman pull his huge body from tried gently to push her away. She stood her beneath the steering wheel. Matt turned and saw ground. the other white man, the coroner, looking out "Ain't no use trying to make me go. Matt. I across the green stretch of field fringed with pine got to know, I got to know for myself." trees, where two large birds circled slowly, black Matt swallowed hard and dropped his arm shapes against the still, blue air. from her shoulders. It was no use, nothing could "Them damned buzzards," the white man make Clara leave. said. "Well, let's git going," the coroner said. "I "Well, let's git going," the patrolman said. got to go back to town." Clara sighed, her broken face torn with anguish." The patrolman hitched his brass-studded gun Oh God," she said softly. The white men looked belt and grunted as he led the way. They went on, silently. down an embankment into the bushes. As he went When the white men turned to go, Matt tried through. Matt caught a glimpse of the body. to pull her aside. But she stood firm. The Drawing closer, he saw it was covered with patrolman looked impatient. Matt gripped her newspapers. It lay in a clearing beneath the trees, arm. She shook her head. upon the pine needle covered ground. "Lord, "Then try to be brave, Clara," he whispered. don’t let it be Willie, Lord," Matt thought. He They started behind the men, across the heat- helped Clara along, his arm firmly around her simmering concrete to the bushes which lined the shoulders. When they reached the body, the white highway. They had walked a few steps when the men hesitated, as though they expected him to say small white man turned and faced them. something. He looked at the newspaper-covered "You better send your woman back to the mound and was seized with a feeling like fear. The car," he said. "It ain't gonna be so nice." very thought that it might be Willie under those "Yes suh," Matt said. colored comic sheets was almost more than he He looked at Clara; maybe now she would go could bear. He looked at Clara standing tense back, this was nothing for a woman to see. beside him and longed to carry her back to the car "Yeah, Clara, you better go on back. If it's and go home and wait for Willie to come in Willie, I'll tell you," he said. laughing and teasing them for thinking it could He watched her face set resolutely as she have been him. How could Willie let a car hit him? wiped sweat from her forehead. Sun gleamed on Someone stirred; the white men were waiting. her straightened hair. Matt knew she would refuse He looked at the body, seeing where blood had before she spoke. oozed from beneath the papers and was drying Page 24 FIRE December, 1940 upon the ground. An insect droned. The pungent but look. He stepped in front of Clara to keep her odor of pine hung in the heat. from seeing as he steeled himself and bent to lift Suddenly he felt Clara sag against him. For a the last sheet of paper. Suddenly there was a swift moment he thought she was about to faint. "Oh movement. Clara screamed. A blow landed on his God," she whispered. shoulder. He stumbled backward and pulled "You better go back, Clara. Go on back to he quickly erect, his face blank with surprise. Pain car." knifed into his collarbone. He saw the patrolman "Naw, Matt. Please, I'm all right." get set to strike again. He stepped backward and "But maybe it's a mistake...." threw up his arm. This man gone crazy? "Matt, I got to see," she said. "What you do that to him for, man?" Clara The coroner stood with hands in pockets, said. waiting. The patrolman traced a line near the body Matt groped for her to keep her quiet as he with the toe of his boot, making a small furrow in studied the white man's face. the earth. Matt turned and looked pleadingly at "We didn't tell you to do that, nigger," the Clara. He begged her with his eyes to leave, to go man said. back to the car. He did not want these white folks "Aw leave him alone, Turp. It don't make no to see her in sorrow. Then without a word the difference," the coroner said. "Let him look." patrolman bent and swept the newspapers from Matt was dazed. He did not know what to do the body, leaving only its middle covered. Matt next and the patrolman's fingers played near his closed his eyes as the man drew erect. It seemed gun butt. hours before he could force himself to look. The "I was just looking for his birthmark, suh," he body was hunched on one side, lying bare upon said finally. straw-colored pine needles, the long legs bare. He "It don't make no difference, Turp," the saw the jaw hanging limply against the shoulder, coroner said. "Let the boy look." the mouth gaping. Goddam, was this Willie? "Okay, but I don't like it," the patrolman A blood-creased cut started under the ear and said. Matt looked at the coroner and saw the white disappeared beneath the chin. man bow his head. Matt felt as though he would empty himself. "It all right suh?" He struggled, trying to make his mind reject the "Sure, go on. You can look." impressions it insisted upon recording. It cain't "Thank you suh." be Willie, he told himself. The flesh was hacked When Matt lowered his eyes he noticed the and pounded as though it had been beaten with ribs had been caved in. The flesh was bruised and hammers. Worse than a stuck hog, he thought. He torn. It was just below his navel, he thought. Then wanted to turn away, but he knew he had to look. he gave a start: where it should have been was only He had to. a bloody mound of torn flesh and hair. Matt went Suddenly he became aware of Clara… weak. He felt as though he had been castrate "That him?" a voice said. himself. He thought he would fall when Clara He looked up. It was the coroner. Yes, that stepped up beside him. Swiftly, he tried to push was it, he thought. Is it Willie? He was silent, her back, thinking to keep her from seeing. Then looking. Where is the birthmark—but it ain't him, Clara was screaming. it cain't be him, he thought. Lord! The mark had "Leave me go, leave me go!" been just below Willie's navel. Funny he'd He felt himself reel as she pushed against him. remember that now, he hadn't seen it for years, Her voice shrilled in his ears. He watched her not since Willie had been a kid. But nothing to do face, fascinated. Page 25 FIRE December, 1940

"I want to see," she screamed. "I want to see "Git up from there, nigger, and shut this bitch so I'll remember. Matt. These here white folks up!" come and told us Willie was hit by a car, but He stumbled to his feet, his head slowly didn't no car do that to him. They lynched Willie, clearing. Matt. They done lynched our brother...." "You did it, you know you did it, lynched my Matt was in a panic. He grabbed at Clara to baby brothel'. And now you trying to kill Matt. clamp his hand over her mouth. He would have to Aaaw Lord..." get her away, quick. Clara’s voice died away to a moan as Matt "Naw, Matt. I know what I'm saying. I ain't steadied himself. He pulled her head against his gonna be he same after this. Matt, and I want to shoulder, muffling her voice as he watched the see it all so's I'll never forget why…" white men. The coroner looked uncomfortable. "Shut up, Clara, hush..." "He's telling you right, boy," the coroner "They asked us last month to sign a piece of said, "he was hit by a car. Feller saw him laying paper saying we wanted things like this to stop longside the road and called us." and you was afraid. Now look at my brother, he's "And you better remember that, nigger," the laying there looking like something ain't even patrolman said. "And your sister better remember human. And these white folks talking 'bout a car that, too. 'Cause a car might hit you. Understand hit him. He was lynched, Lynched! I'm gonna tell what I mean?" everybody, HE WAS LYNCHED!" Matt was silent, he did not understand. The Matt felt a tremor shake her body and she whole side of his head ached. If he only didn't swayed against him. As he tried to support her, he have that gun... felt himself being snatched roughly around. The "Nigger, I said, do you understand?" patrolman's red face was six inches from his own, "I understand, suh," he said. glaring. "Now git on back to town and send somebody "Nigger, we told you that boy was hit by a car, after the body." understand?" "Yes suh." "But mister, don't no car do nothing like Matt pushed Clara to go, feeling hot breath that—" against the hand he held over her mouth. "Come Matt tried to dodge as he saw the gun barrel on, Clara." flash in the sun. The blow glanced off the side of "Just remember that a car hit 'im, and you'll his skull, leaving a trail of pain. He tried to see the be all right," the patrolman said. "We don't allow coroner but colors stabbed his eyes. He sank to no lynching round here no more." his knees. Matt felt Clara's fingers digging into his arm "Goddammit, I said a car hit him!" the white as his eyes flashed swiftly over the face of the man snapped. "We don't have no lynchings in this towering patrolman, over the badge against the state no more" blue shirt, the fingers crooked in the belt above "You lynched him, you know you lynched the gun butt. He swallowed hard and pulled Clara him," Clara shrilled. tightly to him, catching sight of Willie between "Shut up, you black bitch!" the white men's legs. "You lynched him, yes you lynched him!" "I'll remember," he said bitterly, "he was hit He heard Clara's screams and tried to rise and by a car.” the white man was cursing and someone was pulling on his arm. RALPH ELLISON

The Life Of Three Paintings by Aaron Douglas

The Life of Frederick Douglass, 1939, Panel #12:

“It was in 1836 that Douglass conceived a plan of escape, also influencing several slaves around him. He told his co-conspirators what had been done, dared, and suffered by men to obtain the inestimable boon of liberty”

The Life of Toussaint L'Ouverture, 1937-38, Panel #41

“Desalines was crowned Emperor October 4, 1804, thus: Jean Jacques the First of Haiti. Desalines, standing beside a broken chain, has the powers of dictator, as opposed to Toussaint's more liberal leadership”

The Life of Harriet Tubman, 1940, #10

“Harriet Tubman was between twenty and twenty-five years of age at the time of her escape. She was now alone. She turned her face toward the North, and fixing her eyes on the guiding star, she started on her long, lonely journey” Page 30 FIRE December, 1940

Yalluh Hammuh

A Dialectic Story

S ah evah telled you bout mah cousin, Yalluh Well mos evhy week Yalluh Hammuh done bump Hammuh? somebody off in de canal. Whut dey do ta him? Well, man dat wuz one moah bad guy. Dat guy Aint ah tell ya? De sherrif cum up close ez he dare so bad de sherrif scairt ta go nigh his house. an serve notice an ef he wanta go he go an ef he Yalluh Hammuh do all his devilment an den go aint wanta go he aint go. Dat is he aint go tell dat home an pretty soon de sheriff cum up close ez he time cum whin Pick-Ankle-Slim aint gin Yalluh dare off in de trees summers wid beofe his guns Hammuh no choice. drawed an he say, “Yalluh Hummuh!” and Yalluh Now Yalluh Hammuh is a bad guy all right, Hammuh say, “whut?” an de sheriff say “ Dey but dis Pick-Ankle-Slim spose ta be a badder guy. wants you in town,” an Yalluh Hammuh say, “AW, He a bad bad guy. He so bad he real bad; bad ez all right, ahll be in attuh while. Gone back down Stagolee. dere an tell em ahm cummin.” Dass jes his jive, Well now Yalluh Hammuh bin pilin san bags but de sheriff know he healthy ta fergit Yalluh on de levee an he cum in town Saddy night wd a Hammuhs jive. wad uv money big ez yo two fistes put tagedder. he Now dis heah town where Yalluh Hammuh live go on inside a lil shindig an spy him a gal; real nice air a mill town. Evyting depen on de mill an de mill lookin gal an he go on ovah ta huh an az huh ta run by a wattuh powah fum de canal. Dey drains dance an she excep. Well dey gits ta dancing an de canal onct a week. Now you kin see how Yallah Hammuh git ta feelin real good. Dey anybody kin git bumped off a trowed ovah in dat waltzin on donw ta town. Yalluh Hammuh keeps dere canal an aint nobody know tell de week sovah dancing but he’s get kinda nervous on accountsa an dey drains de canal. Man youghta see de he know he got dis heah wad in his pocket. Doan peoples cum down ta watch em drain de canal an be fer dat he aint worried. Dass de onliest ting see ef any dey kinfolks done bin bumped off in de whut keep him quiet. Well dis guy holluhs to de canal er ef not dey kin folk, ta se whosen is a lady an he say, “You heah me talkin ta you, you so whosen aint. Tek ferninstant a man runnin on de an so an so an so” an he finish up huh name wid a road, Pullman porter er wukkin in de dinin car, er lotta lil Sunday scule words but she kinda toss huh any man whut wuks at night an aint often home. haid off lak she aint lissnin an eben ef she is she Well sposn ernuther gennelmans cums callin on aint ansin. Yalluh Hammuh feel lak hit be bettah his wife when he aint home. Sposn she done tell do she answer. “honey,” say Yalluh Hammuh, “ ah him she aint got no husman, she a wider. Say lak aint lookin fer no trouble. You bettah gone ovah dis: Ahm all bah mahself attuh night an ah gits so dere see whut dat black bastard want,” but she lones heah all bah mahsef. Well say lak her her keepa dancing. She aint eben mekin nary move ta husman cum home one night at de wrong time. quit. She jes look up in his face real sweet an show Say ferninstant he prove she aint no wider an she all huh teefs an den she say: “Big Boy, is you scairt aint prove she aint lonesome, whut happen ta uv trouble?” An cose yalluh Hammuh say, “Naw, huh? Why she de kinda bait de canal ketches. She bebbe, ah aint lookin fer no trouble but ah sho de reason why dey got ta drain de canal evhy week. Lawd aint scairt uv….” an bout dat time whut do Page 31 FIRE December, 1940 dat long tall skinny fell do but pull out his gun an beatin suds all day long. He figguh out he gotta git shoot out de lights. Lawd, dem peoples scrambles. bad; he gotta git real bad, an he gotta git real bad Yalluh Hammuh aint know prezackly whut fas; in fac he gotta ack his baddest. So he say, “All moment hit is whin de lady leave his ahms. All he right now! Cum on outa dere! Ah sees you peepin know is de rume go black an de peoples screams round at trunk! Cum on out ah say!” An and scrambles. Well now Yalluh Hammuh tink de whomeevahs peepin say in a whiny lak voice, his fust ting is git outa heah an de nex ting is how he words trembling lak day got de palsy, gonna git out. Dis long tall skinny fella blockin de “Yyyyyyyyeah ssssssssssh” an out cum de ownuh onliest way out wid his guns. Aint no two doahs uv de place. Well Yalluh Hammuh mek out lak he outa dis heah shindig. you gotta go back outa de real outdone but de hones trufe is he a real same doah whut you done cum in at an dat dere relieved. He ax de man who dat long tall skinny doah is de front doah. Yalluh Hammuh staht fella is an he tell him, “Why dat quz Pick-Ankle – bumpin round wid de res de fokes tell he bump Slim.” inta de pyanna an dat gin him a nice lil idea. he Well den yalluh Hammuh gone bout his move dat pyanna out an he gits behime hit. Pretty business but de nex time dey drains de canal evhy soon evyting so quiet you kin heah a mouse. body dere ta see who is done bin bumped. Pick- Yalluh Hammuh tink his time is done cum. He Ankle-Slim is right dere an evhybody bout ta staht tippin out an feelin his way. he kinda useta believe he musta bump Yalluh Hammuh whin de blackness now an he kin see aint nuttin else in heah cum Yalluh Hammuh walkin right up ta Pick- his way side a big old trunk. But he feel lak he aint Ankle-Slim an all de peoples commence ta backin bah hissef. he feel lak somebody else in dat dere on back where dey kin watch Yalluh Hammuh and rume. Jes ez gits by de trunk somebody peep ovah Pick-Ankle-Slim tusseln an raslin right dere on de de othah side. Ohoh! Down go yalluh Hammuh edge o dat dere canal. Who beat? Yalluh Hammuh behime de trunk. Den dey plays peep eye. Yalluh of cose. He mah cousin an he de baddest man in Hammuh peep evhy time he peep he see dat otha town. fella on de othah side jes gittin tru peepin an drawin his head back in. Dey keeps dis up bout MARGARET WALKER fifteen minutes an bad ez Yalluh Hammuh is de seats pohin off him lak he a woman whut bin

Page 32 FIRE December, 1940 Dark Symphony

I III. Allegro Moderato Andante Sostenuto lack Crispus Attucks taught They tell us to forget Us how to die The Golgotha we tread . . . Before white Patrick Henry’s bugle breath We who are scourged with hate, Uttered the vertical A prince upon our head. transmitting cry: They who have shackled us “Yea, give me liberty, or give me death.” Require of us a song, They who have wasted us Waifs of the auction black, Bid us condone the wrong. Men black and strong The juggernauts of despotism withstood, They tell us to forget Loin-girt with faith that worms Democracy is spurned Equate the wrong They tell us to forget And dust is purged to create brotherhood The Bill of Rights is burned. Three hundred years we slaved, No Banquo’s ghost can rise We slave and suffer yet: Against us now, Though flesh and bone rebel, Aver we hobnailed Man beneath the brute, They tell us to forget! Squeezed down the thorns of greed On Labor’s brow, Oh, how can we forget Garroted lands and carted off the loot. Our human rights denied? Oh, how can we forget II. Our manhood crucified? Lento Grave When Justice is Profaned The centuries-old pathos in our voices And plea with curse is met, Sadness the great white world, When Freedom’s gates are barred, And the wizardry of our dusky rhythms Oh, how can we forget? Conjures up shadow-shapes of ante-bellum years: IV Black salves singing One More River to Cross Tempo Primo In the torture tombs of slave-ships, The New Negro strides upon the continent Black slaves singing Steal Away to Jesus In seven-league boots . . . In Jungle swamps, The New Negro Black slaves singing The Crucifixion Who sprang from the vigor-stout loins In slave-pens at midnight, Of Nat Turner, gallows-martyr for Freedom, Black slaves singing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot Of Joseph Cinquez, Black Moses of the Amistad In cabins of death, Mutiny, Black slaves singing Go Down, Moses Of Frederick Douglass, oracle of the Catholic Man, In the canebrakes of the Southern Pharaohs Of Sojourner Truth, eye and ear of Lincoln’s legions, Page 33 FIRE December, 1940

Of Harriet Tubman, Saint Bernard of the None in the Land can say Underground Railroad. To us black men Today: you dupe the poor with rags-to-riches tales, The New Negro And leave the workers empty dinner pails. Breaks the icons of his detractors, You stuff the ballot box, and honest men Wipes out the conspiracy of silence, Are muzzled by your demogogie din. Speaks to his America: None in the Land can say “My history-moulding ancestors To us black men Today: Planted the first crops of wheat on these shores, You smash stock markets with your coined Built ships to conquer the seven seas, blitzkriegs, Erected the Cotton Empire. And make a hundred million guinea pigs. Flung railroads across a hemisphere, You counterfeit our Christianity, Disemboweled the earth’s iron and coal, And bring contempt upon Democracy. tunneled the mountains and bridged rivers, Harvested the grain and hewed forests, None in the Land can say Sentineled the Thirteen Colonies, To us black men Today: Unfurled Old Glory at the North Pole, You prowl when citizens are fast asleep, Fought a hundred battles for the Republic.” And hatch Fifth Column plots to blast the deep Foundations of the State and leave the Land The New Negro; A vast Sahara with a Fascist brand. His giant hands fling murals upon high chambers, His drama teaches a world to laugh and weep, None in the Land can say His music leads continents captive, To us black men Today: His voice thunders the Brotherhood of Labor, You send flame-gutting tanks like swarms of flies, His science creates seven wonders, And plump a hell from dynamiting skys. His Republic of Letters challenges the Negro- You fill machine-gunned towns with rotting dead – baiters. A No Man’s Land where children cry for bread.

The New Negro, VI Hard-muscled, Fascist-hating, Democracy- Tempo di Marcia ensouled, Out of abysses of Illiteracy, Strides in seven-league boots Through Labryinths of Lies, Along the Highway of Today Across waste lands of Disease . . . Toward the Promised Land of Tomorrow! We advance!

V Out of dead-ends of Poverty, Larghetto Through wildernesses of Superstition, None in the Land can say Across barricades of Jim Crowism . . . To us black men Today: We advance! You send the tractors on their bloody path, With the Peoples of the World . . . And create Okies for The Grapes of Wrath. We Advance! You breed the slum that breeds a Native Son MELVIN B TOLSON To damn the good earth Pilgrim Fathers won.

Page 34 FIRE December, 1940

Embers An update on the activities of former contributors of Fire!! from 1935 up to this date.

Aaron Douglas he published Black Thunder, a fictionalized In 1935, Douglass became the first president account of Gabriel Prosser’s 1800-slave rebellion of the Harlem Artists Guild. As President, and his most popular work to date. The same year Douglas worked with the Works Progress as Douglass, Bontemps received a Rosenwald Administration (WPA), a government program Fellowship for creative writing and traveled the that sought to create jobs by commissioning Caribbean. This past year saw the release of various public works projects. In 1936, Douglass Bontemp’s third novel, Drums at Dusk, a painted murals for the Dallas’s Texas Centennial depiction of the simultaneous revolutions in both Exposition as well as illustrating the cover of Haiti and France. Moreover, that same year, he Claude McKay’s A Long Way from Home. A year also collaborated with Countee Cullen to turn his later, the Julius Rosenwald Foundation awarded own novel, God Sends Sunday, into the play “St. Douglas a fellowship that allowed him to tour the Louis Woman.” Over these past four years, Southern states, Dominican Republic, and Haiti. Bontemps has found himself working on various On this tour he visited their black institutions and African-American poetry and literary collections painting aspects of their culture. Douglas, just as well as several children’s novels, which should this year, accepted an administrative and teaching soon be published. position at Fisk University in Nashville. He continues to paint with works show in Museum of Countee Cullen Fine Arts, Dallas (1936); Howard University’s Congratulations are in order for Cullen who Gallery of Art (1937); Brooklyn Museum (1940); recently married Ida Mae Roberson. He met Gallery of Modern Art and Findlay Gallery (1940). Roberson in New York, where has taught at Frederick Douglas Junior High School since Gwendolyn B. Bennett 1934. Cullen also remains active in literary circles; Bennett has spent the last four years immersed regularly submitting poems to The Challenge, in her journalistic efforts and community activity. Opportunity, and The Crisis. In 1935, Cullen Working for the Department of Information and published The Medea, and Some Poems, which Education of the Welfare Council of New York, included his own translation of Euclid’s Medea. Bennet’s articles appear in publications like Aside from marriage, this year saw the publishing Amsterdam News, Baltimore Afro-American, of Cullen’s collection of children’s poems, The Better Times, and New York Age. She joined Lost Zoo. Douglas in the Harlem Artists Guild and has directed the Harlem Community Art Center the Waring Cuney past two years. Cuney has worked as a researcher and compiler of New York City’s black history, for Arna Bontemps WPA’s the Federal Writers Project. He is also Since moving to Chicago in 1936, Bontemps keeps busy as the current art and music critic at continues to publish and stay involved in literary The Crisis (amongst his own creative submissions circles as part of the Illinois Writer’s Project. He to both this magazine and Opportunity, regularly submits essays and poems to The Challenge, and Black World). Cuney’s love of Challenge, Opportunity, and The Crisis. In 1936, religious, blues, ragtime, and jazz music has led Page 35 FIRE December, 1940 him to recently begin collaboration with Josh Again. This year, Hughes also published an White on a protest album which should be autobiography, The Big Sea. released next year. Zora Neale Hurston Arthur Huff Fauset While Hurston was working for the WPA Fauset currently works towards his Ph. D. in Federal Theater Project as a "dramatic coach" Anthropology from the University of and for a Ph.D in anthropology at Columbia Anthropology (which will make him the fourth University, she was awarded a Guggenheim known African- American to do so). Fauset also Fellowship to study West Indian obeah practices remains the principal at the Joseph Singerly in Jamaica and Haiti. In 1938, Hurston published School, an integrated elementary school in Tell My Horse, which recounts her Guggenheim Philadelphia. In 1938, he led a successful fieldwork. Hurston returned to the United States campaign to change his school’s name to in 1937 to publish Their Eyes Were Watching Douglass Singerly School (after Frederick God, written during her travels. The following Douglass). He is actively involved with community year, Hurston moved to Honduras to study the politics as a member of the Urban League, vice- local populations. Hurston again returned to president of both the he Philadelphia Teachers' America, moving to Florida to work on Florida’ Union and the National Negro Congress. Fauset Federal Writers Project and the magazine The continues to write; penning a regular column the Florida Negro. Last year, Hurston also published Philadelphia Tribune as well as essays for the Moses, Man of the Mountain after moving to Philadelphia Independent. North Carolina where she was hired as a drama instructor by North Carolina College for Negroes Langston Hughes at Durham. Hughes continues to write prolifically contributing poems to The Crisis, New Masses, Richard Bruce Nugent The New Challenge, Esquire and Opportunity to Nugent, professionally operating under the much public acclaim. In 1935, a grant from The name Richard Bruce, lives in the Bronx. He also Guggenheim Fellowship allowed Hughes to write works for the Federal Writers Project recording a play based off his own poem, “The Mulatto.” black history and as a shop steward in the FWP The play had a most successful run on Broadway, Union. He also joined Douglass in helping build running for a year. His passion for theater driven and organize the Harlem Artists guild with the him to open two theaters in these last two years: goal of fostering and supporting creativity within Harlem Suitcase Theater in New York and the the black community without the assistance of New Negro Theater in Los Angeles. After the white patrons. Nugent also writes creatively, outbreak of the Spanish Civil War, Hughes served contributing to literary magazines like as the war correspondent for Baltimore’s Afro- Opportunity and Challenge; his 1937 piece, “Pope American. However, in 1938 he also published a Pius the Only” recently received critical appraise. poetry collection titled Let America be America Page 36 FIRE December, 1940 Fire Burns An Editorial Essay

In the 1920’s socio-political and defining names of the Harlem Renaissance. geographical conditions ignited a creative flame Although Harlem geographically anchored both within the artistic youths of African-American the production of the magazine and much of the population. This flame took physical form in the movement, it was the determination “to express 1926 publication of FIRE!!: “A Quarterly Devoted the African American experience in all of its to the Younger Negro Artists.” FIRE!! was a variety and complexity as realistically as possible” “declaration of independence, both from the that stylistically united these authors (Wintz). stereotypes that whites held about African However, the onset of Black Friday and The Great Americans and the expectations that they had for Depression seemed to many to quiet these new their literary works” (Wintz). The production of voices. Scholars contend that the prominent and this magazine conjures up inspiring images of influential Harlem Renaissance artists, who Countee Cullen, Langston Hughes Aaron apparently unified the community, either “went Douglas, and Zora Neale Hurston, the Niggeratti, silent, left Harlem, or died” (Wintz). The sense of in a room eagerly talking craft, aware of their absence and a sense that “there was no longer any youth and their modernity. sense that they were connected to a literary The magazine is a celebration of black movement” in the public eye (Wintz). While identity and the creative youths who were scholars disagree on the movement’s exact ending redefining their identity on their own terms. date, they often delineate 1935 Harlem Race Riot Langston Hughes speaks of this empowerment in as a significant point. The Riot seemed to shed his 1926 essay, “The Negro Artist and the Racial light on a divided and discontent ghetto instead of Mountains”: “We younger Negro artists who the mecca for Black bourgeois sophisticates or create now intend to express our individual dark- bohemian artists (“Wintz”). For many scholars skinned selves without fear or shame…We will the following decades seemed to show no clear build our temples for tomorrow, strong as we benefits from the work of the Harlem know how, and we will stand on top of the Renaissance. African-American Studies expert, mountain, free within ourselves” (Hughes “The Houston Baker, contends that “the principal Negro Artist...”). Aaron Douglas’s artwork question surrounding the Harlem Renaissance has provides an example of this realignment; his been: ‘Why did the Renaissance fail?” (Baker 90). African influence prints within to the great tribal For those scholars, like Baker and Wintz, African empires, acknowledging a new dynasty of that question the failure of the Harlem black power and creativity. From Richard Bruce Renaissance or even just it’s supposed “limited” Nugent’s groundbreaking piece featuring time frame, FIRE!! Itself becomes an apt intraracial bisexuality to Langston Hughe’s poems metaphor. The magazine failed to garner that indicated his development of Jazz rhythmic readership, unable to produce another issue; the characteristics, FIRE!! put on display the defiant remaining copies burned in a literal fire at the creativity which would later become canonized headquarters. FIRE!! therefore provides an apt material. miniature narrative for the movement in its Although the magazine only saw one issue entirety: the magazine the so exemplifies the spirit published, FIRE!!’s creators went on to become of the movement, literally went up in flames after Page 37 FIRE December, 1940 one, unpopular issue. However, the luminaries of Murray. Although no longer geographically the Renaissance did not all instantaneously quit centered in Harlem, the Renaissance lived on in creating literature, art, and music, or flame out. this new generation and in the work of the old. Instead these individuals, like Zora Neale Proving he Harlem Renaissance to actually be “a Hurston, Langston Hughes, Arna Bontemps, and less glamorous, unnamed process of artistic self- Aaron Douglas, went on to produce some of their development on the part of individuals who were best work yet. The result of 1935 was not a flame wise to the game all along, realistic about the out, but instead a Succession. position of the black artist in American society, The term Succession comes from the and determined to be true to their craft (“The European artists from the 19th century, such as Future of the Harlem Renaissance” 445). Gustav Klimt, who retreated from liberal, modern In 1936, a critic for The Modern Monthly society to create some of their most famous and stated: “in the thirties, however, Negro literature, groundbreaking works. With the growth of so-called, experienced a premature death. Few of nationalism and anti-Semitism, these artists felt the Negro writers have continued to function.” that Liberalism and society (which controlled (The Modern Monthly 94). However, In creating a artistic institutions) could not properly address second edition to FIRE!! I hope to create a work their modern concerns. They retreated to the that implicitly argues for the fruitfulness of interior, concerned with creating art the depicted “Negro writers” and painters in the late ‘30’s. The inner psychology and social criticism. From 1936- “Fire” still burned, but not with celebratory shout 1940, America’s African-American artists did the of independence as in 1926, but instead a more same. While many formally retreated from society, psychological retreat into identity. When most retreated from what had become the compiling this edition I used poetry and short mainstream publishing and artistic groups, fiction anthologies from Arna Bontemps and propped by white patrons. During this era, older Langston Hughes. I also combed through dozens artists retreated to create more psychological and of issues of Opportunity, The Crisis, Challenge, personal creative investigations such as Hurston’s New Challenge, and New Masses. What I saw was Their Eyes Were Watching God. However, many this natural blend of old and new voices reflecting of these artists retreated to teach, start social on their African-American identity. They shared programs (like the Harlem Artists Guild), or run anger and concern with racial inequality. They various Works Progress Administration shared a fear of the events in Europe. They shared endeavors. Moreover, many of these individuals a celebration of the equality within Communism. still actively contributed to African-American The events of the early 1930’s did not leave these literary publications like The Crisis or creators unscarred, but they emerged to create Opportunity or Communist publications like New once again. Classrooms today teach both Ellison’s Masses. Invisible Man and Hurston’s Their Eyes Were The older generation wrote alongside and Watching God; works from Brook’s Annie Allen worked with up and coming figures like Margaret and Hughe’s The Big Sea. Walker, Frank Yerby, and Owen Dodson within In 1982, Richard Bruce Nugent remarked the WPA. Dorothy West, only in her 20’s, that Hughes “suggested that maybe someone produced the New Challenge in the late 1930’s should start a magazine by, for, and about the (see Radcliffe Institute’s “Papers of Dorothy Negro to show what we could do” (Nugent). The West). She communicated with the likes of Arna goal of this magazine is to create an implicit Bontemps and Langston Hughes and fostered the presentation of instances where artists under the talent of poets like Frank Marshall Davis and Pauli age of the 30, from 1936 to 1940, explore their Page 38 FIRE December, 1940 identity and present it to the world by way of After finding the piece, I would the artistic endeavor. Perhaps reading this issue of individually evaluate each piece to see if it fit a FIRE!! will conjure up images of Pauli Murray, general introspective tone I was going for, Ralph Ellison, and Richard Wright reading each confronting both individual and communal other’s work, drawing inspiration from one identity. I had dozens of poems and short fiction another, and retreating to write about and pieces, from the likes of Langston Hughes, Frank effectively confront modernity, youth, and African Yerby, Owen Dodson, and at least 8 other lesser- American identity. Negro literature did not known writers/artists. It was admittedly painful to experience “a premature death” after 1935. This let some of these beautiful works go, but I had to issues shows that it still burned; it was just trim the magazine down. Another challenge was changed, sparked by new voices. the formatting of this magazine. I meticulously attempted to copy the form of the original to great Project Reflection frustration with the limitations of Microsoft My driving question for this project were: Word. What would a later sequel to FIRE!! look like? One of the great strength’s of my magazine is What would it say about the Harlem Renaissance? that it is a study in influence. To see how World What do the individual pieces contribute to War II, the Civil Rights Movement, and Vietnam Harlem Renaissance? changed some authors. To see how the works The above essay answers the first two from the contributors of the original FIRE!! questions, while the magazine implicitly answers Interacted with the pieces. I debated whether or the third. I felt that a lot of the scholarship kind of not I should include an academic essay that proves just assumed that the Harlem Renaissance ended these connections and proves the longevity and around 1935. However, I felt that not only were strength of the Harlem Renaissance. Which is why the original contributors still producing I included the brief biographies from the original incredible work, but there had to be traces of the contributors. However, I felt it would be the best, new generation from the 1940’s and 1950’s. as Richard Bruce Nugent said, for the artist to It seemed like it would be easy to identify and “express the truth within [him or her]self” and let find early work from writers and artists who would the individual pieces make an implicit argument. later become important. However, it was I think this project would benefit an individual exceptionally difficult. I spent around 50 hours in studying African-American literature. Often times total combing through Internet archives and people see a gap in the 1930’s or take individual library books to identify the writers/artists, find works from that era out of context. However, the the title of their works, and find a copy of those decade’s positioning and the events that occurred works. The search and find technique proved less within it helped shape literature in important fruitful than just looking through, page by page ways, that deserve more recognition. The Harlem these magazines and books, keeping an eye out Renaissance was a movement that set roots in the for quality and names (after doing enough 1920’s and merely continued to grow through research to be familiar with the names of African- today, each generation adding important and American writers born after 1906 and before definitive voices. This magazine sheds light on 1930). However, it was the anthologies and the some of those voices. Dorothy West papers that guided me most; reaffirming me when I’d found I writer I liked or KAT LADNER providing names to go and search. Page 39 FIRE December, 1940

Works Cited

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