Gwendolyn Brooks

“The time cracks into furious flower.

Lifts its face all unashamed. And sways in wicked grace.”

Photo: C.B. Claiborne, 1994

Gwendolyn Brooks, to whom the 1994 Furious Flower Conference was dedicated to, describes writing poetry as “delicious agony,” a process that has produced some of the most outstanding poetry written in the 20th century. Her career has garnered a magnificent array of achievements. In 1950, Brooks won the Pulitzer Prize for Annie Allen (1949), becoming the first black writer to win the award. In 1968, she was named Poet Laureate of Illinois, succeeding the late Carl Sandburg. Brooks was also named Consultant-in-Poetry to the Library of Congress, serving in the position from 1985-1986, and was the first black woman to be so honored. She was the recipient of over seventy honorary doctorates, and in 1980, was nominated to the Presidential Commission on the National Agenda for the Eighties. She authored more than twenty books, including A Street in Bronzeville(1945), Maud Martha (1953), The Bean Eaters (1960), In the Mecca (1968), Blacks(1973), Report From Part One (1972), and Report From Part Two (1996). In 1989, the Poetry Society of America awarded Brooks a Frost Medal, its highest honor, and in 1994, she was named the Jefferson Lecturer by the National Endowment for the Humanities. Passing away in December of 2000 after a long, successful, and inspiring career, a chair was named in her honor at Chicago State University: The Gwendolyn Brooks Distinguished Chair in Black Culture and Literature.

Featured Poems

“We Real Cool”

“I Am a Black”

“Winne”

Photo: C.B. Claiborne, 2004
Photo: C.B. Claiborne, 2004
Photo: C.B. Claiborne, 2004

Interviews, Talks, and Readings

/ Gwendolyn Brooks reads “We Real Cool”

We Real Cool

         THE POOL PLAYERS. 

         SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.

 

We real cool. We

Left school. We

 

Lurk late. We

Strike straight. We

 

Sing sin. We

Thin gin. We

 

Jazz June. We

Die soon.

/ Gwendolyn Brooks reads “I Am a Black”

I Am a Black

According to my Teachers,

I am now an African-American.

 

They call me out of my name.

 

BLACK is an open umbrella.

I am a Black and A Black forever.

 

I am one of The Blacks.

 

We are Here, we are There.

We occur in Brazil, in Nigeria, Ghana,

in Botswana, Tanzania, in Kenya,

in Russia, Australia, in Haiti, Soweto,

 

in Grenada, in Cuba, in Panama, Libya

in England and Italy, France.

 

We are graces in any places.

I am Black and A Black

forever.

 

I am other than Hyphenation.

 

I say, proudly, MY PEOPLE!

I say, proudly, OUR PEOPLE!

 

Our People do not disdain to eat yams or melons or grits.

or to put peanut butter in stew.

 

I am Kojo.  In West Afrika Kojo 

mean Unconquerable.  My parents

named me the seventh day from my birth

In Black spirit, Black faith, Black communion.

I am Kojo.  I am A Black.

And I Capitalize my name.

 

Do not call me out of my name.


/ Gwendolyn Brooks reads “Winnie”

 

Winnie

Winnie Mandela, she

the non-fiction statement, the flight into resolving fiction,

vivid over the landscape, a sumptuous sun

for our warming, ointment at the gap of our wounding, sometimes

would like to be a little girl again. 

 

Skipping down a country road, singing. 

 

Or a young woman, flirting,

no cares beyond curl-braids and paint

and effecting no change, no swerve, no jangle. 

 

But Winnie Mandela, she, 

the She of our vision, the Code, 

the articulate rehearsal, the founding mother, shall

direct our choir of makers and wide music 

 

Think of plants and beautiful weeds in the Wilderness

They can’t do a thing about it (they are told)

when trash is dumped at their roots.

Have no doubt they’re indignant and daunted. 

It is not what they wanted. 

 

Winnie Mandela, she

is there to be vivid: there

to assemble, to conduct the old magic, 

the frightened beauty, the trapped wild loveliness, the

crippled reach, 

interrupted order, the stalled clarity. 

 

Listen, my Sisters, Brothers, all ye

that dance on the brink of Blackness, 

never falling in:

your vision your Code your Winnie is woman grown.

 

I Nelson the Mandela tell you so.

Related Links

Interactive Program Day II

Timeline: History, Witness, and the Struggle for Freedom in African American Poetry

“We Real Cool” Lesson Plan