I, too, am America

For Mezzo Soprano and Chamber Winds
Duration: 26 minutes

M.S - 2(alto).2.2.2(cbn).ssax.asax.tsax.bsax-2.2.2.1.DB-timp.2p.-pno.hrp

I have long held an appreciation and respect for the work of American poet Langston Hughes. His ability to illustrate striking scenes with his lyrical words while also subtly (and often directly) highlighting the plight of African Americans are hallmarks of his poetry. His first book, The Weary Blues, was published in 1926, and yet his words read freshly now, as if the ink has yet to dry. The poems set in this song cycle – “I, too, sing America,” “Mother to Son,” “Afraid,” “Summer Night,” and “We Have Tomorrow” – are taken from the last segment of Hughes book entitled Our Land. Hughes speaks (often in first person) to the day-to-day life of African Americans in the 1920s United States, underpinning themes of looking backward to the struggles of past generations, working through current oppression, pressing towards survival, and finding joy and self-awareness within the African American community. But Hughes, as he talked about yesterday and today, often made near prophetic statements regarding tomorrow and hope for better in the future.

I. I, too, sing America

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 be 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
And be ashamed—

I, too, am America.

II. Mother to Son

Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I’se been a-climbin’ on,
And reachin’ landin’s,
And turnin’ corners,
And sometimes goin’ in the dark
Where there ain’t been no light.
So boy, don’t you turn back.
Don’t you set down on the steps
’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.
Don’t you fall now—
For I’se still goin’, honey,
I’se still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

III. Afraid

We cry among the skyscrapers
As our ancestors
Cried among the palms in Africa
Because we are alone,
It is night,
And we’re afraid.

IV. Summer Night

The sounds
Of the Harlem night
Drop one by one into stillness.
The last player-piano is closed.
The last victrola ceases with the
“Jazz Boy Blues.”
The last crying baby sleeps
And the night becomes
Still as a whispering heartbeat.
I toss
Without rest in the darkness,
Weary as the tired night,
My soul
Empty as the silence,
Empty with a vague,
Aching emptiness,
Desiring,
Needing someone,
Something.
I toss without rest
In the darkness
Until the new dawn,
Wan and pale,
Descends like a white mist
Into the court-yard.

V. We have tomorrow

We have tomorrow
Bright before us
Like a flame

Yesterday
a night-gone thing,
A sun-down name.

And dawn to-day
Broad arch above the road we came.