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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
BOTTLED, by HELENE JOHNSON Poem Explanation Poet's Biography First Line: Upstairs on the third floor / of the 135th street library / in harlem Last Line: Gee, that poor shine! Variant Title(s): Bottled: New York Subject(s): African Americans - Women | |||
Upstairs on the third floor Of the 135th Street Library In Harlem, I saw a little Bottle of sand, brown sand Just like the kids make pies Out of down at the beach. But the label said: "This Sand was taken from the Sahara desert." Imagine that! The Sahara desert! Some bozo's been all the way to Africa to get some sand. And yesterday on Seventh Avenue I saw a darky dressed fit to kill In yellow gloves and swallow-tail coat And swirling a cane. And everyone Was laughing at him. Me too, At first, till I saw his face When he stopped to hear a Organ grinder grind out some jazz. Boy! You should a seen that darky's face! It just shone. Gee, he was happy! And he began to dance. No Charleston or Black Bottom for him. No sir. He danced just as dignified And slow. No, not slow either. Dignified and proud! You couldn't Call it slow, not with all the Cuttin' up he did. You would a died to see him. The crowd kept yellin' but he didn't hear, Just kept on dancin' and twirlin' that cane And yellin' out loud every once in a while. I know the crowd thought he was coo-coo. But say, I was where I could see his face, And somehow, I could see him dancin' in a jungle, A real honest-to-goodness jungle, and he wouldn't have on them Trick clothes -- those yaller shoes and yaller gloves And swallow-tail coat. He wouldn't have on nothing. And he wouldn't be carrying no cane. He'd be carrying a spear with a sharp fine point Like bayonets we had "over there." And the end of it would be dipped in some kind of Hoo-doo poison. And he'd be dancin' black and naked and gleaming. And he'd have rings in his ears and on his nose And bracelets and necklaces of elephants' teeth. Gee, I bet he'd be beautiful then all right. No one would laugh at him then, I bet. Say! That man that took that sand from the Sahara desert And put it in a little bottle on a shelf in the library, That's what they done to this shine, ain't it? Bottled him. Trick shoes, trick coat, trick cane, trick everything -- all glass -- But inside -- Gee, that poor shine! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BLACK WOMAN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON FOREDOOM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WHO SAID IT WAS SIMPLE by AUDRE LORDE ELIZABETH KECKLEY: 30 YEARS A SLAVE AND 4 YEARS IN THE WHITE HOUSE by E. ETHELBERT MILLER ON DIVERSE DEVIATIONS by MAYA ANGELOU HYMN FOR LANIE POO by AMIRI BARAKA |
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