Selected Poems: First African American Pulitzer Winner―Civil Rights, Black Life, and Humanity in 20th Century America

I bought this book for a professor of history She loves poetry and was very interested in a female author and a person of color. She has enjoyed the writing and shares the poetry with her daughter

My daughter had a black history project on Gwendolyn Brooks, and this book of poems were perfect.

Some of the poems were difficult to comprehend and may require a re-reading to understand their full meaning. But that is the brilliance of G. Brooks, putting you in places of the mind that one has never been. Won’t recommend for newbies!

Love it!

I suspected I was going to love Gwendolyn Brooks, which is why I got this book. I'm very happy to have that suspicion confirmed. What's sad is that her poetry is represented almost solely by two poems which, compared to her other work, are unimpressive. When you read "We Real Cool" or "The Bean Eaters" do you get the impression that Brooks is a cross between William Blake and Emily Dickinson, or that she wrote multiple prufrocks (though she couldn't quite bring herself to Eliot's level of dissonance)? At times I also hear Hopkins breaking out of her poems. There's a marvelous, but often pointed, richness throughout this book. Not only will I keep this volume, which is a reproduction of her Pulitzer prize-winning book, but will also seek out more of it to see if she sustained this level of artistry. The following are some more illustrative examples of her style than one sees in anthologies. This book has poems grouped according to the books they first appeared in. The first two excerpts I'll share originally appeared in the book Annie Allen. The first is the first two stanzas from the poem "The Anniad." Think of sweet and chocolate, Left to folly and to fate, Whom the higher gods forgot, Whom the lower gods berate; Physical and underfed Fancying on the featherbed What is never and is not. What is ever and is not. Pretty tatters blue and red, Buxom berries beyond rot, Western clouds and quarter-stars, Fairy-sweet of old guitars Littering the little head Light upon the featherbed. This poem moves on to less innocent themes in which the "think of sweet and chocolate" is repeated to ironic effect. The next excerpt is the third sonnet from "The Womanhood" from the book Annie Allen. The poem has fifteen sections. This first section is titled Children of the Poor. Although she has some long poems, they're not difficult reading because she either establishes a foward-moving rhythm or the individual parts are intriguing enough to stand on their own. I think this sonnet supports that point. And shall I prime my children, pray, to pray? Mites, come invade most frugal vestibules Spectered with crusts of penitents' renewals And all hysterics arrogant for a day. Instruct yourselves here is no devil to pay. Children, confine your lights in jellied rules; Resemble graves; by metaphysical mules; Learn Lord will not distort nor leave the fray. Behind the scurryings of your neat motif I shall wait, if you wish: revise the psalm If that should frighten you: sew up belief If that should tear: turn, singularly calm At forehead and at fingers rather wise, Holding the bandage ready for your eyes. The last excerpt comes from the New Poems section. "New" in this collection would have been 1963. The title is "Riders of the Blood-red Wrath." My proper prudence toward his proper probe Astonished their ancestral seemliness. It was a not-nice risk, a wrought risk, was An indelicate risk, they thought. And an excess, Howas I handled my discordances and prides and apoplectic ice, howas I reined my charger, channeled the unfit fume Of his most splendid honorable jazz Escaped the closing and averted sight Waiving all witness except of rotted flowers Framed in maimed velvet. That mad demi-art Of ancient and irrevocable hours. Waiving all witness except dimnesses From which extrude beloved and pennant arms Of a renegade death impatient at his shrine And keen to share the gases of his charms. They veer to vintage. Careening from tomorrows. Blaring away from my just genesis. They loot Last Night. They hug old graves, root up Decomposition, warm it with a kiss. That's the first, and longest, stanza of the poem. I think I could spend a year unraveling all of the power and import of that one stanza. I can't say that I have quoted my favorite poems of this volume because so many of them were fascinating that I couldn't have easily claimed favorites. There were only a few that disappointed. There's a feel with her poems that she has swallowed all of English literary history and is capable of pulling out whatever she wants to use at the moment. She's a truly awesome poet and it's a shame she isn't more widely read and appreciated. I wish I had learned of her full scope much, much earlier.

I came across this poet at a library book sale, and ordered this book to read more from this African-American writer. Excellent reflections of life and its difficulties and joys.

I gave this book to an18 year old poet and she memorized several of the poems immediately. She loved the book and is interested in buying another collection by Brooks

This is fine anthology. Unfortunately it doesn't include her later work. But the poetry is so compelling that I purchased another anthology that does have later work.

Livre pour prépa littéraire, envoi rapide malgré le lieu d'expédition outre atlantique

It is a pleasure to have read a book and been inspired by a true master. Gwendolyn Brooks delivers a collection of outstanding poetry of the deepest level that had even this humble poet amazed, confused, bedazzled, in search of a dictionary and overall enamoured by the breadth of magnificent words and stories that are shared by the remarkable writer. The future of poetry feels more secure when I happily muse about the masses of writers that Gwendolyn Brooks has inspired and still will inspire.

If you are sensitive to texture I cannot suggest you buy this book. It has a rough feel to it that to others like me is like nails on a chalkboard Find another copy to appreciate this poet

The printing of this amazing book is so poor which Is a pity.