My Poetry Has Become The Way Of

I Was Reared In The Conservative Atmosphere Of A Methodist Parsonage.

For We Must Be One Thing Or The Other, An Asset Or A Liability, The Sinew In Your Wing To Help You Soar, Or The Chain To Bind You To Earth.

What Is Africa To Me: Copper Sun Or Scarlet Sea, Jungle Star Or Jungle Track, Strong Bronzed Men, Or Regal Black Women From Whose Loins I Sprang When The Birds Of Eden Sang?

All Day Long And All Night Through, One Thing Only Must I Do: Quench My Pride And Cool My Blood, Lest I Perish In The Flood.

If I Am Going To Be A Poet At All, I Am Going To Be Poet And Not Negro Poet.