Gwendolyn Brooks Quotes

Now who could take you off to tiny life In one room or in two rooms or in three And cork you smartly, like the flask of wine You are? Not any woman. Not a wife.
Gwendolyn Brooks (b. 1917), African American poet and fiction writer. "Independent man," lines 1-4 (1945).
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Arrive in the afternoon, the late light slanting In diluted gold bars across the boulevard brag Of proud, seamed faces with mercy and murder hinting here, there, interrupting, all deep and debonair, The pink paint on the innocence of fear; Walk in a gingerly manner up the hall.
Gwendolyn Brooks (b. 1917), African American poet and fiction writer. "The Lovers of the Poor," lines 1-6 (1960). On the condescending charity of wealthy Chicago suburban matrons toward inner-city poor African Americans.
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God's Son went home. Among us it is whispered He cried the tears of men. Feeling, in fact, We have no need of peace.
Gwendolyn Brooks (b. 1917), U.S. poet. "In Emanuel's Nightmare: Another Coming of Christ."
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Clogged and soft and sloppy eyes Have lost the light that bites or terrifies. There are no swans and swallows any more. The people settled for chicken and shut the door.
Gwendolyn Brooks (b. 1917), U.S. poet. "The parents: people like our marriage Maxie and Andrew."
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He had come down, He said, to clean the earth Of the dirtiness of war. Now tell of why His power failed Him there? His power did not fail. It was that, simply, He found how much the people wanted war.
Gwendolyn Brooks (b. 1917), U.S. poet. "In Emanuel's Nightmare: Another Coming of Christ."
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But who walks with Him? dares to take His arm, To slap Him on the shoulder, tweak His ear, Buy Him a Coca-Cola or a beer, Pooh-pooh His politics, call Him a fool?
Gwendolyn Brooks (b. 1917), U.S. poet. "The preacher: ruminates behind the sermon."
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A dryness is upon the house My father loved and tended.
Gwendolyn Brooks (b. 1917), U.S. poet. "In Honor of David Anderson Brooks, My Father."
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I think it must be lonely to be God. Nobody loves a master. No.
Gwendolyn Brooks (b. 1917), U.S. poet. "The preacher: ruminates behind the sermon."
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He who was Goodness, Gentleness, And Dignity is free, Translates to public Love Old private charity.
Gwendolyn Brooks (b. 1917), U.S. poet. "In Honor of David Anderson Brooks, My Father."
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And still we wear our uniforms, follow The cracked cry of the bugles, comb and brush Our pride and prejudice, doctor the sallow Initial ardor, wish to keep it fresh. Still we applaud the President's voice and face.
Gwendolyn Brooks (b. 1917), U.S. poet. "The progress."
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