Jean Toomer

(26 December 1894 – 30 March 1967 / Washington D.C.)

Jean Toomer Poems

1. A Poem From Transatlantic 5/14/2012
2. For M.W. 1/3/2003
3. Portrait In Georgia 1/20/2003
4. Georgia Dusk 1/3/2003
5. Banking Coal 12/26/2011
6. Storm Ending 12/26/2011
7. November Cotton Flower 1/13/2003
8. Harvest Song 1/3/2003
9. Conversion 1/3/2003
10. Unsuspecting 1/3/2003
11. Song Of The Son 1/3/2003
12. Evening Song 1/3/2003
13. A Portrait In Georgia 1/3/2003
14. Cotton Song 1/3/2003
15. Tell Me 1/3/2003
16. A Certain Man 1/3/2003
17. The Lost Dancer 1/3/2003
18. Her Lips Are Copper Wire 1/3/2003
19. Reapers 1/3/2003
20. People 1/3/2003

Comments about Jean Toomer

  • yeet 2.0 (5/25/2018 11:08:00 AM)

    yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet yeet

    0 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • Yo Mom (3/2/2018 8:46:00 AM)

    Why video, could be text

  • gaylord123 (2/26/2018 9:05:00 AM)

    jean toomer looks like hitler...

  • Jean Toomer (2/12/2018 11:40:00 AM)

    all y'all nerds aint got nothin right about my life

  • Yesss (2/8/2018 1:16:00 PM)

    Yesssssssssssssssssssss𝓈ssşs𝓈ssşs𝓈sŞ𝔰sşss

  • nopee (1/11/2018 1:28:00 PM)

    nopeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeèeëeeęeee

  • Lamont Palmer (2/19/2006 7:35:00 AM)

    Largely obscure now, but a very fine poet in his day.

Best Poem of Jean Toomer

People

To those fixed on white,
White is white,
To those fixed on black,
It is the same,
And red is red,
Yellow, yellow-
Surely there are such sights
In the many colored world,
Or in the mind.
The strange thing is that
These people never see themselves
Or you, or me.

Are they not in their minds?
Are we not in the world?
This is a curious blindness
For those that are color blind.
What queer beliefs
That men who believe in sights
Disbelieve in seers.

O people, if you but used
Your other eyes
You would see beings.

Read the full of People

Portrait In Georgia

Hair--braided chestnut,
coiled like a lyncher's rope,
Eyes--fagots,
Lips--old scars, or the first red blisters,
Breath--the last sweet scent of cane,
And her slim body, white as the ash
of black flesh after flame.

[Report Error]