Poets Reading Poetry: Langston Hughes

Poetry is meant to be read aloud, but rarely is. As Oscar Wilde once said, "A poet can survive everything but a misprint."

So, cutting out the middle man, here is where we'll post famous poets reading their own poetry--the words off the page and in your ears, as they intended. And hopefully nothing is lost in the process.


Today:  Langston Hughes





Langston Hughes was no stranger to recording his poetry, whether it was simply an audio recording or on television. Likewise, early television wasn't a stranger to variety programming, which is how we get the recording above and a famous poet reading his work. Imagine Maya Angelou reading poetry on Conan today. Ain't happening.

In 1958 Hughes made an appearance on CBUT, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation's British Columbia affiliate station based out of Vancouver. Unlike many stations created in the early years of television, CBUT still exists today, a peg in the wide swath of Canada's CBC national empire, broadcasting on a transmitter located on the semi-bald Mount Seymour outside of Vancouver.

The 7 O'Clock Show was a variety program of sorts with a literal title, hosted by Bob Quintrell (the gentleman you see at the beginning of the video) at 7pm. The poem Hughes reads (starting at the 1:39 mark) is "The Weary Blues," first published over 30 years earlier in 1925, and a natural choice to recite with band accompaniment. Sure, it sounds like jazz and not the blues, but why quibble?

Hughes changes only a few words from the original publication of the poem, mainly the fifth line, otherwise, the poem remains the same.

The Weary Blues

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, 

Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon, 

I heard a Negro play. 

Down on Lenox Avenue the other night 

By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light 

He did a lazy sway...

He did a lazy sway...

To the tune o' those Weary Blues. 

With his ebony hands on each ivory key 

He made that poor piano moan with melody. 

O Blues! 

Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool 

He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool. 

Sweet Blues! 

Coming from a black man's soul. 

O Blues! 

In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone 

I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan-- 

"Ain't got nobody in all this world, 

Ain't got nobody but ma self. 

I's gwine to quit ma frownin' 

And put ma troubles on the shelf." 

Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor. 

He played a few chords then he sang some more-- 

"I got the Weary Blues 

And I can't be satisfied. 

Got the Weary Blues 

And can't be satisfied-- 

I ain't happy no mo' 

And I wish that I had died." 

And far into the night he crooned that tune. 

The stars went out and so did the moon. 

The singer stopped playing and went to bed 

While the Weary Blues echoed through his head. 

He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.