Knock knock by daniel beaty answers

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Claude McKay is traditionally credited with the start of the Harlem Renaissance with the publication of Harlem Dancer. But the literary works continued with writers and poets such as Alain Locke, Jessie Fauset, Zora Neale Hurston, and Langston Hughes who all sought in their own way to portray the reality of life in black America, showing black Americans as capable and worthy, while also blatantly exposing the hypocrisy of America.

But, obviously Black literary works do not stop in the 1920s.

You are asked to read a selection based on the �rst letter of your last name. Please scroll down, if necessary, and read your assigned passage. You will then respond to the questions on this topic's Discussion Forum.

A - D

The Harlem Dancer by Claude McKay

APPLAUDING youths laughed with young prostitutes

And watched her perfect, half-clothed body sway; Her voice was like the sound of blended �utes

Blown by black players upon a picnic day. She sang and danced on gracefully and calm,

The light gauze hanging loose about her form; To me she seemed a proudly-swaying palm

Grown lovelier for passing through a storm. Upon her swarthy neck black, shiny curls

Profusely fell; and, tossing coins in praise, The wine-�ushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls,

Devoured her with their eager, passionate gaze; But, looking at her falsely-smiling face

I knew her self was not in that strange place.

E - H

The Negro Speaks of Rivers by Langston Hughes

I've known rivers: I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the �ow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers. I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.

I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.

I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn

all golden in the sunset. I've known rivers:

Ancient, dusky rivers.

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My soul has grown deep like the rivers

I - L

Yet Do I Marvel by Countee Cullen

I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind,

And did He stoop to quibble could tell why The little buried mole continues blind,

Why �esh that mirrors Him must some day die, Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus

Is baited by the �ckle fruit, declare If merely brute caprice dooms Sisyphus

To struggle up a never-ending stair. Inscrutable His ways are, and immune

To catechism by a mind too strewn With petty cares to slightly understand

What awful brain compels His awful hand. Yet do I marvel at this curious thing:

To make a poet black, and bid him sing!

M - P

Caged Bird by Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind

and �oats downstream till the current ends

and dips his wing in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage can seldom see through

his bars of rage his wings are clipped and

his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill

of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard

on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill

of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard

on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom

Q - T

Knock Knock by Daniel Beaty

As a boy I shared a game with my father. Played it every morning til I was 3.

He would knock knock on my door, and I d pretend to be asleep til he got right next to the bed, Then I would get up and jump into his arms.

Good morning, Papa. And my papa he would tell me that he loved me. We shared a game. Knock knock.

Until that day when the knock never came and my momma takes me on a ride past corn �elds on this never ending highway til we reach a place of high rusty gates.

A confused little boy, I entered the building carried in my mama s arms. Knock knock. We reach a room of windows and brown faces behind one of the windows

sits my father. I jump out of my mama s arms and run joyously towards my papa Only to be confronted by this window. I knock knock trying to break through the

glass, trying to get to my father. I knock knock as my mama pulls me away before my papa even says a word.

And for years he never said a word. And so twenty-�ve years later, I write these words for the little boy in me who still awaits his papa s knock.

Papa, come home cause I miss you. I miss you waking me up in the morning and telling me you love me. Papa, come home, cause there s things I don t know, and I

thought maybe you could teach me. how to shave; how to dribble a ball; how to talk to a lady; how to walk like a man. Papa, come home because I decided a

while back I wanted to be just like you. But I m forgetting who you are. And twenty-�ve years later a little boy cries, and so I write these words and try

to heal and try to father myself and I dream up a father who says the words my father did not.

Dear Son, I m sorry I never came home. For every lesson I failed to teach, hear these words:

Shave in one direction in strong deliberate strokes to avoid irritation Dribble the page with the brilliance of your ballpoint pen. Walk like a god and

your goddess will come to you. No longer will I be there to knock on your door, So you must learn to knock for yourself.

Knock knock down doors of racism and poverty that I could not. Knock knock down doors of opportunity for the lost brilliance of the black men who crowd these cells.

Knock knock with diligence for the sake of your children. Knock knock for me for as long as you are free, these prison gates cannot contain

my spirit. The best of me still lives in you. Knock knock with the knowledge that you are my son, but you are not my choices.

Yes, we are our fathers sons and daughters, but we are not their choices. For despite their absences we are still here. Still alive, still breathing

with the power to change this world, one little boy and girl at a time. Knock knock

Who s there? We are.

U - X

And 2morrow! by Tupac Shakur

Today is �lled with anger, Fueled with hidden hate, Scared of being outcast,

Afraid of common fate, Today is built on tragedies,

Which no one wants 2 face, Nightmares 2 humanities,

And morally disgraced, Tonight is �lled with rage,

Violence in the air, Children bred with ruthlessness,

Because no one at home cares, Tonight I lay my head down,

But the pressure never stops, Gnawing at my sanity,

Content when I am dropped, But 2morrow I c a change,

A chance 2 build a new, Built on spirit, intent of heart,

And ideals based on truth, And 2morrow I wake with second wind,

And strong because of pride, 2 know I fought with all my heart 2 keep my dream alive

Y - Z

Ego Tripping by Nikki Giovanni

I was born in the Congo

I walked to the Fertile Crescent and built the sphinx I designed a pyramid so tough that a star

That only glows every one hundred years falls Into the center giving divine perfect light

I am bad

I sat on the throne drinking nectar with allah I got hot and sent an ice age to europe to cool my thirst

My oldest daughter is nefertiti the tears from my birth pains created the nile I am a beautiful woman

I gazed on the forest and burned out the sahara desert with a packet of goat's meat and a change of clothes I crossed it in two hours

I am a gazelle so swift so swift you can't catch me

For a birthday present when he was three I gave my son hannibal an elephant

He gave me rome for mother's day My strength �ows ever on

My son noah built new/ark and I stood proudly at the helm as we sailed on a soft summer day

I turned myself into myself and was Jesus men intone my loving name All praises All praises

I am the one who would save I sowed diamonds in my back yard

My bowels deliver uranium the �lings from my �ngernails are semi-precious jewels On a trip north I caught a cold and blew

My nose giving oil to the arab world I am so hip even my errors are correct

I sailed west to reach east and had to round off the earth as I went The hair from my head thinned and gold was laid across three continents

I am so perfect so divine so ethereal so surreal I cannot be comprehended except by my permission

I mean...I...can �y like a bird in the sky