An Analisys of Theme for English B

            
            
            
            
             And let that page come out of you--.
            
            
             I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
             I went to school there, then Durham, then here.
             to this college on the hill above Harlem.
             I am the only colored student in my class.
             The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,.
             through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,.
             Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,.
             the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator.
             up to my room, sit down, and write this page:.
             It's not easy to know what is true for you or me .
             at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what .
             I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:.
             hear you, hear me--we two--you, me, talk on this page.
             (I hear New York, too.) Me--who?.
             Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
             I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
             I like a pipe for a Christmas present,.
             or records--Bessie, bop, or Bach.
             I guess being colored doesn't make me not like.
             the same things other folks like who are other races.
             So will my page be colored that I write?.
             Being me, it will not be white. .
             But it will be.
             a part of you, instructor. .
             You are white-- .
             yet a part of me, as I am a part of you. .
             That's American.
             Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me. .
             Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
             But we are, that's true! .
             As I learn from you, .
             I guess you learn from me-- .
             although you're older--and white-- .
             and somewhat more free.
             This is my page for English B.
             In order to better analyze this poem, it is necessary to know a little about the author because his work is pretty much close to his life and own experiences.
             James Langston Hughes was born February 1, 1902, in Joplin, Missouri. His parents divorced when he was a small child, and his father moved to Mexico. He was raised by his grandmother until he was thirteen, when he moved to Lincoln, Illinois, to live with his mother and her husband, eventually settling in Cleveland, Ohio. It was in Lincoln, Illinois, that Hughes began writing poetry. Following graduation, he spent a year in Mexico and a year at Columbia University.