Cane

today, from my freshman writing class, Jean Toomer's Cane


written in 1923, this is a beautiful, complex collage of sketches, poems, and prose that has become a touchstone of African American literature. the course i read it for was on southern writers and rethinking the ways we read them. i don't remember anything about our discussion, and i dont really remember much about the other things we read, but this book stuck with me. apparently, toomer didnt end up writing much else of note after this, but this is credited as one of the first works of the harlem renaissance. it's confusing and elusive and doesn't generally lead anywhere or answer any questions, but the imagery it draws up is incredible.

Reapers. from Cane. Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones Are sharpening scythes. I see them place the hones In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done, And start their silent swinging, one by one. Black horses drive a mower through the weeds, And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds. His belly close to ground. I see the blade. Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.