Jean Toomer

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

Jean Toomer Poems

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


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.

Read the full of Reapers

Georgia Dusk

The sky, lazily disdaining to pursue
The setting sun, too indolent to hold
A lengthened tournament for flashing gold,
Passively darkens for night's barbeque,

A feast of moon and men and barking hounds.
An orgy for some genius of the South
With blood-hot eyes and cane-lipped scented mouth,
Surprised in making folk-songs from soul sounds.

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