One of my favorites. I had my students rewrite it from their own perspectives the other day in class.


THEME FOR ENGLISH B
By Langston Hughes

The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you---
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
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.

And this was my own rewrite from my credentialing days (and I am no poet, but it served as a good example for my students):


It's not that simple, though it should be
I am twenty-two, female, raised in a small town.
I went to school there, then Sacramento, and now I seek to teach these students scarcely younger than me in this suburb of the city.
There are so many like me in my classes.
The road I drive to my home each night is long,
through a development, then a city,
then dozens more identical neighborhoods,
until I reach my hometown, where I rest for mere moments before beginning again,
never enough time to write this page:

It's not easy to know what is true for me and them
at twenty-two. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear; Sacramento, Placerville, I hear you:
hear you, hear me--we three--you, you, and me, talk on this page.
(I could never choose.) Me--who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, laugh, and feel
I like to work, read, learn, teach, and understand.
I like a book for a Christmas present,
or sweets that I make with my loved ones.
I guess being young doesn't make me not like
Or understand the same things as other folks who are older, "wiser."
So will my page be naive that I write?

Being me, it will not always be clear
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are a teacher, legitimately--
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's a teacher. It's what I strive to be.
Sometimes, after sleepless nights, perhaps you wish you'd chosen differently.
I may as well. But we have chosen because of what we are.
And we are.
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me--
although you're wiser--and have completed these tasks before me already--
and have seen so many just like me.

This is my page for 387 EDTE.