Georgia
Douglas Johnson is a hero of mine, a talented poet and community
builder who organized and hosted a weekly literary salon in her
Washington, DC home during the time we've come to call the Harlem
Renaissance.
Of all the sites associated with
that time period, my favorite by far is Half-Way House, Johnson's home,
which still stands at 1461 S Street NW, in the greater U Street
neighborhood. Gathering weekly for cake, wine (even during
Prohibition), and stimulating discussions, the Saturday Nighters Club
brought together the era's young, ambitious writers as well as older
mentors. Regular attendees included: Kelly Miller, dean of Howard University; his daughter, the playwright May Miller
(who would, forty years later, be one of the first Arts Commissioners
for the brand new DC Commission on the Arts); critic and anthologist Alain Locke; historian Carter G. Woodson; Angelina Weld Grimké, the author of the first play by an African American to receive a fully-staged, professional production; writer and actor Richard Bruce Nugent; essayist and playwright Marita Bonner; poet and short story writer Alice Dunbar Nelson (who had outlived her famous first husband Paul Laurence Dunbar and trekked in regularly from her home in Baltimore); poet and musician Waring Cuney; and novelists Jessie Fauset, Jean Toomer, and Zora Neale Hurston.
Langston Hughes was a regular at the Saturday Nighters Club. In his autobiography, The Big Sea
Hughes wrote: “Georgia Douglas Johnson, a charming woman poet,
who had two sons in college, turned her house into a salon for us on
Saturday nights...[we] used to come there to eat Mrs. Johnson’s cake
and drink her wine and talk poetry and books and plays...My two years
in Washington were unhappy years, except for poetry and the friends I
made through poetry. I wrote many poems. I always put them
away new for several weeks in a bottom drawer. Then I would take
them out and re-read them. If they seemed bad, I would throw them
away. They would all seem good when I wrote them and, usually,
bad when I would look at them again. So most of them were thrown away.”
Jessie Fauset, a novelist and the editor of The Crisis
Magazine, wrote to Hughes on August 3, 1925: “I’m so glad
you’re seeing Mrs. Johnson—she is so kind and charming and
stimulating. I covet her disposition. Cultivate her—she
will be balm to your troubled spirit.” Others admired her for her
calming influence as well.
Evenings consisted of
discussions centered on historical and cultural topics, alternating
with evenings in which writers shared and critiqued one another's
work-in-progress. Johnson was an excellent leader. As Elizabeth McHenry writes in Forgotten Readers: Recovering the Lost History of African American Literary Societies
(Duke University Press, 2002): "She took it upon herself to invite
talented but undiscovered individuals she came across to participate in
the Saturday Nighters' weekly meetings and did not hesitate to mention
the names of those whose work she believed should receive recognition
to the prominent literary figures whose influences she knew could
advance their careers...While the door was always open to new members,
and members were welcome to bring their friends and literary colleagues
to the meetings, Johnson acted decisively if she felt that a new
attendee might limit the Saturday Nighters' productivity. The
gentle but firm control she exerted over the group is confirmed by J.C. Byars,
a Washington journalist and poet. In his 1927 anthology of
Washington writers he noted that Johnson monitored those who attended
her Saturday evening meetings: 'If dull ones come, she weeds them out,
gently, effectively. The Negro's predicament is such, Mrs. Johnson
believes, that only the white people can afford to have dull leaders.'"
For
writers, working in isolation, such community gathering sites are
crucial connections. For younger writers especially, a group such
as this serves as a first real audience. By taking younger
writers seriously, Johnson allowed them to take themselves seriously as
well. By creating this point of connection, Johnson not only
helped birth the Harlem Renaissance, she helped jump-start literary
modernism in general. And this is part of her fascination for me,
since she was not fully a modernist herself. Instead, her work
serves as a bridge between older and newer writing styles and
sensibilities.
Georgia Douglas Johnson was the author
of four books of poems, six plays, and 32 song lyrics, making her the
best-published woman author of the Harlem Renaissance. In the
introduction to her second book, Bronze, she wrote this
credo: "This book is the child of a bitter earth-wound. I sit on
the earth and sing—sing out, and of, my sorrow. Yet, fully
conscious of the potent agencies that silently work in their healing
ministries, I know that God's sun shall one day shine upon a perfected
and unhampered people."
Much of her work addresses love and personal relationships, and much of it is aracial. Johnson wrote in a 1941 letter to Arna Bontemps:
"Whenever I can, I forget my special call to sorrow, and live as
happily as I may. Perhaps that is why I seldom elect to write
racially. It seems to me an art to forget those things that make
the heart heavy. If one can soar, he should soar, leaving his
chains behind. But, lest we forget, we must now and then come
down to earth, accept the yoke and help draw the load."
Born
in 1877, she married and raised two sons. After her husband's
death in 1925, she became the family's primary wage earner, working at
a series of government jobs, including for the DC Public Schools and
the US Department of Labor, and selling freelance articles to
newspapers, earning enough to send both her sons to college.
She began publishing actively in 1916, prior to the start of the Harlem Renaissance period, and her first book, The Heart of a Woman, came out in 1918, followed by Bronze: A Book of Verse in 1922, and An Autumn Love Cycle in 1928. A final book of poems, Share My World,
was self-published in 1962 near the end of her life. Her
newspaper column, "Homely Philosophy," was syndicated to twenty
newspapers between 1926 and 1932.
A gifted organizer,
a generous friend, a mentor to many, Johnson hosted her salons weekly
from 1921 to approximately 1928; she continued hosting gatherings more
sporadically through the Great Depression and into the early
1940s. She wrote that she named her house Half-Way House because
"I'm half way between everybody and everything, and I bring them
together."
Owen Dodson
wrote, "She took in anybody—old lame dogs, blind cats...Then she took
in stray people—mostly artists who were out of money. People like
Zora Neale Hurston who stayed there...or some artists
who were a little bezerk. And she was capable of giving them a
soothing balm. She knew how to do for people. Of course,
the house was a mess! You've never been in any house like
it! When you entered the hallway, you knew that you were entering
another country."
In an undated letter to Langston Hughes
(probably from 1930), she wrote: "I have been fortunate in having the
friendship of all of you winged artists. It has been one of my
blessings. Somehow all that I have missed in the big ways of the
world with its fanfare of trumpets, have more than been compensated for
through the fragrant friendships I have known."
Three Poems by Georgia Douglas Johnson
THE HEART OF A WOMAN (1918)
The heart of a woman goes forth with the dawn,
As a lone bird, soft winging, so restlessly on,
Afar o'er life's turrets and vales does it roam
In the wake of those echoes the heart calls home.
The heart of a woman falls back with the night,
And enters some alien cage in its plight,
And tries to forget it has dreamed of the stars,
While it breaks, breaks, breaks on the sheltering bars.
LITTLE SON (1922)
The very acme of my woe,
The pivot of my pride,
My consolation, and my hope
Deferred, but not denied.
The substance of my every dream,
The riddle of my plight,
The very world epitomized
In turmoil and delight.
AFTERGLOW (1928)
Through you I entered heaven and hell,
Knew rapture and despair,
I flitted o'er the plains of earth
And scaled each shining stair:
Drank deep the waters of content,
And drained the cup of gall,
Was regal and was impotent,
Was suzerain and thrall.
Now, by Reflection's placid pool
On evening's mellowed brow,
I smile across the backward way
And pledge anew my vow;
For every glancing, golden gleam,
I offer gladly—pain!
And I would give a thousand worlds
To live it all again!
Bibliography
Johnson's
four books of poems are, alas, long out of print. But she is
included in most anthologies of African American literature, including:
The Poetry of the Negro: 1746-1970, ed. Langston Hughes and Arna Bontemps
Caroling Dusk: An Anthology of Verse by Negro Poets, ed. Countee Cullen
The Oxford Anthology of African-American Poetry, ed. Arnold Rampersad
Harlem's Glory: Black Women Writing, 1900-1950, ed. Lorraine Elena Roses and Ruth
Elizabeth Randolph
Nonfiction on Johnson's life and influence include:
Color Sex, and Poetry: Three Women Writers of the Harlem Renaissance by Gloria T. Hull
Forgotten Readers: Recovering the Lost History of African American Literary Societies
by Elizabeth McHenry