Helene+Johnson+Prd+4

=**Helene Johnson**= By Morgan Calafati, 4th Period __**Biography**__ Helene Johnson was born in 1906 and died in 1995, making her 89 years old at her time of death (Pace). She grew up in Boston, and lived with her grandfather and mother. Her grandfather was a former slave, and she grew up around strong women, which influenced her poetry. In 1927, she moved to Harlem, New York, with her cousin Dorothy West, who was a writer. Also in 1927, she published a poem called "Bottled", and it was shown in the May edition of Vanity Fair. Helene Johnson began studying at Columbia University, but she never graduated. She married a man named William Hubbel, and had one child named Abigail. She published her last poem in 1935, but continued to write a poem a day for the rest of her life. However, these poems were "for herself", and were never published. Helene Johnson was published in several well known magazines, and she was famous in the white world, not just the black world. She had a "double strike" against her; she was a woman, and she was African-American. She opened the gate for many aspiring artists and writers today.

__**Poetry Analysis**__
Upstairs on the third floor Of the 135th Street library In Harlem, I saw a little Bottle of sand, brown sand, Just like the kids make pies Out of down at the beach. But the label said: "This Sand was taken from the Sahara desert." Imagine that! The Sahara desert! Some bozo's been all the way to Africa to get some sand.
 * "Bottled"**

And yesterday on Seventh Avenue I saw a darky dressed to kill In yellow gloves and a swallowtail coat And swirling a cane. And everyone Was laughing at him. Me too, At first, till I saw his face When he stopped to hear a Organ grinder grind out some jazz. Boy! You should a seen that darky's face! It just shone. Gee, he was happy! And he began to dance. No Charleston or Black Bottom for him. No sir. He danced just as dignified And slow. No, not slow either. Dignified and //proud!// You couldn't Call it slow, not with all the Cuttin' up he did. You would a died to see him.

The crowd kept yellin' but he didn't hear, Just kept on dancin' and twirlin' that cane And yellin' out oud every once in a shile. I know the crowd thought he was coo-coo. But say, I was where I could see his face, And somehow, I could see him dancin' in a jungle, A real honest-to-cripe jungle, and he wouldn't leave on them Trick clothes---those yaller shoes and yaller gloves And swallowtail coat. He wouldn't have on nothing. And he wouldn't be carrying no cane. He'd be carrying a spear with a sharp fine point Like the bayonets we had "over there." And the end of it would be dipped in some kind of Hoo-doo poison. And he'd be dancin' black and naked and gleaming. And he'd have rings in his ears and on his nose And bracelets and necklaces of elephants' teeth. Gee, I bet he'd be beautiful then all right. No one would laugh at him then, I bet. Say! That man that took that sand from the Sahara desert And put it in a little bottle on a shelf in the library, That's what they done to this shine, ain't it? Bottled him. Trick shoes, trick coat, trick cane, trick everything---all glass--- But inside--- Gee, that poor shine!

__**Analysis**__
This whole poem is one, huge metaphor. In a nutshell, it is comparing the Saharan sand trapped in a bottle to the dancing man trapped inside a suit. Johnson uses strong imagery when she says "Bottle of sand, brown sand/Just like the kids make pies/Out of down at the beach" (4-6). The Saharan sand is foreign and different, but is just like the native sand. This is comparing blacks to whites. The rest of the poem is about a black man, who is dressed like a white man. However, when he hears the jazz, "Boy! You should a seen that darky's face!/It just shone. Gee, he was happy! (19-20). He dressed himself up to fit in with white people, but inside, he is still a lover of jazz, and part of the jungle. "I was where I could see his face/And somehow, I could see him dancin' in a jungle" (32-33). He hides the part of him that is back in Africa, that is the more tribal part. The clothes are what disguises him and holds him back, but the music draws him out and makes him remember who he really is.