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Маргарет Уокер



Маргарет Уокер (7 июля 1915 – 30 ноября 1998) – афроамериканская поэтесса и писательница, представительница Чикагского черного ренессанса.
Наиболее важные ее произведения: стихотворный сборник "Моему народу" ("For My People", 1942), выигравший конкурс Йельской серии молодых поэтов, и исторический роман "Юбилей" ("Jubilee", 1966), описывающий историю семьи рабов во время и после Гражданской войны. Роман основан на реальных событиях из жизни прабабушки писательницы. 
Роман "Юбилей" можно прочитать на openlibrary (в оригинале).
Статья в английской википедии о Маргарет Уокер


"For my people"
For my people everywhere singing their slave songs
   repeatedly: their dirges and their ditties and their blues
   and jubilees, praying their prayers nightly to an
   unknown god, bending their knees humbly to an
   unseen power;

For my people lending their strength to the years, to the
  gone years and the now years and the maybe years,
  washing ironing cooking scrubbing sewing mending
  hoeing plowing digging planting pruning patching
  dragging along never gaining never reaping never
  knowing and never understanding;

For my playmates in the clay and dust and sand of Alabama
  backyards playing baptizing and preaching and doctor
  and jail and soldier and school and mama and cooking
  and playhouse and concert and store and hair and Miss
  Choomby and company;

For the cramped bewildered years we went to school to learn
  to know the reasons why and the answers to and the
  people who and the places where and the days when, in
  memory of the bitter hours when we discovered we
  were black and poor and small and different and nobody
  cared and nobody wondered and nobody understood;

For the boys and girls who grew in spite of these things to
  be man and woman, to laugh and dance and sing and
  play and drink their wine and religion and success, to
  marry their playmates and bear children and then die
  of consumption and anemia and lynching;

For my people thronging 47th Street in Chicago and Lenox
  Avenue in New York and Rampart Street in New
  Orleans, lost disinherited dispossessed and happy
  people filling the cabarets and taverns and other
  people’s pockets needing bread and shoes and milk and
  land and money and something—something all our own;

For my people walking blindly spreading joy, losing time
   being lazy, sleeping when hungry, shouting when
   burdened, drinking when hopeless, tied, and shackled
   and tangled among ourselves by the unseen creatures
   who tower over us omnisciently and laugh;

For my people blundering and groping and floundering in
   the dark of churches and schools and clubs and
   societies, associations and councils and committees and
   conventions, distressed and disturbed and deceived and
   devoured by money-hungry glory-craving leeches,
   preyed on by facile force of state and fad and novelty, by
   false prophet and holy believer;

For my people standing staring trying to fashion a better way
  from confusion, from hypocrisy and misunderstanding,
  trying to fashion a world that will hold all the people,
  all the faces, all the adams and eves and their countless
  generations;

Let a new earth rise. Let another world be born. Let a
  bloody peace be written in the sky. Let a second
  generation full of courage issue forth; let a people
  loving freedom come to growth. Let a beauty full of
  healing and a strength of final clenching be the pulsing
  in our spirits and our blood. Let the martial songs
  be written, let the dirges disappear. Let a race of men now
  rise and take control.
Tags: 20 век, Америка, США, английский язык, война, исторический роман, история, поэзия, рабство
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