CANE Jean Toomer _With a Foreword by_ Waldo Frank _Oracular. Redolent of fermenting syrup, Purple of the dusk, Deep-rooted cane._ [Illustration] LIVERIGHT NEW YORK COPYRIGHT © 1923 BY BONI & LIVERIGHT ® 1951 BY JEAN TOOMER 1.987654 STANDARD BOOK NUMBER: 87140-535-0 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 23-12749 MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA To my grandmother... FOREWORD Reading this book, I had the vision of a land, heretofore sunk in the mists of muteness, suddenly rising up into the eminence of song. Innumerable books have been written about the South; some good books have been written in the South. This book _is_ the South. I do not mean that _Cane_ covers the South or is the South’s full voice. Merely this: a poet has arisen among our American youth who has known how to turn the essences and materials of his Southland into the essences and materials of literature. A poet has arisen in that land who writes, not as a Southerner, not as a rebel against Southerners, not as a Negro, not as apologist or priest or critic: who writes as a _poet_. The fashioning of beauty is ever foremost in his inspiration: not forcedly but simply, and because these ultimate aspects of his world are to him more real than all its specific problems. He has made songs and lovely stories of his land ... not of its yesterday, but of its immediate life. And that has been enough. How rare this is will be clear to those who have followed with concern the struggle of the South toward literary expression, and the particular trial of that portion of its folk whose skin is dark. The gifted Negro has been too often thwarted from becoming a poet because his world was forever forcing him to recollect that he was a Negro. The artist must lose such lesser identities in the great well of life. The English poet is not forever protesting and recalling that he is English. It is so natural and easy for him to be English that he can sing as a man. The French novelist is not forever noting: “This is French.” It is so atmospheric for him to be French, that he can devote himself to saying: “This is human.” This is an imperative condition for the creating of deep art. The whole will and mind of the creator must go below the surfaces of race. And this has been an almost impossible condition for the American Negro to achieve, forced every moment of his life into a specific and superficial plane of consciousness.