We are grateful for the contributions of our poets; past and present. As we made our list of poets to feature for this month, we came across a startling fact that one poet, very instrumental with the Harlem Renaissance, was practically forgotten from literary history. Her name was Kathleen Tankersley Young. As we tried to research her exact birthdate and any information about her history, it was much to our surprise that there was very little recorded about this poet. The information we found was very little compared to information we found about many other famous poets. We were unable to find a photo or illustration of Ms. Young. We were compelled to share what we could find out about this remarkable woman, and found it very fitting to feature her as part of our National Poetry Month celebration.
Kathleen Tankersley Young (1903-1933) was an African-American poet and editor associated with the Harlem Renaissance. "Almost forgotten by literary history, Kathleen Tankersley Young's name appears like a cipher through little magazines of the late 1920s and early 1930s, and in anthologies of Harlem Renaissance and American women's poetry." She was editor at the Modern Editions Press. Together with Charles Henri Ford and Parker Tyler, she started Blues: A Magazine of New Rhythms in 1929. She contributed poems to most of the nine issues of Blues.
She was married to David Jerome Ellinger. Her literary friends included Ezra Pound and Gertrude Stein. Her works included: Ten poems (1930), The dark land: poems (1932), The pepper trees: a cycle of three stories (1932) and Apology for love (1933). It is reported that Young died in Mexico, in 1933.
As we celebrate National Poetry Month, we want to remember Kathleen Tankersley Young, by sharing her poem, December Poet. Enjoy!
December Poet
By Kathleen Tankersley Young
She now retraces her steps once more
Over the length of room to the dark window.
She stoops to the ancient piano
And fingers the white keys that pour
Strange music of remembered spring thunder
That she once heard in a youth long dead.
She has not forgotten; she turns her head
To stare into the dark, and hear the winds stir
A new sound: although now vaguely familiar
And yet altogether strange, the chords grow
Crazily wild, and the black window
Rattles, and music continues thunder.
Some way of sound her dreams may transcend
These stairways of snow, and snow, and wind.
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