I Went Down To The River, I

Misery Is When You Heard On The Radio That The Neighborhood You Live In Is A Slum But You Always Thought It Was Home.

Though You May Hear Me Holler, And You May See Me Cry-- I'll Be Dogged, Sweet Baby, If You Gonna See Me Die.

Hold Fast To Dreams, For If Dreams Die, Life Is A Broken-winged Bird That Cannot Fly.

This Is The Mountain Standing In The Way Of Any True Negro Art In America - This Urge Within The Race Toward Whiteness, The Desire To Pour Racial Individuality Into The Mold Of American Standardization, And To Be As Little Negro And As Much American As Possible.

Anyday, One Can Walk Down The Street In A Big City And See A Thousand People. Any Photographer Can Photograph These People - But Very Few Photographers Can Make Their Prints Not Only Reproductions Of The People Taken, But A Comment Upon Them - Or More, A Comment Upon Their Lives - Or More Still, A Comment Upon The Social Order That Creates These Lives.