Robert Hayden


Born
in Detroit, The United States
August 04, 1913

Died
February 25, 1980

Genre


Robert Hayden was an American poet, essayist, educator. He was appointed Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress in 1976.

Hayden was elected to the American Academy of Poets in 1975. From 1976 - 1978, Hayden was Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress (the first African American holder of that post), the position which in 1985 became the Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress. Hayden's most famous and most anthologized poem is Those Winter Sundays[citation needed], which deals with the memory of fatherly love and loneliness.

Other famed poems include The Whipping (which is about a small boy being severely punished for some undetermined offense), Middle Passage (inspired by the events surrounding the
...more

Average rating: 4.19 · 342 ratings · 36 reviews · 23 distinct worksSimilar authors
Collected Poems

by
4.23 avg rating — 244 ratings — published 1984 — 9 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
Angle of Ascent: New and Se...

4.52 avg rating — 21 ratings — published 1975 — 2 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
American Journal

4.28 avg rating — 18 ratings — published 1982 — 2 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
Words in the Mourning Time:...

4.31 avg rating — 13 ratings — published 1970 — 2 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
Those Winter Sundays

4.20 avg rating — 10 ratings
Rate this book
Clear rating
Middle Passage

4.38 avg rating — 8 ratings — published 1962 — 4 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
Kaleidoscope; Poems by Amer...

3.40 avg rating — 5 ratings — published 1967 — 2 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
The Night Blooming Cereus

4.50 avg rating — 2 ratings
Rate this book
Clear rating
Collected Prose

3.50 avg rating — 2 ratings2 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
Those Winter Days

liked it 3.00 avg rating — 2 ratings
Rate this book
Clear rating
More books by Robert Hayden…
“Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?”
Robert Hayden

“Art is not escape, but a way of finding order in chaos, a way of confronting life.”
Robert Hayden

“When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
Who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
Of love's austere and lonely offices?”
Robert Hayden