ŷ������

;

Please share your favorite poems here.

Heard any poetry news? Let us know.

Learned about some new poetry books? Do tell !

Post here about all poetry !

Welcome to 2024. Here's hoping this year is smoother than last year with challenges well met and healthy dreams fulfilled.

This first poem for the New Year is not at all a traditional one. Additionally, i could not locate a copy of the full poem, presuming, given the "[Excerpt]" note meant there was a longer poem. Nonetheless, i wanted to share this for the first day. Written during wartime (near as i can tell, it was the Spanish Civil War in the late 1930s.

Muriel Rukeyser was an activist poet and journalist. Sometimes those careers intertwined, creating moving poetry. This is one example.


Elegy in Joy [Excerpt]
Muriel Rukeyser

We tell beginnings: for the flesh and the answer,
or the look, the lake in the eye that knows,
for the despair that flows down in widest rivers,
cloud of home; and also the green tree of grace,
all in the leaf, in the love that gives us ourselves.

The word of nourishment passes through the women,
soldiers and orchards rooted in constellations,
white towers, eyes of children:
saying in time of war What shall we feed?
I cannot say the end.

Nourish beginnings, let us nourish beginnings.
Not all things are blest, but the
seeds of all things are blest.
The blessing is in the seed.

This moment, this seed, this wave of the sea, this look, this instant of love.
Years over wars and an imagining of peace. Or the expiation journey
toward peace which is many wishes flaming together,
fierce pure life, the many-living home.
Love that gives us ourselves, in the world known to all
new techniques for the healing of the wound,
and the unknown world. One life, or the faring stars.

madrano wrote: "Years over wars and an imagining of peace..."

Very apropos in our war torn times. :(

I agree. At first i thought mention of wars dated the piece, then realized how many conflicts are occurring right now. Too many.

I wanted to share this inspirational poem today, the 2nd day of the New Year.

Joy Harjo was appointed United States poet laureate in 2019. Born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, in 1951, Harjo is a member of the Mvskoke/Creek Nation. She is the author of several books of poetry. She is a current Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets and lives in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

To hear the poet recite this piece, try this link. The poem itself begins at 1:46--

For more points to consider about the work--

I'll add a couple of points, which allude to somethings i've learned about the beliefs of some tribes. At one point she mentions your spirit might be "caught in corners". Many Native tribes build their homes and buildings without corners, usually in a circle, because there are stories of spirits lurking in corners, in hopes of catching or distracting you.

The other is mention of the "giveaway". This tradition is when a ceremonial person, perhaps at a tribal name-giving or atonement rite, gives away items to various witnesses to encourage them to share in the moment. My daughter was the recipient of a lovely blanket at the first name-giving we attended. It has meant much to our family and does, to this day. There are other meanings to it for the person giving items away, btw. You may learn more here--


For Calling the Spirit Back from Wandering the Earth in Its Human Feet
Joy Harjo

Put down that bag of potato chips, that white bread, that bottle of pop.

Turn off that cellphone, computer, and remote control.

Open the door, then close it behind you.

Take a breath offered by friendly winds. They travel the earth gathering essences of plants to clean.

Give it back with gratitude.

If you sing it will give your spirit lift to fly to the stars�� ears and back.

Acknowledge this earth who has cared for you since you were a dream planting itself precisely within your parents�� desire.

Let your moccasin feet take you to the encampment of the guardians who have known you before time, who will be there after time. They sit before the fire that has been there without time.

Let the earth stabilize your postcolonial insecure jitters.

Be respectful of the small insects, birds and animal people who accompany you.
Ask their forgiveness for the harm we humans have brought down upon them.

Don’t worry.
The heart knows the way though there may be high-rises, interstates, checkpoints, armed soldiers, massacres, wars, and those who will despise you because they despise themselves.

The journey might take you a few hours, a day, a year, a few years, a hundred, a thousand or even more.

Watch your mind. Without training it might run away and leave your heart for the immense human feast set by the thieves of time.

Do not hold regrets.

When you find your way to the circle, to the fire kept burning by the keepers of your soul, you will be welcomed.

You must clean yourself with cedar, sage, or other healing plant.

Cut the ties you have to failure and shame.

Let go the pain you are holding in your mind, your shoulders, your heart, all the way to your feet. Let go the pain of your ancestors to make way for those who are heading in our direction.

Ask for forgiveness.

Call upon the help of those who love you. These helpers take many forms: animal, element, bird, angel, saint, stone, or ancestor.

Call your spirit back. It may be caught in corners and creases of shame, judgment, and human abuse.

You must call in a way that your spirit will want to return.

Speak to it as you would to a beloved child.

Welcome your spirit back from its wandering. It may return in pieces, in tatters. Gather them together. They will be happy to be found after being lost for so long.

Your spirit will need to sleep awhile after it is bathed and given clean clothes.

Now you can have a party. Invite everyone you know who loves and supports you. Keep room for those who have no place else to go.

Make a giveaway, and remember, keep the speeches short.

Then, you must do this: help the next person find their way through the dark.

From ��Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings: Poems

Deb, this was beautiful. The sentiment really resonated with me. Thank you !

Also thank you for the video of Harjo reading her poem. Just wonderful !

I'm tickled you enjoyed it. Her comments in the video were good ones. But i particularly liked the laughs garnered when she read her line about the giveaways, "Make a giveaway, and remember, keep the speeches short." The crowd seemed to know exactly what she meant. lol

Lately i've been reading many poems about birds. Some evoke the image of the creatures but mostly, they express their own impression seeing them makes them feel. In all, i'm most pleased. I hope to share many of them on this thread in 2024. Here's the first, written by Sara Teasdale.

For a short bio of the woman, click here--

For an oral interpretation of the following, click here-- I particularly like the jay photo toward the end, those stained-glass back feathers are vivid.


A Winter Blue Jay
Sara Teasdale

Crisply the bright snow whispered,
Crunching beneath our feet;
Behind us as we walked along the parkway,
Our shadows danced,
Fantastic shapes in vivid blue.
Across the lake the skaters
Flew to and fro,
With sharp turns weaving
A frail invisible net.
In ecstasy the earth
Drank the silver sunlight;
In ecstasy the skaters
Drank the wine of speed;
In ecstasy we laughed
Drinking the wine of love.
Had not the music of our joy
Sounded its highest note?
But no,
For suddenly, with lifted eyes you said,
“Oh look!��
There, on the black bough of a snow flecked maple,
Fearless and gay as our love,
A bluejay cocked his crest!
Oh who can tell the range of joy
Or set the bounds of beauty?

Beautiful Poem and equally beautiful Bluejay!

That is beautiful bird and a lovely poem.

I do want to read a book this coming year about birds. I'm not sure which one I want to read. I'm considering -

Birdology: Adventures with a Pack of Hens, a Peck of Pigeons, Cantankerous Crows, Fierce Falcons, Hip Hop Parrots, Baby Hummingbirds, and One Murderously Big Living Dinosaur by Sy Montgomery

The Penguin Lessons by Tom Michell

What an Owl Knows: The New Science of the World's Most Enigmatic Birds by Jennifer Ackerman

H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald

I'm pleased that you both enjoyed the poem & that photo. Gorgeous critters.

Alias, that's some good reading there. I've added Birdology to my TBR. The GR description of the newborn hummingbirds did the trick!

One of my favorite haiku poems. Mizuta Masahide [Not really a useful link, as you may see.]



Mizuta Masahide was born in Japan, around 1657?, and died in 1723. He was a samurai in the Zeze domain of Ohmi Province. Masahide was a student of the famous poet Basho

In 1688 Masahide's house was burnt down, prompting him to write his most famous haiku
, Barn's burnt down... This haiku is said to have been highly praised by Basho. After the death of Basho in 1694, Masahide lamented that no one would care if he wrote haikai according to ryuko (newness, change or fashion) and that he would therefore just concentrate on fueki (eternal poetic truth).

madrano wrote: "One of my favorite haiku poems. s."

Well that is making lemonade out of lemons ! :)

One of the YouTubers I follow is an Oxford student who lives in England. She said she got Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver by Mary Oliver.

Amazon has the publication date as 2020. Perhaps in England it just came out. Either way, I thought it was one you might be interested in, deb.

Alias Reader wrote: "madrano wrote: "One of my favorite haiku poems. s."

Well that is making lemonade out of lemons ! :)"

My thought, too, Alias. This link offers a different look, imo.

From the site, "Or the barn can represent our own self-enclosing thoughts, "burned" down by spiritual practice and the ecstatic psychic spaciousness that can result." Curious thought. The site also informs readers that the moon is often used to represent clarity.

madrano wrote:

The site also informs readers that the moon is often used to represent clarity."

Interesting. I didn't know that.

By the way, the next full moon is on the 11th !

Thanks for that fact, Alias.

I understand storms, cold and wet are headed to the upper eastern part of the US. With that in mind, i submit the following, from As You Like It--William Shakespeare, Act II, Scene 7. It chills me.

Below are three renditions of musical interpretations of this.

For a lovely musical adaptation-- WARNING: Cold, snowful winter photos included.

For a choral presentation-- (Loved the pianist!)

And a solo work--

Blow Blow Thou Winter Wind
William Shakespeare

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
����Thou art not so unkind
����������As man’s ingratitude;
����Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
����������Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
����Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
����������This life is most jolly.����

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
����That dost not bite so nigh
����������As benefits forgot:
����Though thou the waters warp,
����������Thy sting is not so sharp
����������As friend remembered not.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly...��

�؄❄️🌨️

Thank you.

I do love winter and snow !

Ditto. I must admit i was unaware that your part of the country hadn't had more than an inch of snow in such a long period of time. Enjoy the weather, Alias!

madrano wrote: "Ditto. I must admit i was unaware that your part of the country hadn't had more than an inch of snow in such a long period of time. Enjoy the weather, Alias!"

Yes. I think NYC, not NYS, hadn't had more than an inch for around 700 days. No accumulation in NYC from this snow event either.

I can't recall if we already shared this one. Either way, you can't have too much Frost.


"Good Hours" by Robert Frost

I had for my winter evening walk��
No one at all with whom to talk,
But I had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow.
And I thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
Of youthful forms and youthful faces.
I had such company outward bound.
I went till there were no cottages found.
I turned and repented, but coming back
I saw no window but that was black.
Over the snow my creaking feet
Disturbed the slumbering village street
Like profanation, by your leave,
At ten o’clock of a winter eve.
(Book:
The Poetry of Robert Frost

Alias Reader wrote: "Yes. I think NYC, not NYS, hadn't had more than an inch for around 700 days. No accumulation in NYC from this snow event either..."

Trust the Nightly News to get that wrong. It's as though they aren't aware there is a New York beyond the City. Still, i'm sorry they didn't get much snow, afterall.

Alias Reader wrote: "I can't recall if we already shared this one. Either way, you can't have too much Frost. ..."

I don't remember you sharing that one, Alias, as i don't recall having heard it at all. For me, that could be a very pleasant walk, hearing and knowing there are neighbors alive & well but not needing to talk to them.

Thank you for Frost. I can never get enough of his poetry.

We are experiencing some heavy winds today, leading me to another poem about the winds.

For a read recitation--


January
William Carlos Williams

Again I reply to the triple winds
running chromatic fifths of derision
outside my window:
�� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� Play louder.
You will not succeed. I am
bound more to my sentences
the more you batter at me
to follow you.
�� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� �� And the wind,
as before, fingers perfectly
its derisive music.

:) I like the line, "You will not succeed".

I try not to let weather control what I do, since I have zero control over the weather. “There is no bad weather, only bad clothes!�� as the Norwegians say !

That said, I REALLY dislike windy days.

We have several more windy days ahead of us, too.

When looking for poetry about the new year, i found this gem. I was unfamiliar with Philip Appleman. He has given readings of his poetry at the Library of Congress, the Guggenheim Museum, the Huntington Library, and many universities. He read several of his poems on the July 6, 2012, episode of Moyers & Company.

He was a founding member of the Poets Advisory Committee of Poets House, New York, a former member of the governing board of the Poetry Society of America, and a member of the Academy of American Poets, PEN American Center, Friends of Poets & Writers, Inc., and the Authors Guild of America. Appleman wrote many poems drawing on the work of Charles Darwin, and is best known for them. (Darwin's Ark: Poems)

For a short bio & comments--

For an oral presentation of this poem--

To the Garbage Collectors in Bloomington, Indiana, the First Pickup of the New Year
Philip Appleman

(the way bed is in winter, like an aproned lap,
������ like furry mittens,
������ like childhood crouching under tables)
The Ninth Day of Xmas, in the morning black
outside our window: clattering cans, the whir
of a hopper, shouts, a whistle, move on ...
I see them in my warm imagination
the way I’ll see them later in the cold,
heaving the huge cans and running
(running!) to the next house on the street.

My vestiges of muscle stir
uneasily in their percale cocoon:
what moves those men out there, what
drives them running to the next house and the next?
Halfway back to dream, I speculate:
The Social Weal? “Let’s make good old
������ Bloomington a cleaner place
������ to live in—right, men? Hup, tha!��
Healthy Competition? “Come on, boys,
������ let’s burn up that route today and beat those dudes
������ on truck thirteen!��
Enlightened Self-Interest? “Another can,
������ another dollar—don’t slow down, Mac, I’m puttin��
������ three kids through Princeton?��
Or something else?
Terror?

A half hour later, dawn comes edging over
Clark Street: layers of color, laid out like
a flattened rainbow—red, then yellow, green,
and over that the black-and-blue of night
still hanging on. Clark Street maples wave
their silhouettes against the red, and through
the twiggy trees, I see a solid chunk
of garbage truck, and stick-figures of men,
like windup toys, tossing little cans��
and running.

All day they’ll go like that, till dark again,
and all day, people fussing at their desks,
at hot stoves, at machines, will jettison
tin cans, bare evergreens, damp Kleenex, all
things that are Caesar’s.

O garbage men,
the New Year greets you like the Old;
after this first run you too may rest
in beds like great warm aproned laps
and know that people everywhere have faith:
putting from them all things of this world,
they confidently bide your second coming.

From New and Selected Poems: 1956-1996�� (University of Arkansas Press, 1996)

Enlightened Self-Interest? “Another can,
another dollar—don’t slow down, Mac, I’m puttin��
three kids through Princeton?��

:)

In NYC there actually is quite a long waiting list to become a sanitation worker. I believe it's years.

Wow, i had no idea. I must admit we've never had problems with sanitation workers in any of the places we've lived. Maybe a better pay grade is why.

The wait is long after you take the test as many want the job. I guess pay and benefits are good. Also you get a pension which many jobs don't give you today.

I know, you never intended to be in this world.
But you’re in it all the same.
So why not get started immediately.
I mean, belonging to it.
There is so much to admire, to weep over.
And to write music or poems about.
Bless the feet that take you to and fro.
Bless the eyes and the listening ears.
Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste.
Bless touching.
You could live a hundred years, it’s happened.
Or not.
I am speaking from the fortunate platform
of many years,
none of which, I think, I ever wasted.
Do you need a prod?
Do you need a little darkness to get you going?
Let me be as urgent as a knife, then,
and remind you of Keats,
so single of purpose and thinking, for a while,
he had a lifetime.

~Mary Oliver

Blue HorsesMary Oliver

Alias Reader wrote: "The wait is long after you take the test as many want the job. I guess pay and benefits are good. Also you get a pension which many jobs don't give you today."

Pensions can make such a difference. This has been interesting to consider, Alias.

Alias Reader wrote: "I know, you never intended to be in this world.
But you’re in it all the same.
So why not get started immediately.
I mean, belonging to it.
There is so much to admire, to weep over.
And to write mu..."

I like this poem. In many ways Oliver's writing reminds me of a combination of Robert Frost & Emily Dickinson. Frost, due to the observations of nature, and Dickinson, for the personal nature of many of her poems.

Thanks for this one, Alias Reader!

madrano wrote:

"In many ways Oliver's writing reminds me of a combination of Robert Frost & Emily Dickinson. Frost, due to the observations of nature, and Dickinson, for the personal nature of many of her poems...."

Good observation, deb.

It helps that they are two of my livelong favorites. :-)

For a very short bio of Thomas Hardy--

My favorite presentation of this poem is this one-- The graphic was different but i particularly liked the way she ended it.

For another interpretation of this poem, recitation

for a discussion of the work, possibly for an online class. He really breaks the poem down, sometimes word-by-word


The Darkling Thrush
Thomas Hardy

I leant upon a coppice gate
������������When Frost was spectre-grey,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
������������The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
������������Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
������������Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be
������������The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
������������The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
������������Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
������������Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
������������The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
������������Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
������������In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
������������Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
������������Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
������������Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
������������His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
������������And I was unaware.


FROM Poems of the Past and the Present

Love the sentiment and love the photo of the Thrush. I think of the poor animals out there in this cold. :(

It's a perfect time for the poem as the temps here are going to plumet into the teens with highs barely hitting the 30's all week. Also very gusty winds. BRRRRR.

"On the third Monday in January, we celebrate Martin Luther King Jr. Day, a federal holiday meant to honor the life and legacy of the civil rights leader and encourage Americans of all backgrounds to join together in service of their communities. Best known for his dream—not just the American Dream of economic security and prosperity, but a more inclusive dream of peace and equality—King and his dream resound in the lives and work of others who have also dared to dream for a better country and world."


Langston Hughes
1901 ��1967
Dream Variations

To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
Then rest at cool evening
Beneath a tall tree
While night comes on gently,
Dark like me��
That is my dream!

To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
Till the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening . . .
A tall, slim tree . . .
Night coming tenderly
Black like me.

I Have a Dream
Martin Luther King Jr. August 28, 1963
I say to you today, my friends, even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American Dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident; thal all men are created equal".

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day down in Alabama with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and little white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plains, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all the flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with.
With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.
With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.
With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning, "My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my father died, land of pilgrims' pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring".
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado! Let freedom ring from the curvacious slopes of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from the Stone Mountain of Georgia! Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee. Let freedom ring from every hill and mole hill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring, and when this happens,

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God almighty, we are free at last"!

Alias Reader wrote: "Love the sentiment and love the photo of the Thrush. I think of the poor animals out there in this cold. :(

It's a perfect time for the poem as the temps here are going to plumet into the teens wi..."

Agree! And a timely reminder to fill the bird feeders throughout our yard - a task I loathe in winter, but appreciated by the birds I've been enticing into our backyard for the last few years :)

I, Too
BY LANGSTON HUGHES

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,��
Then.

Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed��

I, too, am America.

Lindsey wrote:
Agree! And a timely reminder to fill the bird feeders throughout our yard - a task I loathe in winter, but appreciated by the birds I've been enticing into our backyard for the last few years :)


I was curious how do they stay warm.

----U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service (if you are on FB, they are good to follow if you enjoy wildlife. )

"All cold-climate birds pack on body weight in the late summer and fall in anticipation of the long, cold winter, but feathers also play an important role. All birds stay warm by trapping pockets of air around their bodies."
.

Thanks for sharing those poems and the speech. King's speeches are often wonderfully worded, making good points with strong words, which stay with those listening.

Or course, as you probably recall, Hughes is a favorite poet for me.

Lindsey wrote: "a timely reminder to fill the bird feeders throughout our yard - a task I loathe in winter, but appreciated by the birds I've been enticing into our backyard for the last few years..."

Yes! When our children were young, we made and set up bird-feeders for our yard. As it snowed, we made sure they were fed but when massive snow & cold appeared, it was dad who "volunteered" to fill the feeders & add fresh water. What a trooper! The kids even took photos of him walking through hipbone high snow.

Naturally hot chocolate for him (and them!) followed.

madrano wrote: "Lindsey wrote: "a timely reminder to fill the bird feeders throughout our yard - a task I loathe in winter, but appreciated by the birds I've been enticing into our backyard for the last few years...."

Oh i love this, how sweet!

My husband has no time for the birds (or garden for that matter), so I'll have to brave the cold. Which - I should add, is not that bad - we're in Atlanta, so our coldest nights are 12-17 degrees, but more commonly in the 30s - I can manage haha.

Lucky birds, Lindsey, to have you on the job. This reminds me of my favorite Emily Dickinson poem.

Nice.

Gwendolyn Brooks wrote this poem soon after the assassination of MLK, Jr. In 1950, Brooks was the first African American to win a Pulitzer Prize.

This link is the poem read by Nora Brooks Blakely, 50 years later. She is the daughter of the poet--

Martin Luther King Jr, April 4, 1968
Gwendolyn Brooks

A man went forth with gifts.

He was a prose poem.
He was a tragic grace.
He was a warm music.

He tried to heal the vivid volcanoes.
His ashes are
reading the world.

His Dream still wishes to anoint
the barricades of faith and of control.

His word still burns the center of the sun
above the thousands and the
hundred thousands.

The word was Justice. It was spoken.

So it shall be spoken.
So it shall be done.

Nice. Is that the photo from the D.C. museum ?

No. It's between the Reflecting Pool & the Tidal Basin, not too very far from the FDR monument. I think the National Museum of African American History and Culture is close to the Washington Monument. But don't quote me, as i've not been in D.C. since the museum opened.