Even when Langston Hughes was in grade school he can remember people always enjoying his poetry. According to Cindy Bloom’s article “Hughes, Langston” Hughes remembers the first time he realized that he liked poetry is when he presented a poem for his class. "And in the latter half, I said our class was the greatest class ever graduated. Naturally everybody applauded loudly. That was the way I began to write poetry” (qtd in “Hughes, Langston). And as Hughes gets older and expands his education at Columbia he decided that school wasn’t for him and he rather travel the world. When he returned from traveling the world Hughes immediately returned to his writings. Even though Hughes was used to people of Harlem liking his work, there was one person in specific who did not. In “Hughes, Langston” from Bloom’s Literature states Baldwin’s review about Hughes work, “Every time I read Langston Hughes, I am amazed all over again by his genuine gifts—and depressed that he had done so little with them. . . . [His] poems which take refuge, finally, in a fake simplicity in order to avoid the very difficult simplicity of experience.”(qtd in “Hughes,
Even when Langston Hughes was in grade school he can remember people always enjoying his poetry. According to Cindy Bloom’s article “Hughes, Langston” Hughes remembers the first time he realized that he liked poetry is when he presented a poem for his class. "And in the latter half, I said our class was the greatest class ever graduated. Naturally everybody applauded loudly. That was the way I began to write poetry” (qtd in “Hughes, Langston). And as Hughes gets older and expands his education at Columbia he decided that school wasn’t for him and he rather travel the world. When he returned from traveling the world Hughes immediately returned to his writings. Even though Hughes was used to people of Harlem liking his work, there was one person in specific who did not. In “Hughes, Langston” from Bloom’s Literature states Baldwin’s review about Hughes work, “Every time I read Langston Hughes, I am amazed all over again by his genuine gifts—and depressed that he had done so little with them. . . . [His] poems which take refuge, finally, in a fake simplicity in order to avoid the very difficult simplicity of experience.”(qtd in “Hughes,