The Grapes of Wrath by Robinson

Weedpatch

From Hooverville, the Joads must stop somewhere --
Why, Weedpatch camp is just ahead, let's go!
A spot is 'vailable, come now, take care,
In Weedpatch, there are only friends, no foe.
Pa, Uncle John, Al: you must find a job --
Hot water, toilets, dances: heaven here.
Young Tom's a job, you don't; can find one prob'.
We've baths, we've shelter, but our food is drear.
Can't pay you thirty, bank tells me two bits.
I heard cops 'gon come Weedpatch, Sat'day dance.
What? well, don't worry, we'll make sure no fits.
So nice here, but 'thout food, we must advance.
Now, pack up; got to leave, now; go on forth.
We've got a job for pickin' peaches, north.


A stylized retelling of the part of the book concerning the Weedpatch government camp. A conflict between wants and needs is reflected in this part of the book and in this poem. I hope you're fine with the content of this—I know you didn't want "summary" but I put a lot of effort into this and I think it speaks to the general theme of the book at this point: paradise cannot last. I consider this more than a mere summary.

Okies

Hundreds of thousands of Okies, moving west --
Don't treat them nice, they're not like the rest.
Here comes one, looking for a job --
Don't hire 'em, I hear they steal, cheat, and rob.

My family's lived the past hundred years in Cimarron County.
We take one step out, and it seems we're all up for bounty.
A fifth-generation American, as pure bred as it gets --
But we might as well be foreigners with only tears and sweats.

Sir, we've been looking for a job for a while—you got anything for us?
Sure, why, you can pick oranges for 15 cents an hour, just don't make a fuss.
Why, we can't live off that, how will I feed my family of eight?
You don't have to work for me; now, will you work or not, I don't have all day to wait.


A short tale of the "Okies," or dusted-out farmers (mainly from Oklahoma) that moved west for a better life only to be treated like the dust they left. The Grapes of Wrath is about an Okie family.

Reds

Citizens burn agitators' squatting camp, angered at reds
Well, I was there; they wasn't no agitators; what they call reds.
The country is bein' driven to ruin by these god- damn reds.
What the hell is these reds?
We got to drive out these here bastard reds.
What is these goddamn reds?
Sons-a-bitches that want thirty cents an hour when we're payin' twenty-five, those are reds!
Well, Jesus, mister; we ain't sons-a-bitches, but those are reds?
Those are the fellas drivin' this country to ruin, them god- damn reds.
Why, I want thirty cents an hour; ever'body does; hell, mister, we're all reds.
...
They're destroying this country, these here reds.
What are these god- damn reds?


A poem demonstrating how the Red Scare was used to deny farmers decent wages in Depression-era California. This poem was written almost entirely by using and modifying quotes from The Grapes of Wrath.