Poetry and Prose: An Historical Era Exposed
History textbooks are a collection of hard facts, usually told in a politically correct
manner so as not to offend the non-victorious; they attempt accuracy and contain many figures:
dates, times, names, geographical locations, and events. Poetry and prose explore that
immeasurable area between the stark lines of data; the authors expose the unwritten words and
invite the reader on an unfettered journey of their reality. Claude McKay’s “The Lynching” and
Gwendolyn Brooks’ “The Last Quatrain of the Ballad of Emmett Till” are powerful poems that,
along with James Baldwin’s “Going to Meet the Man” depict the atrocity and brutality of a
nation shrouded in racism. The writings expose not only those infected with the disease of
bigotry, but allow the reader into the lives of the victims of it. There is none of the
abovementioned political-correctness; that is a luxury that the characters (both in historical
reality and in the imaginings of the authors) were not afforded.
The words in McKay’s poem “The Lynching” incite the reader to view a tableau of a man
hanged and the eager spectators who came to behold the sight: “Day dawned, and soon the
mixed crowds came to view/The ghastly body swaying in the sun” (9-10). The scene is vivid and
gory and the audience seems to feed on the brutality. McKay describes children in a state of
fervor, excited by the death they have been brought to observe: “And little lads, lynchers that
were to be/Danced round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee” (13-14). The fate of the little boys
seems almost inescapable; just as water is certain to flow downward, they are to become the next
generation of executioners. Perhaps the most disturbing depiction is that of the women: “The
women thronged to look, but never a one/Showed sorrow in her eyes of steely blue” (11-12). The
indifference is horrifying and brings to mind Eli Wiesel’s speech, “The Perils of Indifference” in
which he cites indifference as the cause of a myriad of crimes against humanity and as both the
catalyst and sustainer of brutal acts.
While McKay’s written words are the means by which he conveys his outrage at racism,
the unwritten words of Brooks’ “The Last Quatrain in the Ballad of Emmett Till” are what speak
the loudest. The title itself conveys the idea that the poem is just the last paragraph of a longer
story; the story of the Emmett Till’s life is untold and the poem starts with his death. Brooks
opens with a statement of time: “After the murder/after the burial” (1-2). One knows right away
that Till was murdered; however, unlike McKay, Brooks never details the brutality of the murder
with vivid imagery. Rather, she writes concise lines describing stark images that are
simultaneously filled with color: “…The tint of pulled taffy/…red room/…black
coffee…/…windy greys…/red prairie” (4-5-6-9-10). She embodies the importance of writing
about what is in between the lines of the history textbook by inviting the reader to read what is in
between her lines; it is there that the “killed boy” (7) suffered and perished.
James Baldwin, in “Going to Meet the Man” seems to pick one of the McKay’s future
executioners right out of the last line of her poem, name him Jesse and expose what he has
become due to his witnessing of a lynching. Baldwin illustrates for the reader a scene of absolute
horror as Jesse and his parents observe in awe:
He watched his mother’s face. Her eyes were very bright, her mouth was open: she was
more beautiful than he had ever seen her, and more strange. He began to feel a joy he had
never felt before. He watched the hanging, gleaming body, the most beautiful and terrible
object he had ever seen till then. (Norton 1391)
Jesse is studying his mother’s face, amazed at the beauty she exudes while watching a murder
take place; he is aware of the feelings of awe and wonderment that he feels welling up inside
him. This is a moment in his life that has shaped and molded the person he is to become: a
sadistic, violent, racist, and near impotent man. His wife fails to arouse him, yet violence invokes
sexuality and physical reaction.
Baldwin shocks the reader with his descriptions of violence, especially when he details
the emasculation of the hanging man: “Then Jesse screamed, and the crowd screamed as the
knife flashed, first up, then down, cutting the dreadful thing away, and the blood came roaring
down” (Norton 1391). He leaves his audience in despair, wishing they had been shielded from
events that were deemed better not to talk about; Baldwin forces the reader to hear them, feel
them, and live them. He shows the reader the transition of a young, somewhat innocent boy to
that of a monstrous and racist police officer; this transition, as McKay wrote in “The Lynching”,
is unavoidable: it is fate. The transition is also the most important part of the story; the defining
moment when Jesse no longer possesses innocence; when something disturbing starts to fester
and grow inside of him, until it eventually consumes him.
One can argue that Baldwin’s use of nauseating descriptions might repel and disgust the
reader so much so that many of his points are swallowed up or left undiscovered; however,
Baldwin simply gives the reader an unadorned reality, one in which the victims of hatred had to
face every day. Why should the reader be shielded from mere words while the people suffering
the reality of the actions weren’t offered any protection? What may be considered hyperbole to
certain critics might very well be authenticity to one who has lived and observed the ruthless acts
that pervaded the history of our nation. Baldwin, Brooks and McKay left their audiences
unprotected; they weren’t politically correct or careful; they simply wrote. The comfort of the
reader must be challenged in order for their words to have meaning and cause action. They chose
to avoid the route of indifference. Words are left ringing quietly in the ears of the readers: “Come
on, sugar, I’m going to do you like a nigger, just like a nigger, come on, sugar…” (Norton 1392).