Paul Laurence Dunbar was the first African-American poet to garner national critical acclaim. Born in Dayton, Ohio, in 1872,
Dunbar penned a large body of dialect poems, standard English poems, essays, novels and short stories before he died at the
age of 33. His work often addressed the difficulties encountered by members of his race and the efforts of African-Americans
to achieve equality in America. He was praised both by the prominent literary critics of his time and his literary contemporaries.
Dunbar was born on June 27, 1872, to Matilda and Joshua Dunbar, both natives of Kentucky. His mother was a former slave
and his father had escaped from slavery and served in the 55th Massachusetts Infantry Regiment and the 5th Massachusetts
Colored Cavalry Regiment during the Civil War. Matilda and Joshua had two children before separating in 1874. Matilda also
had two children from a previous marriage.
The family was poor, and after Joshua left, Matilda supported her children by working in Dayton as a washerwoman. One of
the families she worked for was the family of Orville and Wilbur Wright, with whom her son attended Dayton's Central High
School. Though the Dunbar family had little material wealth, Matilda, always a great support to Dunbar as his literary stature
grew, taught her children a love of songs and storytelling. Having heard poems read by the family she worked for when she
was a slave, Matilda loved poetry and encouraged her children to read. Dunbar was inspired by his mother, and he began
reciting and writing poetry as early as age 6.
Dunbar was the only African-American in his class at Dayton Central High, and while he often had difficulty finding
employment because of his race, he rose to great heights in school. He was a member of the debating society, editor of the
school paper and president of the school's literary society. He also wrote for Dayton community newspapers. He worked as an
elevator operator in Dayton's Callahan Building until he established himself locally and nationally as a writer. He published an
African-American newsletter in Dayton, the Dayton Tattler, with help from the Wright brothers.
We Wear the Mask.
WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our
eyes,-This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
Sympathy
I KNOW what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals —
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting —
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings —
I know why the caged bird sings!
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Love me, honey, love me true?
Love me well ez I love you?
An' she answe'd, "'Cose I do"
Jump back, honey, jump back.
A Negro Love Song
SEEN my lady home las' night,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Hel' huh han' an' sque'z it tight,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Hyeahd huh sigh a little sigh,
Seen a light gleam f'om huh eye,
An' a smile go flittin' by
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Hyeahd de win' blow thoo de pine,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Mockin'-bird was singin' fine,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
An' my hea't was beatin' so,
When I reached my lady's do',
Dat I could n't ba' to goJump back, honey, jump back.
Put my ahm aroun' huh wais',
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Raised huh lips an' took a tase,
Little Brown Baby
Little brown baby wif spa’klin’ eyes,
Come to yo’ pappy an’ set on his knee.
What you been doin’, suh—makin’ san’ pies?
Look at dat bib—you’s ez du’ty ez me.
Look at dat mouf—dat’s merlasses, I bet;
Come hyeah, Maria, an’ wipe off his han’s.
Bees gwine to ketch you an’ eat you up yit,
Bein’ so sticky an’ sweet—goodness lan’s!
Little brown baby wif spa’klin’ eyes,
Who’s pappy’s darlin’ an’ who’s pappy’s
chile?
Who is it all de day nevah once tries
Fu’ to be cross, er once loses dat smile?
Whah did you git dem teef? My, you’s a
scamp!
Whah did dat dimple come f’om in yo’ chin?
Paapy’s do’ know yo—I b’lieves you’s a tramp;
Mammy, dis hyeah’s some ol’ straggler
got in!
Let’s th’ow him outen de do’ in de san’,
We do’ want stragglers a-layin’ ‘roun’ hyeah;
Let’s gin him ‘way to de big buggah-man;
I know he’s hidin’ erroun’ hyeah right neah.
Buggah-man, buggah-man, come in de do’,
Hyeah’s a bad boy you kin have fu’ to eat.
Mammy an’ pappy do’ want him no mo’,
Swaller him down f’om his haid to his feet!
Dah, now, I t’ought dat you’d hug me up close.
Go back, ol’ buggah, you sha’n’t have dis
boy.
He ain’t no tramp, ner no straggler, of co’se;
He’s pappy’ pa’dner an’ playmate an’ joy.
Come to you’ pallet now—go to yo’ res’;
Wisht you could allus know ease an cleah
skies
Wisht you could stay jes’ a chile on my breas’—
Little brown baby wif spa’klin’ eyes!
Sterling A. Brown's Life and Career
Sterling Allen Brown was born on May 1901 into some have called the "smug" or even "affected" respectability of
Washington’s African American middle class. He grew up in the Washington world of official segregation, which engendered a
contradiction between full citizenship and marginalized existence. The son of a distinguished pastor and theologian, Brown
graduated with honors from the prestigious Dunbar High School in 1918. That fall, he entered Williams College on a
scholarship set aside for minority students. By the time he left in 1922, he had performed spectacularly: election to Phi Beta
Kappa in his junior year, the Graves Prize for his essay "The Comic Spirit in Shakespeare and Moliére," the only student
awarded "Final Honors" in English, and cum laude graduation with an AB degree.
At Harvard University from 1922 to 1923, Brown took an MA degree in English. In retrospect, he always talked about his
fortuitous discovery of Louis Untermeyer’s Modern American Poetry (1921). This anthology, more than any other single work
he read, radically altered his view of art by introducing him to the New American Poetry of Edwin Arlington Robinson, Robert
Frost, Carl Sandburg, Vachel Lindsay, and other experimenters in melding vernacular language, democratic values, and "the
extraordinary in ordinary life." When he left, however, he left knowing what the illustrator of Southern Road (1932) would later
observe about him: "Harvard only gave you the way to put it down, not how to feel about things."
Ma Rainey
I
When Ma Rainey
Comes to town,
Folks from anyplace
Miles aroun’,
From Cape Girardeau,
Poplar Bluff,
Flocks in to hear
Ma do her stuff;
Comes flivverin’ in,
Or ridin’ mules,
Or packed in trains,
Picknickin’ fools. . . .
That’s what it’s like,
Fo’ miles on down,
To New Orleans delta
An’ Mobile town,
When Ma hits
Anywheres aroun’.
II
Dey comes to hear Ma Rainey from de little river settlements,
From blackbottorn cornrows and from lumber camps;
Dey stumble in de hall, jes a-laughin’ an’ a-cacklin’,
Cheerin’ lak roarin’ water, lak wind in river swamps.
An’ some jokers keeps deir laughs a-goin’ in de crowded aisles,
An’ some folks sits dere waitin’ wid deir aches an’ miseries,
Till Ma comes out before dem, a-smilin’ gold-toofed smiles
An’ Long Boy ripples minors on de black an’ yellow keys.
III
O Ma Rainey,
Sing yo’ song;
Now you’s back
Whah you belong,
Git way inside us,
Keep us strong. . . .
O Ma Rainey,
Li’l an’ low;
Sing us ’bout de hard luck
Roun’ our do’;
Sing us ’bout de lonesome road
We mus’ go. . . .
IV
I talked to a fellow, an’ the fellow say,
“She jes’ catch hold of us, somekindaway.
She sang Backwater Blues one day:
‘It rained fo’ days an’ de skies was dark as night,
Trouble taken place in de lowlands at night.
‘Thundered an’ lightened an’ the storm begin to roll
Thousan’s of people ain’t got no place to go.
‘Den I went an’ stood upon some high ol’ lonesome hill,
An’ looked down on the place where I used to live.’
An’ den de folks, dey natchally bowed dey heads an’ cried,
Bowed dey heavy heads, shet dey moufs up tight an’ cried,
An’ Ma lef’ de stage, an’ followed some de folks outside.”
Dere wasn’t much more de fellow say:
She jes’ gits hold of us dataway.
Memphis Blues
1
Nineveh, Tyre
Babylon,
Not much lef'
Of either one.
All dese cities
Ashes and rust,
De win' sing sperrichals
Through deir dus'….
Was another Memphis
Mongst de olden days,
Done been destroyed
In many ways…
Dis here Memphis
It may go
Floods may drown it;
Tornado blow;
Mississippi wash it
Down to sea—Like de other Memphis in
History.
2
Watcha gonna do when Memphis on fire,
Memphis on fire, Mistah Preachin' Man?
Gonna pray to Jesus and nebber tire,
Gonna pray to Jesus, loud as I can,
Gonna pray to my Jesus, oh, my Lawd!
Watcha gonna do when de tall flames roar,
Tall flames roar, Mistah Lovin' Man?
Gonna love my brwonskin better'n before—
Gonna love my baby lak a do right man,
Gonna love my brown baby, oh, my Lawd
Whatcha gonna do when Memphis falls down,
Memphis falls down, Mistah Music Man?
Gonna plunk on dat box as long as it soun'
Gonna plunk dat box fo' to beat de ban',
Gonna tickle dem ivories, oh, my Lawd!
Watcha gonna do in de hurrican,
In de hurricane, Mistah Workin' Man?
Gonna put dem buildings up again,
Gonna put em up dis time to stan',
Gonna push a wicked wheelbarrow, oh, my Lawd!
Watcha gonna do when Memphis near gone,
Memphis near gone, Mistah Drinkin' Man?
Gonna grab a pint bottle of Mountain Corn,
Gonna keep de stopper in my han',
Gonna get a mean jag on, oh, my Lawd!
Watcha gonna do when de flood roll fas',
Flood roll fas', Mistah Gamblin' Man?
Gonna pick up my dice fo' one las' pass—Gonna fade my way to de lucky lan',
Gonna throw my las' seven—-oh, my Lawd!
3
Memphis go
By Flood or Flame;
Nigger won't worry
All de same—Memphis go
Memphis come back,
Ain' no skin
Off de nigger's back.
All dese cities
Ashes, rust….
De win' sing sperrichals
Through deir dus'.
The Weary Blues
Jazzonia
Langston Hughes
Oh, silver tree!
Oh, shining rivers of the soul!
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
fool.
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
floor.
24
more-25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
head.
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway ....
He did a lazy sway ....
To the tune o' those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical
In a Harlem cabaret
Six long-headed jazzers play.
A dancing girl whose eyes are bold
Lifts high a dress of silken gold.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man's soul.
O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan-"Ain't got nobody in all this world,
Ain't got nobody but ma self.
I's gwine to quit ma frownin'
And put ma troubles on the shelf."
Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the
Oh, shining tree!
Oh, silver rivers of the soul!
He played a few chords then he sang some
"I got the Weary Blues
And I can't be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues
And can't be satisfied-I ain't happy no mo'
And I wish that I had died."
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his
35
He slept like a rock or a man that's
dead.
Oh, singing tree!
Oh, shining rivers of the soul!
Were Eve's eyes
In the first garden
Just a bit too bold?
Was Cleopatra gorgeous
In a gown of gold?
In a whirling cabaret
Six long-headed jazzers play.
Questions to consider:
In your groups, please answer the following questions on a sheet of paper.
In groups, identify the theme of the poem: What is the universal message that each poet
is trying to convey?
What is the tone of the poem? What is the author’s attitude towards his or her subject?
What are some of the literary devices that the poets employ or use to convey their
meaning? Give some specific examples.
What lines, images and other words stand out as strong examples for your group? Write
down a few lines that stood out.
How are these poems like music? What lines or rhythms make these poems more
musical?
Are there any connections that can be established between these poems and the
language and themes of Their Eyes Were Watching God? Identify a few of the
connections that you can make. There are definitely connections.
Can you think of any recent songs that are more like poems than songs? Write down
some of the lyrics and titles of the songs that make you think these songs tend to be
more poetic than a mere song.