Black History Month Day 16.

For My People
By Margaret Walker (1915-1998)

For my people everywhere singing their slave songs
Read and listen to the complete poem here.

Black History Month Day 15.

Mr. Roosevelt Regrets (Detroit Riot, 1943)
By Pauli Murray (1910–1985)

Upon reading PM newspaper’s account of Mr. Roosevelt’s statement on the recent race clashes: “I share your feeling that the recent outbreaks of violence in widely spread parts of the country endanger our national unity and comfort our enemies. I am sure that every true American regrets this.”

Read the complete poem here.

Black History Month Day 14.

A Negro Love Song
By Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)

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 couldn’t ba’ to go–
Jump back, honey, jump back.

Put my ahm aroun’ huh wais’,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Raised huh lips an’ took a tase,
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.

This poem is in the public domain.

Black History Month Day 13.

Patricia Smith is a contemporary poet who combines personal with political to tell powerful stories. She is a consummate performer.
The following poem appears in her hurricane Katrina poem collection, Blood Dazzler, which tells the hurricane’s detailed story.

Siblings
By Patricia Smith (1955-)

Hurricanes, 2005

Arlene learned to dance backwards in heels that were too high.
Read the poem here.

Listen to her read “Siblings” here.

Black History Month Day 12.

There are so many poets who are relatively unknown to the world. I have been actively reading and researching poetry for many years, yet I never encountered this poet. I am glad I found her now. This New Yorker article sheds light on her work.

La Vie C’est La Vie
By Jessie Redmon Fauset (1882-1961)

On summer afternoons I sit
Quiescent by you in the park,
And idly watch the sunbeams gild
And tint the ash-trees’ bark.
Or else I watch the squirrels frisk
And chaffer in the grassy lane;
And all the while I mark your voice
Breaking with love and pain.
I know a woman who would give
Her chance of heaven to take my place;
To see the love-light in your eyes,
The love-glow on your face!

And there’s a man whose lightest word
Can set my chilly blood afire;
Fulfillment of his least behest
Defines my life’s desire.

But he will none of me, nor I
Of you. Nor you of her. ‘Tis said
The world is full of jests like these –
I wish that I were dead.

This poem is in the public domain.

Black History Month Day 11.

Although a lot of Nikki Giovanni’s poetry is based on socio-political upheavals, she also wrote semi-autobiographical poems that stem from her own experiences in life. She became a staunch supporter of other black women poets as well women in general. I chose “Mothers” because mother-daughter relationships fascinate me.

Mothers
Nikki Giovanni (1943-)

the last time i was home
to see my mother we kissed
Read the complete poem.

Black History Month Day 10.

To appreciate the poem, it’s necessary to be familiar with the story of Persephone and her mother, Demeter. In case you have forgotten, here is the myth of Persephone. The poem can be read as a piece of parental advice from a mother to her daughter. It is a scorching commentary on the society in which an innocent girl exploring the world on her own looking for “One narcissus among the ordinary” (something exceptional) should be punished severely for her quest.

Persephone, Falling
By Rita Dove (1952-)

One narcissus among the ordinary beautiful
flowers, one unlike all the others! She pulled,
Read the complete poem here.

Black History Month Day 9.

Gwendolyn Brooks is the 20th-century black poet of the post-slavery era. Her poetry deals with the struggles of the ordinary people in the community. She is widely known for her often-quoted poem “We Real Cool.” “The Mother” is a heart-wrenching poem of the void that was never filled with the lives of children because they were or had to be aborted.

The Mother
By Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000)
Abortions will not let you forget.
Read the complete poem here.

Black History Month Day 8.

Audre Lorde is a monumental foremother for women poets. Her phenomenal work on the issues of race, gender, sexual orientation, class, age, and ability is inspiring. Here is a favorite poem about the spirit that speaks despite all the issues mentioned earlier.

A Litany for Survival
By Audre Lorde (1934-1992)

For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
Read the complete poem.

Black History Month Day 7.

Black American history could not be told without understanding Middle Passage Slave Trade. I wanted to introduce the poem “Slaveships” by Lucille Clifton (1936-2010). Since this poem is not in public domain, here is a much older poem on the same topic.

The Slave Ships
By John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892)

“ALL ready?” cried the captain;
“Ay, ay!” the seamen said;
“Heave up the worthless lubbers, –
The dying and the dead.”
Up from the slave-ship’s prison
Fierce, bearded heads were thrust
“Now let the sharks look to it, –
Toss up the dead ones first!”
Corpse after corpse came up, –
Death had been busy there;
Where every blow is mercy,
Why should the spoiler spare?
Corpse after corpse they cast
Sullenly from the ship,
Yet bloody with the traces
Of fetter-link and whip.
Gloomily stood the captain,
With his arms upon his breast,
With his cold brow sternly knotted,
And his iron lip compressed.
“Are all the dead dogs over?”
Growled through that matted lip;
“The blind ones are no better,
Let’s lighten the good ship.”
Hark! from the ship’s dark bosom,
The very sounds of hell!
The ringing clank of iron,
The maniac’s short, sharp yell!
The hoarse, low curse, throat-stified;
The starving infant’s moan,
The horror of a breaking heart
Poured through a mother’s groan.
Up from that loathsome prison
The stricken blind ones came:
Below, had all been darkness,
Above, was still the same.
Yet the holy breath of heaven
Was sweetly breathing there,
And the heated brow of fever
Cooled in the soft sea air.
“Overboard with them, shipmates!”
Cutlass and dirk were plied;
Fettered and blind, one after one,
Plunged down the vessel’s side.
The sabre smote above,.
Beneath, the lean shark lay,
Waiting with wide and bloody jaw
His quick and human prey.
God of the earth! what cries
Rang upward unto thee?
Voices of agony and blood,
From ship-deck and from sea.
The last dull plunge was heard,
The last wave caught its stain,
And the unsated shark looked up
For human hearts in vain.
Champion of those who groan beneath
Oppression’s iron hand:
In view of penury, hate, and death,
I see thee fearless stand.
Still bearing up thy lofty brow,
In the steadfast strength of truth,
In manhood sealing well the vow
And promise of thy youth.
Go on, for thou hast chosen well;
On in the strength of God!
Long as one human heart shall swell
Beneath the tyrant’s rod.
Speak in a slumbering nation’s ear,
As thou hast ever spoken,
Until the dead in sin shall hear,
The fetter’s link be broken!
I love thee with a brother’s love,
I feel my pulses thrill,
To mark thy Spirit soar above
The cloud of human ill.
My heart hath leaped to answer thine,
And echo back thy words,
As leaps the warrior’s at the shine
And flash of kindred swords!
They tell me thou art rash and vain,
A searcher after fame;
That thou art striving but to gain
A long-enduring name;
That thou hast nerved the Afric’s hand
And steeled the Afric’s heart,
To shake aloft his vengeful brand,
And rend his chain apart.
Have I not known thee well, and read
Thy mighty purpose long?
And watched the trials which have made
Thy human spirit strong?
And shall the slanderer’s demon breath
Avail with one like me,
To dim the sunshine of my faith
And earnest trust in thee?
Go on, the dagger’s point may glare
Amid thy pathway’s gloom;
The fate which sternly threatens there
Is glorious martyrdom!
Then onward with a martyr’s zeal;
And wait thy sure reward
When man to man no more shall kneel,
And God alone be Lord.
Ho! thou who seekest late and long
A License from the Holy Book
For brutal lust and fiendish wrong,
Man of the Pulpit, look!
Lift up those cold and atheist eyes,
This ripe fruit of thy teaching see;
And tell us how to heaven will rise
The incense of this sacrifice —
This blossom of the gallows tree!
Search out for slavery’s hour of need
Some fitting text of sacred writ;
Give heaven the credit of deed
Which shames the nether pit.
Kneel, smooth blasphemer, unto Him
Whose truth is on thy lips a lie;
Ask that His bright winged cherubim
May bend around that scaffold grim
To guard and bless and sanctify.
O champion of the people’s cause!
Suspend thy loud and vain rebuke
Of foreign wrong and Old World’s laws,
Man of the Senate, look!
Was this the promise of the free,
The great hope of our early time,
That slavery’s poison vine should be
Upborne by Freedom’s prayer-nursed tree
O’erclustered with such fruits of crime?
Send out the summons East and West,
And South and North, let all be there
Where he who pitied the oppressed
Swings out in sun and air.
Let not a Democratic hand
The grisly hangman’s task refuse;
There let each loyal patriot stand,
Awaiting slavery’s command,
To twist the rope and draw the noose!

This poem is in public domain.