Paul Laurence Dunbar

Paul Laurence Dunbar was an American poet, novelist, and playwrite of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Born in Dayton, Ohio to parents who had been enslaved in Kentucky before the American Civil War.  Dunbar began to write stories and verse when still a child and was president of his high school's literary society. He published his first poems at the age of 16 in a Dayton newapaper. Much of Dunbar's more popular work in his lifetime was written in the Negro dialect associated with the antebellum South, though he wrote in several dialects, including German and the midwestern regional dialect of James Whitcomb Riley. Dunbar's work was praised by William Dean Howell's a leading editor associated with the Harper's Weekly, and Dunbar was one of the first African American writers to establish an international reputation. He wrote the lyrics to the musical comedy, In Dahomey (1903), the first all African American musical produced on broadway; the musical also toured in the United States and the United Kingdom. Dunbar also wrote in conventional English in other poetry and novels; since the late 20th century, scholars have become more interested in these other works. *wikipedia 

Paul Laurence Dunbar, was a poet who also influenced my writing. After reading his work I began to experiment with slave dialect poetry, it was fun and very challenging. What I find most interesting of Mr. Dunbar's work, it still echoes the same dynamics of racism that exists today, over a hundred years later. In the poem 'We Wear The Mask,' he describes the mask/the pain and suffering of black people living in a society where we are are always judged, treated unfairly and scorned simply for the color of our skin.

Below are a few of Paul Dunbar's poems

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!

(Slave Dialect Poem)

When Malindy Sings

G'way an' quit dat noise, Miss Lucy--

Put dat music book away;

What's de use to keep on tryin'?

Ef you practise twell you're gray,

You cain't sta't no notes a-flyin'

Lak de ones dat rants and rings

F'om de kitchen to de big woods

When Malindy sings.

You ain't got de nachel o'gans

Fu' to make de soun' come right,

You ain't got de tu'ns an' twistin's

Fu' to make it sweet an' light.

Tell you one thing now, Miss Lucy,

An' I 'm tellin' you fu' true,

When hit comes to raal right singin',

'T ain't no easy thing to do.

Easy 'nough fu' folks to hollah,

Lookin' at de lines an' dots,

When dey ain't no one kin sence it,

An' de chune comes in, in spots;

But fu' real malojous music,

Dat jes' strikes yo' hea't and clings,

Jes' you stan' an' listen wif me

When Malindy sings.

Ain't you nevah hyeahd Malindy?

Blessed soul, tek up de cross!

Look hyeah, ain't you jokin', honey?

Well, you don't know whut you los'.

Y' ought to hyeah dat gal a-wa'blin',

Robins, la'ks, an' all dem things,

Heish dey moufs an' hides dey face.

When Malindy sings.

Fiddlin' man jes' stop his fiddlin',

Lay his fiddle on de she'f;

Mockin'-bird quit tryin' to whistle,

'Cause he jes' so shamed hisse'f.

Folks a-playin' on de banjo

Draps dey fingahs on de strings--

Bless yo' soul--fu'gits to move 'em,

When Malindy sings.

She jes' spreads huh mouf and hollahs,

"Come to Jesus," twell you hyeah

Sinnahs' tremblin' steps and voices,

Timid-lak a-drawin' neah;

Den she tu'ns to "Rock of Ages,"

Simply to de cross she clings,

An' you fin' yo' teahs a-drappin'

When Malindy sings.

Who dat says dat humble praises

Wif de Master nevah counts?

Heish yo' mouf, I hyeah dat music,

Ez hit rises up an' mounts--

Floatin' by de hills an' valleys,

Way above dis buryin' sod,

Ez hit makes its way in glory

To de very gates of God!

Oh, hit's sweetah dan de music

Of an edicated band;

An' hit's dearah dan de battle's

Song o' triumph in de lan'.

It seems holier dan evenin'

When de solemn chu'ch bell rings,

Ez I sit an' ca'mly listen

While Malindy sings.

Towsah, stop dat ba'kin', hyeah me!

Mandy, mek dat chile keep still;

Don't you hyeah de echoes callin'

F'om de valley to de hill?

Let me listen, I can hyeah it,

Th'oo de bresh of angel's wings,

Sof' an' sweet, "Swing Low, 

Sweet Chariot,"

Ez Malindy sings. 

Suppose

IF 'twere fair to suppose

That your heart were not taken,

That the dew from the rose

Petals still were not shaken, 

I should pluck you,

Howe'er you should thorn me and scorn me,

And wear you for life as the green of the 

bower.

If 'twere fair to suppose

That that road was for vagrants,

That the wind and the rose,

Counted all in their fragrance;

Oh, my dear one,

By love, I should take you and make you
,

The green of my life from the scintillant hour.

Forever

I HAD not known before

Forever was so long a word.

The slow stroke of the clock of time

I had not heard.

'Tis hard to learn so late;

It seems no sad heart really learns,

But hopes and trusts and doubts and fears,

And bleeds and burns.

The night is not all dark,

Nor is the day all it seems,

But each may bring me this relief 

My dreams and dreams.

I had not known before

That Never was so sad a word,

So wrap me in forgetfulness 

I have not heard.