“Yes, the Blacks enjoy
their freedom,
And they won it dearly, too;
For the life blood of their thousands
Did the southern fields bedew.
In the darkness of their bondage,
In the depths of slavery’s night,
Their muskets flashed the dawning,
And they fought their way to light.
“They were comrades then
and brothers,
Are they more or less to–day?
They were good to stop a bullet
And to front the fearful fray.
They were citizens and soldiers,
When rebellion raised its head;
And the traits that made them worthy,—
Ah! those virtues are not dead.”—African-American poet-novelist Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906), “The Colored Soldiers,” in Lyrics of Lowly Life (1896)
I wanted to
include some verses by Paul Laurence Dunbar, born 150 years ago today in
Dayton, Ohio. Even before reading the above lines, I had been interested in the
contribution of African-American soldiers in the Civil War.
But I think Dunbar—one
of the first African-Americans to earn a living from writing—invested his poem “The
Colored Soldiers” with even greater depth of feeling because his father Joshua,
a Kentucky slave who escaped to Canada before the war, returned to serve with
the 55th Massachusetts Regiment.
After Joshua
separated from his wife Matilda, Paul was raised by his mother, who encouraged
him to pursue writing. From an early age, he displayed his talent, editing
while in high school a short-lived paper The Dayton Tattler (printed, incidentally,
by his classmate, future aviation pioneer Orville Wright).
In certain ways,
Dunbar’s career resembles that of Stephen Crane. Both produced an enormous both
of prose and poetry, drank heavily and died far too soon of tuberculosis. Both
also dealt at one point or another with war and racism.
The title of Maya
Angelou’s famous memoir, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, derives from a
Dunbar poem, “Sympathy.”
Five years ago, filmmaker
Frederick Lewis created a feature-length documentary on Dunbar’s life, Behind
the Mask, taken from the title of one of the writer’s poems.
And they won it dearly, too;
For the life blood of their thousands
Did the southern fields bedew.
In the darkness of their bondage,
In the depths of slavery’s night,
Their muskets flashed the dawning,
And they fought their way to light.
Are they more or less to–day?
They were good to stop a bullet
And to front the fearful fray.
They were citizens and soldiers,
When rebellion raised its head;
And the traits that made them worthy,—
Ah! those virtues are not dead.”—African-American poet-novelist Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906), “The Colored Soldiers,” in Lyrics of Lowly Life (1896)
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