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Paul Laurence Dunbar - Poems Classic Poetry Series Paul Laurence Dunbar - poems - Publication Date: 2004 Publisher: Poemhunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive Paul Laurence Dunbar(1872-1906) Dunbar was born in Dayton, Ohio to parents who had escaped from slavery; his father was a veteran of the American Civil War, having served in the 55th Massachusetts Infantry Regiment and the 5th Massachusetts Colored Cavalry Regiment. His parents instilled in him a love of learning and history. He was a student at an all-white high school, Dayton Central High School, and he participated actively as a student. During high school, he was both the editor of the school newspaper and class president, as well as the president of the school literary society. Dunbar had also started the first African-American newsletter in Dayton. He wrote his first poem at age 6 and gave his first public recital at age 9. Dunbar's first published work came in a newspaper put out by his high school friends Wilbur and Orville Wright, who owned a printing plant. The Wright Brothers later invested in the Dayton Tattler, a newspaper aimed at the black community, edited and published by Dunbar. His first collection of poetry, Oak and Ivy, was published in 1892 and attracted the attention of James Whitcomb Riley, the popular "Hoosier Poet". Both Riley and Dunbar wrote poems in both standard English and dialect. His second book, Majors and Minors (1895) brought him national fame and the patronage of William Dean Howells, the novelist and critic and editor of Harper's Weekly. After Howells' praise, his first two books were combined as Lyrics of Lowly Life and Dunbar started on a career of international literary fame. He moved to Washington, D.C., in the LeDroit Park neighborhood. While in Washington, he attended Howard University. His wife Alice Dunbar Nelson was a famous poet as well. A graduate of Dillard University in New Orleans, her most famous works include a short story entitled "Violets". She and her husband also wrote books of poetry as companion pieces. An account of their love, life and marriage was depicted in a play by Kathleen McGhee-Anderson titled Oak and Ivy. He kept a lifelong friendship with the Wrights, and was also associated with Frederick Douglass and Booker T. Washington. Brand Whitlock was also described as a close friend. He was honored with a ceremonial sword by President Theodore Roosevelt. He wrote a dozen books of poetry, four books of short stories, five novels, and a play. He also wrote lyrics for In Dahomey - the first musical written and www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 1 performed entirely by African-Americans to appear on Broadway in 1903; the musical comedy played successfully toured England and America over a period of four years - one of the more successful theatrical productions of its time. His essays and poems were published widely in the leading journals of the day. His work appeared in Harper's Weekly, the Saturday Evening Post, the Denver Post, Current Literature and a number of other publications. During his life, considerable emphasis was laid on the fact that Dunbar was of pure black descent, with no white ancestors ever. Dunbar's work is known for its colorful language and use of dialect, and a conversational tone, with a brilliant rhetorical structure. Dunbar traveled to England in 1897 to recite his works on the London literary circuit. He met the brilliant young black composer Samuel Coleridge-Taylor who some of his poems to music and who was influenced by Dunbar to use African and American Negro songs and tunes in future compositions. After his return, Dunbar took a job at the Library of Congress in Washington. In 1900, Dunbar was diagnosed with tuberculosis, and moved to Colorado with his wife on the advice of his doctors. Dunbar died at age thirty-three on February 9, 1906 from tuberculosis, and was interred in the Woodland Cemetery, Dayton, Ohio. www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 2 A Back-Log Song De axes has been ringin' in de woods de blessid day, An' de chips has been a-fallin' fa' an' thick; Dey has cut de bigges' hick'ry dat de mules kin tote away, An' dey's laid hit down and soaked it in de crik. Den dey tuk hit to de big house an' dey piled de wood erroun' In de fiah-place f'om ash-flo' to de flue, While ol' Ezry sta'ts de hymn dat evah yeah has got to soun' When de back-log fus' commence a-bu'nin' thoo. Ol' Mastah is a-smilin' on de da'kies f'om de hall, Ol' Mistus is a-stannin' in de do', An' de young folks, males an' misses, is a-tryin', one an' all, Fu' to mek us feel hit 's Chrismus time fu' sho'. An' ouah hea'ts are full of pleasure, fu' we know de time is ouahs Fu' to dance er do jes' whut we wants to do. An' dey ain't no ovahseer an' no othah kind o' powahs Dat kin stop us while dat log is bu'nin thoo. Dey 's a-wokin' in de qua'tahs a-preparin' fu' de feas', So de little pigs is feelin' kind o' shy. De chickens ain't so trus'ful ez dey was, to say de leas', An' de wise ol' hens is roostin' mighty high. You could n't git a gobblah fu' to look you in de face-- I ain't sayin' whut de tu'ky 'spects is true; But hit's mighty dange'ous trav'lin' fu' de critters on de place F'om de time dat log commence a bu'nin' thoo. Some one's tunin' up his fiddle dah, I hyeah a banjo's ring, An', bless me, dat's de tootin' of a ho'n! Now dey 'll evah one be runnin' dat has got a foot to fling, An' dey 'll dance an' frolic on f'om now 'twell mo'n. Plunk de banjo, scrap de fiddle, blow dat ho'n yo' level bes', Keep yo' min' erpon de chune an' step it true. Oh, dey ain't no time fu' stoppin' an' dey ain't no time fu' res', Fu' hit 's Chrismus an' de back-log 's bu'nin' thoo! Paul Laurence Dunbar www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 3 A Banjo Song OH, dere's lots o' keer an' trouble In dis world to swaller down; An' ol' Sorrer's purty lively In her way o' gittin' roun'. Yet dere's times when I furgit 'em, — Aches an' pains an' troubles all, — An' it's when I tek at ebenin' My ol' banjo f'om de wall. 'Bout de time dat night is fallin' An' my daily wu'k is done, An' above de shady hilltops I kin see de settin' sun; When de quiet, restful shadders Is beginnin' jes' to fall, — Den I take de little banjo F'om its place upon de wall. Den my fam'ly gadders roun' me In de fadin' o' de light, Ez I strike de strings to try 'em Ef dey all is tuned er-right. An' it seems we're so nigh heaben We kin hyeah de angels sing When de music o' dat banjo Sets my cabin all er-ring. An' my wife an' all de othahs, — Male an' female, small an' big, — Even up to gray-haired granny, Seem jes' boun' to do a jig; 'Twell I change de style o' music, Change de movement an' de time, An' de ringin' little banjo Plays an ol' hea't-feelin' hime. An' somehow my th'oat gits choky, An' a lump keeps tryin' to rise Lak it wan'ed to ketch de water Dat was flowin' to my eyes; An' I feel dat I could sorter Knock de socks clean off o' sin Ez I hyeah my po' ol' granny www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 4 Wif huh tremblin' voice jine in. Den we all th'ow in our voices Fu' to he'p de chune out too, Lak a big camp-meetin' choiry Tryin' to sing a mou'nah th'oo. An' our th'oahts let out de music, Sweet an' solemn, loud an' free, 'Twell de raftahs o' my cabin Echo wif de melody. Oh, de music o' de banjo, Quick an' deb'lish, solemn, slow, Is de greates' joy an' solace Dat a weary slave kin know! So jes' let me hyeah it ringin', Dough de chune be po' an' rough, It's a pleasure; an' de pleasures O' dis life is few enough. Now, de blessed little angels Up in heaben, we are told, Don't do nothin' all dere lifetime 'Ceptin' play on ha'ps o' gold. Now I think heaben'd be mo' homelike Ef we'd hyeah some music fall F'om a real ol'-fashioned banjo, Like dat one upon de wall. Paul Laurence Dunbar www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 5 A Border Ballad OH, I haven't got long to live, for we all Die soon, e'en those who live longest; And the poorest and weakest are taking their chance Along with the richest and strongest. So it's heigho for a glass and a song, And a bright eye over the table, And a dog for the hunt when the game is flush. And the pick of a gentleman's stable. There is Dimmock o' Dune, he was here yesternight, But he's rotting to-day on Glen Arragh; 'Twas the hand o' MacPherson that gave him the blow, And the vultures shall feast on his marrow.
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