tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90570502222532769252024-03-29T04:29:52.345+01:00Vibes of humanityOutlet of revolutionary words hoping to sprout.
AFRICA the vein of the world; Babylon the cutterCarinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-53102608000562544462012-06-28T23:27:00.001+02:002012-06-28T23:27:25.503+02:00“Sympathy”, “We Wear the Mask” & “Harriet Beecher Stowe” by Paul Laurence Dunbar<!--[if !mso]>
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<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> A few more poems by Paul Laurence Dunbar.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> "Sympathy"</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">I know what the caged bird feels, alas! <br />
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes; <br />
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass, <br />
And the river flows like a stream of glass; <br />
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes, <br />
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals — <br />
I know what the caged bird feels! </span></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> I know why the caged bird beats his wing
<br />
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars; <br />
For he must fly back to his perch and cling <br />
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing; <br />
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars <br />
And they pulse again with a keener sting — <br />
I know why he beats his wing! </span></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> I know why the caged bird sings, ah me, <br />
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,— <br />
When he beats his bars and he would be free; <br />
It is not a carol of joy or glee, <br />
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep
core, <br />
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings — <br />
I know why the caged bird sings! </span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">"We Wear the Mask"</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We wear the mask that grins and lies, <br />
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,— <br />
This debt we pay to human guile; <br />
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, <br />
And mouth with myriad subtleties. </span></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> Why should the world be over-wise, <br />
In counting all our tears and sighs? <br />
Nay, let them only see us, while <br />
We wear the mask. </span></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
<br />
To thee from tortured souls arise. <br />
We sing, but oh the clay is vile <br />
Beneath our feet, and long the mile; <br />
But let the world dream otherwise, <br />
We wear the mask! </span></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
</div>
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</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
</div>
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</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Harriet Beecher Stowe”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She told the story, and the whole world wept<a href="" name="1"></a> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">At wrongs and cruelties it had not known<a href="" name="2"></a> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But for this fearless woman’s voice alone.<a href="" name="3"></a> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She spoke to consciences that long had slept:<a href="" name="4"></a> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Her message, Freedom’s clear reveille, swept</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">From heedless hovel to complacent throne.<a href="" name="6"></a> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Command and prophecy were in the tone,<a href="" name="7"></a>
</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And from its sheath the sword of justice leapt.<a href="" name="8"></a> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Around two peoples swelled a fiery wave,<a href="" name="9"></a> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But both came forth transfigured from the flame.
</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Blest be the hand that dared be strong to save,<a href="" name="11"></a> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And blest be she who in our weakness came—<a href="" name="12"></a> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Prophet and priestess! At one stroke she gave<a href="" name="13"></a> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A race to freedom and herself to fame.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.elitismstyle.com/blogazine/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/dunbar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.elitismstyle.com/blogazine/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/dunbar.jpg" width="248" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-22405273885428964382012-06-26T16:25:00.000+02:002012-06-26T16:26:28.370+02:00“Ere Sleep Comes Down to Soothe the Weary Eyes” by Paul Laurence Dunbar<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/af/Paul_Laurence_Dunbar_circa_1890.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/af/Paul_Laurence_Dunbar_circa_1890.jpg" width="172" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Born in </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Dayton</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">, </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Ohio</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">, 1872, Paul
Laurence Dunbar’s first collection of poems <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oak
and Ivy </i>was published in 1893. Because of the favourable review by William Dean Howells of </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Dunbar</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">’s second book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Majors and Minors </i>(1896), </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Dunbar</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">’s success was assured from
that time on and he became a national literary figure. Other works soon
followed, even after he was diagnosed with tuberculosis in 1900: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lyrics of Lowly Life </i>(1896), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Folks from Dixie </i>(1898), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lyrics of the Hearthside </i>(1899), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Strength of Gideon</i> (1900), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lyrics of Love and Laughter </i>(1903), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">In Old Plantation Days </i>(1903), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Heart of Happy Hollow </i>(1904) and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lyrics of Sunshine and Shadow </i>(1905). He
passed away in 1906.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Ere sleep comes
down to soothe the weary eyes,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> Which all the day with ceaseless care have
sought</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">The magic gold
which from the seeker flies;</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> Ere dreams put on the gown and cap of
thought,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">And make the
waking world a world of lies,—</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> Of lies most palpable, uncouth, forlorn,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">That say life’s
full of aches and tears and sighs,—</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> Oh, how with more than dreams the soul is
torn,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Ere sleep comes
down to soothe the weary eyes.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Ere sleep comes
down to soothe the weary eyes,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> How all the griefs and heart-aches we have
known</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Come up like
pois’nous vapors that arise</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> From some base witch’s caldron, when the
crone,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">To work some
potent spell, her magic plies.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> The past which held its share of bitter pain,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Whose ghost we
prayed that Time might exorcise,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> Comes up, is lived and suffered o’er again,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Ere sleep comes
down to soothe the weary eyes.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Ere sleep comes
down to soothe the weary eyes,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> What phantoms fill the dimly lighted room;</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">What ghostly
shades in awe-creating guise</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> Are bodied forth within the teeming gloom.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">What echoes faint
of sad and soul-sick cries,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> And pangs of vague inexplicable pain</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">That pay the
spirit’s ceaseless enterprise,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> Come thronging through the chambers of the
brain,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Ere sleep comes
down to soothe the weary eyes.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Ere sleep comes
down to soothe the weary eyes,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> Where ranges forth the spirit far and free?</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Through what
strange realms and unfamiliar skies</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> Tends her far course to lands of mystery?</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">To lands
unspeakable—beyond surmise,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> Where shapes unknowable to being spring,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Till, faint of
wing, the Fancy fails and dies</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> Much wearied with the spirit’s journeying,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Ere sleep comes
down to soothe the weary eyes.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Ere sleep comes
down to soothe the weary eyes,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> How questioneth the soul that other soul,—</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Gisha;">The inner sense which neither cheats nor lies,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Gisha;"> But self
exposes unto self, a scroll</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Gisha;">Full writ with all life’s acts unwise or wise,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Gisha;"> </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">In characters indelible and known;</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">So, trembling with
the shock of sad surprise,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> The soul doth view its awful self alone,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Ere sleep comes
down to soothe the weary eyes.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">When sleep comes
down to seal the weary eyes,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> The last dear sleep whose soft embrace is
balm,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">And whom sad
sorrow teaches us to prize</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> For kissing all our passions into calm,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Ah, then, no more
we heed the sad world’s cries,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> Or seek to probe th’ eternal mystery,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">Or fret our souls
at long-withheld replies,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;"> At glooms through which our visions cannot
see,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Gisha;">When sleep comes
down to seal the weary eyes.</span></i></div>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-92174362777881706832012-02-05T15:09:00.001+01:002012-02-05T15:11:03.448+01:00Memorable pictures: Fellah Woman<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioqLuvslV7Pf0oNqKY7U5fHATIjvAXi5ZHQD0RMRx7F8FKRXJoAvF-oq7EmB8mpvT4cszqR2YrrNgpjX7bGoNPFQXQgc4karYcDfxEJ8Gvh675aBLVzbx5tHjTFntucdQPAUyfdt6MHwiz/s1600/01062008104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioqLuvslV7Pf0oNqKY7U5fHATIjvAXi5ZHQD0RMRx7F8FKRXJoAvF-oq7EmB8mpvT4cszqR2YrrNgpjX7bGoNPFQXQgc4karYcDfxEJ8Gvh675aBLVzbx5tHjTFntucdQPAUyfdt6MHwiz/s400/01062008104.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">A Fellah woman washing her child (by a painting</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> by Bridgman</span>). <span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Fellah derives from the Arabic word 'ploughman' or 'tiller'. The term is used to refer to peasants and farmers. </span><br />
<br />Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-15113807792046623662012-02-01T21:55:00.001+01:002012-02-04T22:32:23.283+01:00Excerpt from 'Twasinta’s Seminoles / Rape of Florida'<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Albery A. Whitman was born in 1851, </span><span lang="EN-US">Hart County</span><span lang="EN-US">, </span><span lang="EN-US">Kentucky</span><span lang="EN-US">, and lived an existence in slavery
until 1863. Already an orphan by 12, he accomplished to be a well known
minister of the AME church (African Methodist Episcopal Church) and a
schoolteacher by the age of 25. He is known for his epic-length poem “Not a man
and yet a Man” published in 1877, though his best known work is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Rape of Florida,</i> published 1884, and
reprinted the following year <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Twasinta’s
Seminoles</i>. In 1890 both poems were again reprinted along with some short
poems. In 1893 he composed and read “The Freedman’s Triumphant Song” at the
Chicago World’s Fair. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Octoroon, An
Idyl of the South</i>, his last publication, came out in 1901, the year he
passed away. He fought a hard struggle with alcohol and pneumonia but he was a
light in this world with his wonderful words.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://images.booksamillion.com/covers/bam/1/55/709/495/1557094950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The following excerpt is from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Twasinta’s
Seminoles</i> / <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rape of Florida</i>. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">Canto 1</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">I</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The negro slave by </span><span lang="EN-US">Swanee</span><span lang="EN-US"> </span><span lang="EN-US">River</span><span lang="EN-US"> sang;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Well-pleased he listened to his echoes ringing;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">For in his heart a secret comfort sprang,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">When Nature seemed to join his mournful singing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">To mem’ry’s cherished objects fondly clinging;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">His bosom felt the sunset’s patient glow,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And spirit whispers into weird life springing,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Allured to worlds he trusted yet to know,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And lightened for awhile life’s burdens here below.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">II</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The drowsy dawn from many a low-built shed,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Beheld his kindred driven to their task;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Late evening saw them turn with weary tread</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And painful faces back; and dost thou ask</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">How sang these bondmen? how their suff’rings mask?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Song is the soul of sympathy divine,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And hath an inner ray where hope may bask;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Song turns the poorest waters into wine,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Illumines exile hearts and makes their faces shine.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">III</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The negro slave by Swanee river sang,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">There soon the human hunter rode along;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And eagerly behind him came a gang</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Of hounds and men, – the bondmen hushed his song –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Around him came a silent, list’ning throng;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Some runaway!” he muttered; said no more,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">But sank from view the growing corn among;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And though deep pangs his wounded spirit bore,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">He hushed his soul, and went on singing as before.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">IV</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">So fared the land where slaves were groaning yet –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Where beauty’s eyes must feed the lusts of men!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">‘Tis as when horrid dreams we half forget,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Would then relate, and still relate again –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Ah! cold abhorrence hesitates my pen!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The heavens were sad, and hearts of men were faint;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Philanthropy implored and wept, but then</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The wrong, unblushing trampled on Restraint,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">While feeble Law sat by and uttered no complaint.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">V</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Fly and be free!” a whisper comes from heaven,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Thy cries are heard!” the bondman’s up and gone!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">To grasp the dearest boon to mortals given,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">He frantic flies, unaided and alone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">To him the red man’s dwellings are unknown;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">But he can crave the freedom of his race,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Can find his harvests in the desert sown,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And in the cypress forest’s dark embrace</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">A pathway to his lonely habitations trace.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">VI</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The sable slave, from </span><span lang="EN-US">Georgia</span><span lang="EN-US">’s utmost bounds,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Escapes for life into the Great Wahoo.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Here he has left afar the savage hounds</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And human hunters that did late pursue;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">There in the hommock darkly hid from view,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">His wretched limbs are stretched awhile to rest,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Till some kind Seminole shall guide him thro’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">To where by hound nor hunter more distrest,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">He in a flow’ry home, shall be the red man’s guest.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">VII</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">If tilled profusion does not crown the view,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Nor wide-ranged farms begirt with fences spread;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The cultivated plot is well to do;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And where no slave his groaning life has led,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The songs of plenty fill the lowliest shed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Who could wish more, when Nature, always green,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Brings forth fruit-bearing woods and fields of bread?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Wish more, where cheerful valleys bloom between,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And herds browse on the hills, where winter ne’er has been?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">[…]</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">X</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Fair </span><span lang="EN-US">Florida</span><span lang="EN-US">! whose scenes could so enhance –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Could in the sweetness of the earth excel!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Wast thou the Seminole’s inheritance?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Yea, it was thee he loved, and loved so well!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">‘Twas ‘neath thy palms and pines he strove to dwell.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Not savage, but resentful to the knife,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">For these he sternly struggled – sternly fell!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Thoughtful and brave, in a long uneven strife,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">He held the verge of manhood mid the heights of life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">XI</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">A wild-born pride endeared him to thy soil!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">When roamed his herds without a keeper’s care –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Where man knew not the pangs of slavish toil!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And where thou didst not blooming pleasures spare,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">But well allotted each an ample share,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">He loved to dwell: Oh! isn’t the goal of life</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Where man has plenty and to man is fair?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">When free from avarice’s pinch and strife,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Is earth not like the Eden-home of man and wife?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">[…]</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">XIX</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Oh! sing it in the light of freedom’s morn,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Tho’ tyrant wars have made the earth a grave;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The good, the great, and true, are, if so, born,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And so with slaves, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chains do not
make the slave!</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">If high-souled birth be what the mother gave, –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">If manly birth, and manly to the core, –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Whate’er the test, the man will he behave!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Crush him to earth and crush him o’er and o’er,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">A man he’ll rise at last and meet you as before.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">XX</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">So with our young Atlassa*, hero-born, –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Free as the air within his palmy shade,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The nobler traits that do the man adorn,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">In him were native: Not the music made</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">In </span><span lang="EN-US">Tampa</span><span lang="EN-US">’s forests or the everglade</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Was fitter than in this young Seminole</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Was the proud spirit which did life pervade,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And glow and tremble in his ardent soul –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Which, lit his inmost-self, and spurned all mean control.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">XXI</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Than him none followed chase with nimbler feet,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">None readier in the forest council rose;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">To speak for war, e’er sober and discreet,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">In battle stern, but kind to fallen foes;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">He led the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">charge</i>, but halted,
– slow to close</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The vexed retreat: In front of battle he,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Handsome and wild his proud form would expose;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">But in the cheering van of victory,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Gentle and brave he was the real chief to see.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">XXII</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Lo! mid a thousand warriors where he stands,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Pride of all hearts and idol of his race!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Look how the chieftains of his war-tried bands</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Kindle their courage in his valiant face!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And as his lips in council open, trace</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">How deep suspense her earnest furrows makes</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">On ev’ry brow! How rings the forest-place</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">With sounding cheers! when native valor wakes</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">His dark intrepid eyes, and he their standard takes!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">XXIII</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Proud spirit of the hommock-bounded home</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Well wast thy valor like a buckler worn!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And when the light of the other times shall come, –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">When history’s muse shall venture to adorn</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The brow of all her children hero-born, –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">When the bold truth to man alike assigns</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The place he merits, of no honor shorn;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The wreath shall be, that thy proud brow entwines,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">As green as Mickasukie’s** everlasting pines!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">XXIV</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Well bled thy warriors at their leader’s side!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Well stood they the oppressor’s wasting fire;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">For years sweep on, and in their noiseless tide,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Bear down the mem’ries of the past! The dire</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And gloomful works of tyrants shall exire,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Till naught survives, save truth’s great victories;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Then shall the voyager on his way aspire</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">To ponder what vast wrecks of time he sees,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And on Fame’s temple columns read their memories!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">XXV</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Not so with Osceola***, thy dark mate;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The hidden terror of the hommock, he</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Sat gloomily and nursed a bitter hate, –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The white man was his common enemy –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">He rubbed the burning wounds of injury,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And plotted in his dreadful silent gloom;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">As dangerous as a rock within the sea.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And when in fray he showed his fearless plume,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Revenge made sweet the blows that dealt the white man’s doom.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">XXVI</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The pent-up wrath that rankled in his breast,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">O’er smould’ring embers shot a lurid glare,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And wrongs that time itself had not redrest,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">In ghost-like silence stalked and glimmered there.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And from the wizard caverns of despair,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Came voice and groan, reminding o’er and o’er</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The outrage on his wife so young and fair;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And so, by heaven and earth and hell he swore</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">To treat in council with the white man never more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">XXVII</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Such were the chiefs who led their daring braves</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">In many a battle nobly lost or won,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And consecrated Mickasukie’s graves</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">To that sweet province of the summer sun!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And still shall history forgetful run?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Shall legend too be mute? then Poesy,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Divinest chronicler of deeds well done,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">From the blest shrine and annals of the free,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Sing forth thy praise and man shall hear attentively.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">XXVIII</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The poorest negro coming to their shore,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">To them was brother – their own flesh and blood, –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">They sought his wretched manhood to restore, –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">They found his hidings in the swampy wood,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And brought him forth – in arms before him stood, –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The citizens of God and Sovran earth, –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">They shot straight forward looks with flame imbued,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Till in him manhood sprang, a noble birth,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And warrior-armed he rose to all that manhood’s worth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">XXIX</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">On the dark front of battle often seen,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Or holding dang’rous posts through dreadful hours, –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">In ranks obedient, in command serene,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">His comrades learn to note the tested powers</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Which prove that valor is not always ours,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Be whomsoever we: A common race</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Soon from this union flows – soon rarest flowers</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Bloom out and smile in beauty’s blending grace,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And rivals they become for love’s sublimest place.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">XXX</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The native warrior leads his ebon maid,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The dark young brave his bloom-hued lover wins;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And where soft spruce and willows mingle shade,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Young life mid sunniest hours its course begins:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">All Nature pours its never-ending dins</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">In groves of rare-hued leaf without’n end, –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">‘Tis as if Time, forgetting </span><span lang="EN-US">Eden</span><span lang="EN-US">’s sins,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Relents, and spirit visitors descend</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">In love’s remembered tokens, earth once more to blend.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">XXXI</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The sleepy mosses wave within the sun,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And on the dark elms climbs the mistletoe;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Great tangled vines through pendant branches run,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And hang their purple clusters far below;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">The old pines wave their summits to and fro,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">And dancing to the earth, impatient light</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Touches the languid scene, to quickly go,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Like some gay spirit in its sunny plight,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">That, visiting the earth, did glance and take its flight…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">* “Atlassa” refers to Wild Cat, also called Coacoochee, who was a
leading Seminole chief during the 2<sup>nd</sup> Seminole War </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">** </span><span class="st"><span lang="EN-GB">Miccosukee
– name of a Native American tribe and an area in </span></span><span class="st"><span lang="EN-GB">Florida</span></span><span class="st"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span class="st"><span lang="EN-GB">*** Osceola was an influential leader and war
leader among the Seminoles</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://images.booksamillion.com/covers/bam/1/55/709/495/1557094950.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://images.booksamillion.com/covers/bam/1/55/709/495/1557094950.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span class="st"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-79188225478300929402012-01-29T23:44:00.003+01:002012-01-29T23:45:00.938+01:00DocumentariesI have a link to share with one and all. It is called DBC Info TV and it provides various documentaries on many subjects. For example it currently has <i>The Coconut Revolution </i>from 2001 which shows the indigenous people of Bougainville and their fight against exploitation of the land. All the documentaries on the station are enlightening so be sure to inform yourselves. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://worldtv.com/dbc_infotv" target="_blank">DBC Info Tv</a>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-73596700226977582022012-01-20T21:58:00.001+01:002012-01-20T21:58:12.019+01:00"Bury Me In a Free Land" by Frances Harper<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.moonstoneartscenter.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/harper01.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i>Make me a grave where’er you will,<br />In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill;<br />Naje ut anibg earth’s humblest graves,<br />But not in a land where men are slaves.<br /><br />I could not rest if around my grave<br />I heard the steps of a trembling slave;<br />His shadow above my silent tomb<br />Would make it a place of fearful gloom.<br /><br />I could not rest I heard the tread<br />Of a coffle gang to the shambles led,<br />And the mother’s shriek of wild despair<br />Rise like a curse on the trembling air.<br /><br />I could not sleep if I saw the lash<br />Drinking her blood at each fearful gash,<br />And I saw her babes torn from her breast,<br />Like trembling doves from their parent nest.<br /><br />I’d shudder and start if I heard the bay<br />Of bloodhounds seizing their human prey,<br />And I heard the captive plead in vain<br />As they bound afresh his galling chain.<br /><br />If I saw young girls from their mothers’ arms<br />Bartered and sold for their youthful charms,<br />My eye would flash with a mournful flame,<br />My death-paled cheek grow red with shame.<br /><br />I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might<br />Can rob no man of his dearest right;<br />My rest shall be calm in any grave<br />Where none can call his brother a slave.<br /><br />I ask no monument, proud and high,<br />To arrest the gaze of the passers-by;<br />All that my yearning spirit craves,<br />Is bury me not in a land of slaves.</i></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<a href="http://www.moonstoneartscenter.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/harper01.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.moonstoneartscenter.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/harper01.png" width="224" /></a><br /><i><br /></i></div>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-26981006616442352822012-01-19T16:44:00.000+01:002012-01-28T22:48:51.316+01:00"The Slave Auction" by Frances Harper<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The sale began – young girls were there, </i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Defenceless in their wretchedness,<br />Whose stifled sobs of deep despair<br />Revealed their anguish and distress.<br /><br />And mothers stood with streaming eyes,<br />And saw their dearest children sold;<br />Unheeded rose their bitter cries,<br />While tyrants bartered them for gold.<br /><br />And woman, with her love and truth –<br />For these in sable forms may dwell –<br />Gaz’d on the husband of her youth,<br />With anguish none may paint or tell.<br /><br />And men, whose sole crime was their hue,<br />The impress of their Maker’s hand,<br />And frail and shrinking children, too,<br />Were gathered in that mournful band.<br /><br />Ye who have laid your love to rest,<br />And wept above their lifeless clay,<br />Know not the anguish of that breast,<br />Whose lov’d are rudely torn away.<br /><br />Ye may not know how desolate<br />Are bosoms rudely forced to part,<br />And how a dull and heavy weight<br />Will press the life-drops from the heart.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://explorepahistory.com/kora/files/1/2/1-2-1BD6-25-ExplorePAHistory-a0m5v1-a_349.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://explorepahistory.com/kora/files/1/2/1-2-1BD6-25-ExplorePAHistory-a0m5v1-a_349.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-91782559079535977052012-01-19T16:26:00.000+01:002012-01-19T16:28:57.575+01:00Eurocentric Agenda in Arizona School District<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
An ethnic studies program has been terminated and books concerning "race, ethnicity and oppression" have been banned, even a play called "The Tempest" by William Shakespeare.</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
It is an attempt from America's side to create a perfect and pure still picture of the country which has never existed. Or "part of a curriculum change to avoid 'biased, political and emotionally charged' teaching" as CNN put it. It is a damn shame, America.</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Read the full story here:</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/ethnic-studies-book-ban-arizona-include-shakespeare-tempest-article-1.1007105" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" target="_blank">Ethnic book ban in Arizona school district</a>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-11861432933830495132012-01-18T22:04:00.000+01:002012-01-18T22:04:03.245+01:00Mine - a Story of a Sacred Mountain<object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" height="270" id="tribalchannel-player" name="tribalchannel-player" width="410"><param name='movie' value='http://assets.survivalinternational.org/flash/syndicated-player.swf'>
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<embed type='application/x-shockwave-flash' id='tribalchannel-player' name='tribalchannel-player' src='http://assets.survivalinternational.org/flash/syndicated-player.swf' width='410' height='270' allowFullScreen='true' bgcolor='111111' wmode='opaque' allowScriptAccess='always' flashvars='config=http://assets-production.survivalinternational.org/films/37/config.xml' /></object>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-4070133789749096502012-01-03T23:00:00.000+01:002012-01-03T23:01:20.397+01:00”Eliza Harris” by Frances Harper<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://womenwriters.library.emory.edu/images/abolition/FrancesHarper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://womenwriters.library.emory.edu/images/abolition/FrancesHarper.jpg" width="138" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, 1825-1911, was a
dear poet and lecturer of the Anti-Slavery Society connected to the Abolitionist
movement, the Underground Railroad<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">, </b>the
Women’s Christian Temperance Union, and the A. M. E. Church. Her first volume, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Poems on Various Subjects</i>, was published
in 1854, and later followed by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Moses: A
Story of the Nile</i> (1869), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Poems</i> (1871)
and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sketches of Southern Life </i>(1872).
Here you have the poem “Eliza Harris”:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Like a fawn from
the arrow, startled and wild,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">A woman swept by
us, bearing a child;</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">In her eye was
the night of a settled despair,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">And her brow was
o’ershaded with anguish and care.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">She was nearing
the river – in reaching the brink,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">She heeded no
danger, she paused not to think;</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">For she is a
mother – her child is a slave – </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">And she’ll give
him his freedom, or find him a grave!</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">It was a vision
to haunt us, that innocent face –</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">So pale in its
aspect, so fair in its grace;</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">As the tramp of
the horse and the bay of the hound,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">With the fetters
that gall, were trailing the ground!</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">She was nerv’d
by despair, and strengthened by woe,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">As she leap’d o’er
the chasms that yawn’d from below;</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Death howl’d in
the tempest, and rav’d in the blast,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">But she heard
not the sound till the danger was past.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh! how shall I
speak of my proud country’s shame?</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Of the stains on
her glory, how give them their name?</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">How say that her
banner in mockery waves –</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Her “star
spangled banner” – o’er millions of slaves?</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">How say that the
lawless may torture and chase</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">A woman whose
crime is the hue of her face?</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">How the depths
of the forest may echo around,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">With the shrieks
of despair, and the bay of the hound?</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">With her step on
the ice, and her arm on her child,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">The danger was
fearful, the pathway was wild;</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">But, aided by
Heaven, she gained a free shore,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Where the
friends of humanity open’d their door.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">So fragile and
lovely, so fearfully pale,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Like a lily that
bends to the breath of the gale,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Save the heave
of her breast, and the sway of her hair,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">You’d have
thought her a statue of fear and despair.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">In agony close
to her bossom she press’d</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">The life of her
heart, the child of her breast: –</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh! love from
its tenderness gathering might,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Had strengthen’d
her soul for the dangers of flight.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">But she’s free! –
yes, free from the land where the slave</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">From the hand of
oppression must rest in the grave;</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Where bondage
and torture, where scourges and chains</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Have plac’d on
our banner indelible stains.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">The bloodhounds
have miss’d the scent of her way;</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">The hunter is
rifled and foil’d of his prey;</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Fierce jargon
and cursing, with clanking of chains,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Make sounds of
strange discord on </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Liberty</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">’s plains.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">With the rapture
of love and fullness of bliss,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">She placed on
his brow a mother’s fond kiss: –</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">O poverty,
danger and death she can brave,</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">For the child of
her love is no longer a slave!</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-35261791442809328562011-07-02T19:11:00.002+02:002011-07-02T19:15:06.006+02:00George Moses Horton, Myself<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:hyphenationzone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabel - Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style=""><span style="font-family:Calibri;">George Moses Horton, Myself</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-family:Calibri;"><br /></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-family:Calibri;"> </span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">I feel myself in need</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:27.0pt;line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Of the inspiring strains of ancient lore</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">My heart to lift, my empty mind to feed,</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 27pt; line-height: 150%;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">And all the world explore.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:27.0pt;line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> </span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">I know that I am old</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:27.0pt;line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">And never can recover what is past,</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">But for the future may some light unfold</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 27pt; line-height: 150%;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">And soar from ages blast.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:27.0pt;line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> </span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">I feel resolved to try,</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:27.0pt;line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">My wish to prove, my calling to pursue,</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Or mount up from the earth into the sky,</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 27pt; line-height: 150%;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">To show what Heaven can do.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:27.0pt;line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> </span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">My genius from a boy,</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:27.0pt;line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Has fluttered like a bird within my heart;</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">But could not thus confined her powers employ,</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 27pt; line-height: 150%;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Impatient to depart.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:27.0pt;line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> </span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">She like a restless bird,</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:27.0pt;line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Would spread her wings, her power to be unfurl’d,</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">And let her songs be loudly heard,</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:27.0pt;line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">And dart from world to world.</span></i></p>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-28594683579212588082011-06-30T13:35:00.005+02:002011-06-30T13:47:19.853+02:00Excerpt from "Comedy, American Style" by Jessie Fauset<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.afropoets.net/fauset25.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 298px;" src="http://www.afropoets.net/fauset25.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Born in Philadelphia, and educated at Cornell, the University of Pennsylvania, and the Collège de France, Jessie Fauset (1882-1961) has taught French at Dunbar High School in Washington and in New York City. She has written verse as well as the novels There is Confusion (1924), Plum Bun (1929), The Chinaberry Tree (1932), and Comedy, American Style (1933). The excerpt below is from the last-named novel.<br /><br /><br />[Color Struck]<br /><br />Mrs. Olivia Blanchard Cary glanced out of the window of her pleasant residence in West Philadelphia and saw her daughter Teresa, her books under her arm, strolling down the street, with two other little girls similarly laden. One of her companions, a very fair blonde with dark blue eyes and gay gilt hair, Mrs. Cary identified immediately as Phebe Grant. She was not so sure of the identity of the third youngster. Closer inspection revealed to her, however, the dark brown, the piquant features, the sparkling black eyes and the abundant, silky and intensely curly locks of Marise Davies. Mrs. Cary frowned. "As often as I've told Teresa to keep away from that Davies child!" she murmured angrily to herself.<br />She met them at the front door. The countenances of the three children were in striking contrast. Teresa's wore a look of apprehension, Phebe's of bland indifference, Marise's of acute expectancy.<br />"Good-afternoon, Teresa," Olivia said. "Good-afternoon children. I’m afraid it's not best for Teresa to have so much company today.<br />She gets excited and worn out and it’s hard afterwards for her to settle down to her lessons. I don't mind if one of you stays. Phebe, suppose you come in and play with her a while, and Marise, you can come back another time.”<br />"Tomorrow? " asked Marise, whose black eyes had never left Olivia’s face.<br />"Well, hardly tomorrow,” the woman replied, flushing a little. She really disliked this child. "Horrid, little pushing thing,” she inwardly apostrophized. But aloud she continued. "Hardly tomorrow, but some other day very soon, I am sure. Come on in, Phebe.”<br />"No, thank you, Mrs. Cary,” the child answered, pushing back the thick gilt hair which framed her face. “I was with Marise first, so I'll go on with her. We were just going to ask you to let Teresa come along with us. My mother expects me to be at Marise’s if I’m not home.” She spoke simply, no trace of the avenging angel about her.<br />The two children, hand in hand, backed off the bottom step on which they had been precariously teetering. Marise, ignoring Olivia completely, waved a slender hand toward Teresa. “Come on over whenever you can. My mother doesn't mind."<br />From the pavement both looked back once, more to wave a careless farewell to their schoolmate. “G’bye, Treesa!”<br />“Treesa!” Olivia echoed angrily. “Why can't they pronounce your name right?" She glanced sharply at her daughter's tear-stained face. "What's the matter, Teresa?"<br />The little girl wiped away a tear with the back of her hand.<br />"Mamma, why, can’t play with Marise? She’s such fun.”<br />Her mother sighed. I have " she thought, "the stupidest children and husband too in the world. Why can’t they see this thing the way I want it?” Not unkindly she took out her handkerchief and wiped the child's eyes.<br />"Now, Teresa, it isn't worth while going all over this matter again. I don't mind your having Phebe here; in fact I rather like Phebe. But I don’t like to have colored people in the house if we can possibly avoid it.”<br />"But, Mamma, Phebe is colored too."<br />“I know she is but nobody would ever guess it.”<br />“They don’t have to guess it; she tells it; she stood right up in class and said so.”<br />“What nonsense!” Olivia countered angrily. “What occasion would a girl, looking like her, have to talk about color?”<br />“She didn't say it of her own accord, Mamma. The teacher was having a review lesson on races one day and she asked Phebe what race she belonged to and Phebe said: `I belong to the black or Negro race.’”<br />"What did the teacher say?"<br />She just giggled at first and then she said: `Well, Phebe, we all know that isn't true. Don't try to be funny. Now tell us what race you do belong to, dear!' And Phebe said it all over again. She said: ‘I belong to the black or Negro race.’”<br />Olivia gasped. "Silly little thing! The idea of a girl as white as she saying that! What happened then?"<br />The teacher had her stay after school and Phebe showed her the picture of her mother. She wears it in a locket around her throat all the time. And her mother is colored. Not black, you know, Mamma, but real, real brown. Almost as brown as Marise, you know. You should have seen how surprised Miss Packer was!"<br />In spite of herself the mother was interested. "What did she say then?"<br />"She looked awful queer and asked Phebe if she looked like like her father and Phebe said she looked exactly like him . . . and that he didn't live here and that he was married to someone else…<br />And then Miss Packer turned kind of red and never said another word. ... How can Phebe's father not be married to her mother, Mamma?"<br />"Oh, I don't know . . . probably they couldn't get along so they seperated. Married people often do that. They call it getting a divorce." Hurriedly she changed the subject: "Did the children act any different to Phebe after that?"<br />Teresa considered this a moment. "Well, you see, Mamma, the chiIdren don't act any special kind of way to Phebe anyway, because Phebe don't care anything about them. The only child Phebe likes a whole lot in school is Marise."<br />"I thought she liked you."<br />“O she does, but not the same way she likes Marise. Marise is so smart you know. She can think up all the most wonderful things. Why she changed her name herself. It used to be Maria. And she said that was all wrong. She said she didn't look like a Maria person and she didn't feel like a Maria person…. Isn't that funny, Mamma? And she can sing and play and dance. You never saw anyone dance like her. And she can think up such smart things to say. I don't see why you don't like her, Mamma."<br />"I don't dislike her," her mother retorted in exasperation. "You don't understand these things, yet, Teresa. But you will when you're older . . . and you'll be grateful to me. I just don't want you to have Marise and people like that around because I don't want you to grow up among folks who live the life that most colored people have to live ... narrow and stultified and stupid. Always pushed in the background . . . out of everything. Looked down upon and despised! ...<br />"Teresa, how many times must I tell you these things? You and your father and Christopher almost drive me crazy! You're so will-fully perverse about it all! Here we could all be as white as the whitest people in Philadelphia. When we moved in this neighborhood not a soul here but thought we were white! And your father is never happy unless he has some typical Negro hanging about. I believe he does it to tease me. And now here you are, all wrapped up in this Davies child!"<br />"But, Mamma, what difference does it make? And anyway, there's Oliver!"<br />There indeed was Oliver.<br />Olivia, with very little love for her husband, Dr. Cary, with no enthusiasm, as such, for the institution of matrimony and with absolutely no urge for the maternal life, had none the less gone cheerfully and willingly into both marriage and motherhood because she believed that through her children she might obtain her heart’s desire. She could, she was sure, imbue her offspring with precept and example to such an extent that it would never enter their minds to acknowledge the strain of black blood which in considerable dilution would flow through their veins.<br />She could be certain of their color. Her twin sister and brother, only two years older than her own children, had proven that. It was worth every one, she felt, of her labor pains not to hold in her arms little Teresa, her first-born, – but to gaze on that tiny, unremarkable face and note the white skin, the thick, "good" dark hair which covered the frail skull; to note that the tell-tale half-moons of which she had so often read were conspicuously absent. It seemed to her that the tenuous bonds holding her ever so slightly to her group, and its station in America, were perceptibly weakened. Every time she appeared in public with the little girl she was presenting the incontestable proof of her white womanhood…<br />And when Christopher, the second child was born, she was not the least fraction worried over the closely curling tendency of his slightly reddish hair. She had known Jews with hair much kinkier. Time and care would attend to all that. And meanwhile his skin was actually fairer than that of his little sister, his features finer and better chiselled. He had, she felt, a look of "race," by which she meant of course the only race which God, or Nature, for hidden, inscrutable purposes, meant should rule.<br />But she had not reckoned with the children's father. Christopher had finally established in his the fact of his chaste wife’s frigidity. When he fully realized that her much-prized "aloofness," instead of being the insigne of a wealth of feeling, was merely the result of an absolute vacuum of passion, young as he was, he resolved not to kick against the pricks.<br />He had, he told himself, been sold, as many a man before him had; tricked as completely by his deliberate submission to ideals, entirely false to his nature and his desires, as a young girl might be by her first surrender to a passion which her heart tells her is natural, though her mind and breeding might warn her of its inexpediency. The first of that hardening process which was so to change him did have its inception during this period, but as he had some humor and a sense of justice beyond his years he refused to let the iron enter his soul.<br />Moreover, Olivia, though not a "comfortable" house-keeper, was a clean and considerate one. She really never interfered with his “papers”; she never, even from the beginning, troubled him with the delinquencies of the help. And in those days, and for some years to come, she never exceeded the budget which he allowed her. Also her obvious willingness, even eagerness, to have children pleased and touched him. In his total ignorance of the plans which nestled eternally in the back of her sleek, dark head, he reasoned that a woman so fond of children must by a very natural extension develop eventually a certain tenderness for their father. So he hoped for many things and forgave her much with a somewhat rueful and yet amused indulgence.<br />Until he found in her the unalterable determination to carry himself and his children definitely across the narrow border-line of race! This too he at first regarded with some indulgence, but her unimaginative persistence finally irritated him. He was too busy to undertake completely the education of the children – he was responsible for their maintenance. But he could let them see his manifest respect and liking for many men who had been his boyhood friends and who bore the badge of their mixed blood plainly upon them.<br />He told the children every story he knew about the heroes of the race. Olivia would have preferred them to be ignorant of their own remote connection with slavery. But he did strive to make them realize the contrast between their present status and that of their black forebears. He emphasized the racial progress, stressing the brief span of years in which it had been accomplished.<br />And the children, straightforward, serious little things without an ounce of perversity in their make-up, were entranced, thrilled. Perhaps because they never met with any open expression of prejudice they seemed to find their greatest interest and amusement among the children of their father's friends who most definitely showed color. For a brief while Christopher's hero was Crispus Attucks; Teresa's brave Sojourner Truth. But later, through lack of nourishment, their interest in this phase of history died.<br /><br /> ........................................<br /><br /><br />When the children were four and a half, and six, respectively, Olivia found she was going to have another baby. She was really very happy about it with a naïvete and a frankness which, Dr. Cary, as before, found inexpressibly moving and charming. Within herself she was making plans. This child should be her very own. She would make her husband believe that she needed a change, she would take the child away and live with him apart for two, three, perhaps five years. In appearance, in rearing, in beliefs he should be completely, unrelievedly a member of the dominant race. She was a much wiser woman than she had been six years ago. The prospect made her gay and charming, almost girlish; far younger too than her twenty-eight years, younger indeed it seemed to her husband than she had ever been in those remote, so precious years of training.<br />"This one will be a boy," she told big Christopher gaily. “He’ll be the handsomest and most attractive of us all. And I'll name him after myself. An Oliver for your Christopher."<br />Her prophecy was, except in one respect, absolutely true. She had boasted of the ease with which her children had entered the world. But this one she was confident would outstrip them all.<br />"I'm sure I'll be up very soon, Chris," she told her husband. She adopted one of her rare moods of coquetry. "And when I do get up, you ought to reward a dutiful wife. How would you like to send her and your baby son on a little trip to England?" Her eyes were bright with secrecy. He would, he assured her, do anything, give her anything she wanted within his range.<br />But the unforseen happened. The baby arrived in due course. "Hale and hearty," said his beaming father. There never was a baby haler and heartier. But Olivia did not fare so well. She had one sinking spell after another. For the first time she was unable to nurse her child. She was to meet with no excitement or shock and as the baby was going very well it was best for her not to be concerned with him for a while. She was to concentrate on recovering her strength. So that it was a full month before the baby was set before her, crowing and laughing and persistently and futilely striking his Iittle hands together.<br />Olivia sat up, arms outstretched to receive him. Her baby! Her eyes stretched wide to behold every fraction of his tiny person. But the expectant smile faded as completely as though an unseen hand had wiped it off. She turned to her husband sharply:<br />“That's not my baby!"<br />But it was her baby. It was a boy, handsomer and more attractive than the other children. He was named Oliver... They had been calling him that for a month, her delighted children assured her… his hair was black and soft and curly... and he had the exact bronze gold complexion of Lee Blanchard!<br />She had reckoned without her own father!<br /> ..........................................<br /><br />For the first time since she had known the futile anger of her early childhood she slipped into a black, though silent, rage. Her early anger had been directed against her father. This later ebullition included both her husband and her helpless little boy. She had no special beliefs about prenatal influences but she did observe to herself in the dark and tortuous recesses of her mind that if big Christopher had not been so decidedly a Negrophile, the appearance of their child would have been otherwise.<br />The little fellow was of a remarkable beauty. Through one pretext and another Olivia contrived not to be seen on the street with him. But the two older children and his father would proudly conduct him anywhere. And wherever he went he attracted attention… infinitely more so than his brother and sister had ever earned. Added to this was an undeniable charm of manner and of mind. He possessed not only a winning smile and a genuine sweetness of attitude and conduct but he was unquestionably of remarkable mental endowment... If he had possessed an ounce of self-confidence, or even of the ordinary childish conceit which so often marks the "bright boy," he might easily have become unbearable. But even from babyhood little Oliver sensed in himself one lack which early automatically destroyed any root of undue self-esteem. He knew he did not have his mother's love…. Worse than that through some strange childish, unfailing perception he was sure of her active but hidden dislike for him.<br />When he was home Olivia fed him with the same food, watched over and satisfied his physical welfare as completely and meticulously as she watched over that of the other members of her household. But she never sought his company, she never took him riding or walking as she did the others, never bestowed on him more than the perfunctory kiss of salutation… When people, struck with his appearance and healthy grace, praised him before his face as so often they did, he would turn sometimes toward her thinking dimly that now she must be proud of this fine little boy who was her son. But he never surprised on her countenance a single flash of delight or pride or love.<br />It saddened his childish days... As soon as he became old enough to be from under her surveillance Olivia saw to it that he spent most of his time with her own mother in Boston or with her husband's mother in South Philadelphia. In both of these homes he met with the intense affection and generous esteem which his finely keyed little nature so craved. Gradually he became able to adjust himself to the inexplicable phenomenon of a mother who not only did not love with especial signal fondness, but who did not love at all, her youngest son. By sheer strength of will he forced himself to steel his brave and loyal heart against this defection and to crush down his pain. His father had some sense of what was happening and in his heart he bore his wife a deep and unyielding dislike.Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-80264131215079942152011-06-28T10:05:00.004+02:002011-11-20T12:23:38.174+01:00Excerpt from 'From Superman to Man' by J.A. Rogers<a href="http://www.blackpast.org/files/blackpast_images/rogers_j_a.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://www.blackpast.org/files/blackpast_images/rogers_j_a.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 314px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 223px;" /></a><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Joel Augustus Rogers was born in </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Jamaica</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> (1883-1966). A self-educated man, he was an author, historian and journalist traveling in </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Europe</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">, </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Asia</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> and </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Africa</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> in search of material on the African peoples and the African diaspora. He challenged prevailing ideas about race in his time which is also reflected in the following excerpt. His articles have been published in various newspapers and in such magazines as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The American Mercury</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Crisis</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Survey Graphic</i>, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the Journal of Negro History</i>. From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Superman to Man </i>(1917), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the Maroons of the </i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">West Indies</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and </i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">South America</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> (1921), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the World’s Greatest Men of African Descent</i> (1931) and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sex and Race</i> (1941), and articles “Impressions of Dixie”, “Jazz at Home”, “The American Negro in </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Europe</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">”, and “The Real Facts about </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Ethiopia</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">”, are among his many many publications. The following passage is from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Superman to Man</i>. It contains quite a lot of racist remarks, but I decided not to censor it. The debate between the racist white man and the knowledgeable black man is witty and clever, and I hold it in high regard.<br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">[The Porter Debates the Senator]</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /><br />THE LIMITED WAS SPEEDING to </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">California</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> over the snow-blanketed prairies of </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Iowa</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">. On car "Bulwer" the passengers had all retired, and </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">, the porter, his duties finished, sought the more comfortable warmth of the smoker, where he intended to resume the reading of the book he had brought with him, Finot's "Race Prejudice." He had been reading last of the Germans and their doctrine of the racial inferiority of the remainder of the white race. Having found the passage again, he began to read: – "The notion of superior and inferior peoples spread like wildfire through </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Germany</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">. German literature, philosophy, and politics were profoundly influenced by it – ." . . .</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">The Germans of 1854, he reflected, built up a theory of the inferiority of the other peoples of the white race. Some of these so-called inferior whites have, in turn, built up a similar theory about the darker peoples. This recalled to him some of the many falsities current about his own people. He thought of how in nearly all the large libraries of the </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">United States</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">, which he had been permitted to enter, he had found books advancing all sorts of theories to prove that they were inferior. Some of these theories even denied their human origin. He went on to reflect on the discussions he had heard on the cars and other places from time to time, and of what he called "the heirloom ideas" that many persons had concerning the different varieties of the human race. These discussions, he went on to reflect, had done him good. They had been the means of his acquiring a fund of knowledge on the subject of race, as they had caused him to look up those opinions he had thought incorrect in the works of the standard scientists. Moved by these thoughts he took a morocco-bound notebook from his vest pocket and wrote: - "This doctrine of racial superiority apparently incited the other white peoples, most of whom were enemies to one another, to unite against the Germans, and destroy their empire. Will the doctrine of white superiority over the darker races produce a similar result to white empire?"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">But at this juncture his thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of someone. Looking up he saw a man clad in pajamas and overcoat, and with slippered feet, enter the room.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Now </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> had taken special notice of this man for, during the afternoon, he had been discussing the color question with another passenger in the smoker. From what </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> had overheard, the man just entering was a Southern senator on his way to </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">California</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> on business. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> had occasion to go into the room several times. On one occasion he had heard this man say vehemently "The `nigger' is a menace to our civilization and should be kept down. I am opposed to educating him, for the educated `nigger' is a misfit in the white man's civilization. He is a caricature and no good can result from his ‘butting in’ on our affairs. Would to God that none of the breed had ever set on the shores of our country. That's the proper place for a ‘nigger,’” he had said quite aloud, on seeing </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> engaged in wiping out the wash bowls.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">At another time he had heard the same speaker deliver himself of this opinion: – "You may say what you please, but I would never eat with a `nigger.' I couldn't stomach it. God has placed an insuperable barrier between black and white that will ever prevent them from living on the same social plane, at least so far as the Anglo-Saxon is concerned. I have no hatred for the black man – in fact, I could have none, but he must stay in his place."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">“That’s nothing else but racial antipathy," his opponent had objected.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">“You don't have to take my word for it," said the other, snappily.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">“Didn't Abraham Lincoln say: `There is a physical difference between the white and black races which, I believe, will forbid the two races living together on terms of social and political equality'? Call it what you will, but there is an indefinable something within me that tells me that I am infinitely better than the best ‘nigger' that ever lived. feeling is instinctive and I am not going to violate nature." …</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">"You, too, had slavery in the North, but it didn't pay and you gave it up. Wasn't your pedantic and self-righteous </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Massachusetts</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> the first to legalize slavery? You, Northerners, forced slavery on us, and when you couldn't make any more money in it, because </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">England</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> had stopped the slave trade, you made war on us to make us give it up. A matter of climate, that's all. Climes reversed, it would have been the South that wanted abolition. It was a matter of business with you, not sentiment. You Northerners who had an interest in slavery, were bitterIy opposed to abolition. It is all very well for you to talk, but if you Yankees had the same percentage of `niggers' that we have, you would sing a different tune. The bitterest people against the `nigger' are you Northerners who have come South. You, too, have race riots, lynching and segregation. The only difference between South and North is, that one is frank and the other hypocritical," and he added with vehement sincerity, "I hate hypocrisy."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">In spite of this avowed enmity toward his people, </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> had felt no animosity toward the man. Here, he had thought, was a conscience, honest but uneducated.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">All of this ran through the porter's mind when he saw the pajama-clad passenger appear in the doorway. The newcomer, on entering, walked up to the mirror, where he looked at himself quizzically for a moment, then selected a chair and adjusting it to suit his fancy, made himself comfortable in it; next, he took a plain and well-worn gold cigarette case from his pocket, selected a cigarette, and, after tapping it on the chair, began rummaging in his pockets for a match, all in apparent oblivion to the presence of Dixon at the near end of the long cushioned seat. But </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> had been quietly observing him and deftly presented a lighted match, at the same time venturing to inquire in a respectful and rather solicitous tone, "Can’t sleep, sir?"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">"No, George," same the reply in an amiable, but condescending tone, "I was awakened at the last stop and can't go back to sleep. I never do very well the first night, anyway."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">With this the senator began to talk to </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> quite freely, telling him of his trip from </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Oklahoma</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">. They soon began to talk about personal matters. Into this part of the conversation the senator injected phrases such as "darkies," "niggers" and "coons."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">From this he began to tell jokes about chicken-stealing, razor-fights, and watermelon feasts. Of such jokes he evidently had an abundant stock. Nearly all of these </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> had heard time and again. One was the anecdote of a Negro headwaiter in a Northern hotel who, when asked by a Southern guest if he were the head "nigger," indignantly objected to the epithet, but upon the visitor's informing him that it was his custom to give a large tip to the "head-nigger" this head-waiter, so the story goes, effusively retracted, saying, "Yessah, Boss, I'se de’ head niggah," and pointing to the waiters, added, "and ef you doan b'leave me ast all dem othah niggahs dah."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">The narrator was laughing immoderately, and so was the listener. Had the entertainer been a mind reader, however, he might not have been flattered by his success as a comedian, since it was his conduct, and not his wit, that was furnishing the porter's mirth.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">While the senator was still laughing the train began to slow down and </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">, asking to be excused, slid to the other end of the seat to look out, thus exposing the book he had placed behind him. The senator saw the volume and his look of laughter was instantly changed to one of curiosity.<br />The book stood end up on the seat and he could discern from its size and binding that it was a volume that might contain serious thought. He had somehow felt that this Negro was above the ordinary and the sight of the book now confirmed the feeling.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">A certain forced quality in the timbre of </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">'s laughter as also the merry twinkle in his eye, had made him feel at times just a bit uncomfortable, and now he wanted to verify the suspicion. His curiousity getting the better of him, he reached over to take the volume, but the same instant </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">'s slipping back to his former seat caused him to hesitate. Yet he determined to find out. He demanded flippantly, pointing to the book, – "Reading the Bible, George?"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">"No, sir."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">"What then?"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">"Oh, only a scientific work," said the other, carelessly, not wishing to broach the subject of racial differences that the title of the book suggested. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">'s very evident desire to evade a direct answer seemed to sharpen the other's curiosity. He suggested off-handedly, but with ill-concealed eagerness: "Pretty deep stuff, eh?" Then in the same manner he inquired, "Who's the author?"</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> saw the persistent curiosity in the other's eye. Knowing too well the nature of the man before him, he did not want to give him the book, but being unable to find any pretext for further withholding it, he took it from the seat, turned it right side up, and handed it to the senator. The latter took it with feigned indifference. Moistening his forefinger, he began turning over the leaves, then settled down to read the marked passages. Now and then he would mutter: "Nonsense! Ridiculous!” Suddenly in a burst of impatience he turned to the frontispiece, and exclaimed in open disgust: "Just as I thought. Written by a Frenchman." Then, before he could recollect to whom he was talking – so full was he of what he regarded as the absurdity of Finot’s view – he demanded – "Do you believe all this rot about the equality of the races?”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Now </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">'s policy was to avoid any topic that would be likely to produce a difference of opinion with a passenger, provided that the avoidance did not entail any sacrifice of his self-respect. In this instance he regarded his questioner as one to be humored, rather than vexed, for just then the following remark, made by this legislator that afternoon, recurred to him:</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">“The Jew, the Frenchman, the Dago and the Spaniards are all ‘niggers’ to a greater or lesser extent. The only white people are the Anglo-Saxon, Teutons and Scandinavians.”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;">This, </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;"> surmised, had accounted for the remark the other had made about the author's adopted nationality, and it amused him. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">As </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;"> pondered the question there occurred to him a way by which he could retain his own opinion while in apparent accord with the passenger. He responded accordingly: – </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"No, sir, I do not believe in the equality of the races. As you say, it is impossible.”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">The senator looked up as if he had not been expecting a response, but seemingly pleased with </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">’s acquiescence he continued as he turned the leaves: “Writers of this type don’t know what they are talking about. They write from mere theory. If they had to live among ‘niggers,’ they would sing an entirely different tune.”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;"> felt that he ought not to let this remark go unchallenged. He protested courteously: "Yes, sir, M. Finot has proved his argument admirably. I am sure if you were to read his book you would agree with him, too."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"Didn't you just say you didn't agree with this book?" </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"I fear you misunderstood me, sir."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"Didn't you say you did not believe in the equality of the races?”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"Yes, sir."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"Then why?"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"Because as you said, sir, it is impossible."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"Why? Why?"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"Because there is but one race – the human race."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">The senator did not respond. Despite his anger at the manner in which </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;"> had received and responded to his question, he stopped to ponder the situation in which his unwitting question had placed him.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">As he had confessed, he did not like educated Negroes, and had no intention of engaging in a controversy with one. His respect and his aversion for this porter had increased with a bound. Now he was weighing the respective merits of the two possible courses – silence and response. If he remained silent, this Negro might think he had silenced him, while to respond would be to engage in an argument, thus treating the Negro as an equal. After weighing the matter for some time he decided that of the two courses, silence was the less compatible with his racial dignity, and with much condescension, his stiff voice and haughty manner a marked contrast to his jollity of a few minutes past, he demanded:</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"You say there is only one race. What do you call yourself?"<br />"An American citizen," responded the other, composedly.<br />"Perhaps you have never heard of the word `nigger'?"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"Couldn't help it, sir," came the reply in the same quiet voice.<br />"Then do you believe the `nigger' is the equal of the Anglo-Saxon race?" he demanded with ill-concealed anger.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"I have read many books on anthropology, sir, but I have not seen mention of either a `nigger' race or an Anglo-Saxon one.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">“Very well, do you believe your race – the black race – is equal to the Caucasian?”</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">i stopped to weigh the wisdom of his answering. What good would it do to talk with a man seemingly so rooted in his prejudices? Then a smile came to him. On a visit to the Bureau of Standards at Washington, D. C., he had seen the effect of the pressure of a single finger upon a supported bar of steel three inches thick. The slight strain had caused the steel to yield one-twenty-thousandth part of an inch, as the delicate apparatus, the interferometer, had registered. Since every action, he went on to reason, produces an effect, and truth, with the impulse of the Cosmos behind it, is irresistible, surely if he advanced his views in a kindly spirit, he must modify the error in this man. But still he hesitated. Suddenly he recalled that here was a legislator: was one of those, who, above all others, ought to know the truth. This thought decided his course. He would answer to the point, resolving at the same time to restrict any conversation that might ensue to the topic of the human race as a whole and to steer clear of the color question in the </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">United States</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">. He responded with soft courtesy:<br />“I have found, sir, that any division of humanity according to physique can have but a merely nominal value, as differences in physiques are caused by climatic conditions and are subject to rechange by them. As you know, both Science and the Bible are agreed that all so-called races came from a single source. Scientists who have made a study of this question tell us that the Negro and the Yankee are both approaching the Red Indian type. Pigmented humanity becomes lighter in the temperate zone, while unpigmented humanity becomes brown in the tropics. One summer's exposure at a bathing beach is enough to make a life-saver darker than many Indians. The true skin of all human beings is of the same color – all men are white under the first layer.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"Then it is possible by the blending of human varieties to produce innumerable other varities, each one capable of reproducing and continuing itself.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">“Again, anthropologists have never been able to classify human varities. Huxley, as you know, named 2, Blumenbach 5, Burke 63, while others, desiring greater accuracy, have named hundreds.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Since these classifications are so vague and changeable, it is evident, is it not, sir, that any division of humanity, whether by color or skin, hair or facial contour, to be other than purely nominal, must be of mentality? And to classify humanity by intellect, would be, as you know, an impossible task. Nature, so far as we know, made only the individual. This idea has been ably expressed by Lamarck, who, in speaking of the human race, says, – 'Classifications are artificial, for nature had created neither classes, nor orders, nor families, nor kinds, nor permanent species, but only individuals.'"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">The senator handed back the book to </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">, huffily. "But, you have not answered my question yet," he insisted, "I asked, do you believe the black race will ever attain the intellectual standard of the Caucasian?"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"Intellect, whether of civilized or uncivilized humanity, as you know, sir, is elastic in quality. That is, primitive man when transplanted to civilization not only becomes civilized, but sometimes excels some of those whose ancestors have had centuries of culture, and the child of civilized man when isolated among primitives becomes one himself. We would find that the differences between a people who had acquired say three or four generations of beneficent culture, and another who had been long civilized would be about the same as that between the individuals in the long civilized group. That is, the usual human differences would exist. To be accurate we would have to appraise each individual separately. Any comparison between the groups would be inexact."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"But," reiterated the other, sarcastically, "you have not answered my question. Do you believe the black man will ever attain the high intellectual standard of the Caucasian? Yes or no?"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"For the most authoritative answer," responded </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;"> in the calm manner of the disciplined thinker, "we must look to modern science. If you don't mind, sir, I will give you some quotations from scientists of acknowledged authority, all of your own race."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;"> drew out his notebook.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"Bah," said the other savagely, "opinions! Mere opinions! I asked you what you think and you are telling me what someone else says. What I want to know is, what do YOU think?"</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"Each of us," replied </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">, evenly, "however learned, however independent, is compelled to seek the opinion of someone else some particular subject at some time. There is the doctor and the other professionals, for instance. Now in seeking advice one usually places the most reliance on those one considers experts, is it not? This afternoon I overheard you quoting from one of </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Lincoln</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">'s debates with </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Douglas</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;"> in order to prove your views."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Silence.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;"> opened his notebook. After finding the desired passage he said:</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"In 1911 most of the leading sociologists and anthropologists of the world met in a Universal Races Congress in </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">London</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">. The opinion of that congress was that all the so-called races of men are essentially equal. Gustav Spiller, its organizer and secretary, voiced the findings of that entire body of experts when, after a careful weighing of the question of superiority and inferiority, he said (here </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">Dixon</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;"> read from the notebook): </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">“We are then under the necessity of concluding that an impartial investigator would be inclined to look upon the various important peoples of the world as, to all intents and purposes, essentially equal in intellect, enterprise, morality and physique."</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;"> Dixon</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;"> found another passage and said: "Finot, whose findings ought to be regarded as more valuable than the expressions of those who base their arguments on sentiment or on Hebrew mythology, says, – “All peoples may attain this distant frontier which the brains of the whites have reached.” He also says:</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;"> "The conclusion, therefore, forces itself upon us, that there are no inferior and superior races, but only races and peoples living outside or within the influence of culture.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Calibri;">"The appearance of civilization and its evolution among certain white peoples and within a certain geographical latitude is only the effect of circumstances.” </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com154tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-65634032882347649142011-06-27T09:03:00.003+02:002011-06-27T09:11:01.042+02:00"Fog" by John F. Matheus<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.fairmontstate.edu/folklife/sites/default/files/authors/matheus_john.jpg?1291301718"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://www.fairmontstate.edu/folklife/sites/default/files/authors/matheus_john.jpg?1291301718" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:hyphenationzone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabel - Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><a name="Pg1"></a><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">John F. Matheus, born in </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Kyser</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">, </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">West Virginia</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">, in 1887 (d. 1986), was educated in the public schools of </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Steubenville</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">, </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Ohio</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">, and at </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Western Reserve</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">, </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Columbia</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> (A. M., 1921) </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Chicago</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">, and the Sorbonne. He has done research work in </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Haiti</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">, </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Cuba</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">, and </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Liberia</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">, countries that have provided settings for several of his plays and short stories. In 1925 he won the </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Opportunity</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></i><span style=";font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">short-story contest with “Fog”, and in 1926 he won first prize for the personal-experience section, second prize in the drama section, and honourable mention in both the short-story and poetry sections. Since 1922 he has been professor of Romance languages at West Virginia State College.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">”Fog”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">The stir of life echoed. On the bridge between </span><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Ohio</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> and </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">West Virginia</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> was the rumble of heavy trucks, the purr of high power engines in Cadillacs and Paiges, the rattle of Fords. A string of loaded freight cars pounded along on the C. & P. tracks, making a thunderous, if tedious way to Mingo. A steamboat's hoarse whistle boomed forth between the swish, swish, chug, chug of a mammoth stern paddle wheel with the asthmatic poppings of the pistons. The raucous shouts of smutty-speaking street boys, the noises of a steam laundry, the clank and clatter of a pottery, the godless voices of women from Water Street houses of ill fame, all these blended in a sort of modern babel, common to all the towers of destruction erected by modern civilization.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">These sounds were stirring when the clock sounded six on top of the Court House, that citadel of Law and Order, with the statue of Justice looming out of an alcove above the imposing stone entrance, blindfolded and in her right hand the scales of Judgment. Even so early in the evening the centers from which issued these inharmonious notes were scarcely visible. This sinister cloak of a late November twilight </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Ohio</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Valley</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> fog had<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>stealthily<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>spread from<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>somewhere beneath the sombre river bed, down from somewhere in the lowering West </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Virginia</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> hills. This fog extended its tentacles over city and river, gradually obliterating traces of familiar landscapes. At five-thirty the old Panhandle bridge, supported by massive sandstone pillars, stalwart, as when erected fifty years before to serve a generation now passed behind the portals of life, this old bridge had become a spectral outline against the sky as the toll keepers of the new bridge looked northward up the Ohio River.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Now at </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">six o'clock</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> the fog no longer distorted; it blotted out, annihilated. One by one the street lights came on, giving an uncertain glare in spots, enabling peeved citizens to tread their way homeward without recognizing their neighbour ten feet ahead, whether he might be Jew or Gentile, Negro or Pole, Slav, Croatian, Italian or one hundred per cent American.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">An impatient crowd of tired workers peered vainly through the gloom to see if the headlights of the interurban car were visible through the thickening haze. The car was due at Sixth and Market at six-ten and was scheduled to leave at six-fifteen for many little towns on the </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">West Virginia</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> side.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">At the same time as these uneasy toilers were waiting, on the opposite side of the river the car had stopped to permit some passengers to descend and disappear in the fog. The motorman, flagged and jaded by the monotony of many stoppings and startings, waited mechanically for the conductor's bell to signal, "Go ahead."<br />The fog was thicker, more impenetrable. It smothered the headIight. Inside the car in the smoker, that part of the seats nearest the motorman’s box, partitioned from the rest, the lights were struggling bravely against a fog of tobacco smoke, almost as opaque as the dull grey blanket of mist outside.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">A group of red, rough men, sprawled along the two opposite bench-formed seats, paralled to the sides of the car, were talking to one another in the thin, flat colorless English of their mountain state, embellished with the homely idioms of the coal mine, the oil field, the gas well.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">“When does this here meetin' start, Bill?" </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">“That air notice read </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">half after seven</span><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"What's time now?"</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">“Damned<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>'f I know. Hey, Lee, what time's that pocket clock of yourn’s got?”<br />"</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Two past six</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">There was the sound of a match scratching against the sole of a rough shoe.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">“Gimme a light, Lafe."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">In<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>attempting to reach for the burning match before its flame was extinguished, the man stepped forward and stumbled over a cheap suitcase of imitation leather. A vile looking stogie fell in the aisle. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">“God! Your feet're bigger'n Bill's."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">The crowd laughed uproariously. The butt of this joke grinned and showed a set of dirty nicotine stained teeth. He recovered his balance in time to save the flaring match. He was a tremendous man, slightly stooped, with taffy colored, straggling hair and little pig eyes.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Between initial puffs he drawled: "Now you're barkin' up the wrong<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>tree. I only wear elevens."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">“Git off'n me, Lee Cromarty," growled Bill. "You hadn't ought to be rumlin' of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">my</i> feathers the wrong way – and you a-plannin' to ride the goat."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Lafe, a consumptive appearing, undersized, bovine eyed individual, spat out the remark: "Naow, there! You had better be kereful. Men have been nailed to the cross for less than that." </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"Ha! ha!-ho! ho! ho!"</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">There was a joke to arouse the temper of the crowd.<br /><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>A baby began to cry lustily in the rear and more commodious end of the car reserved for nonsmokers. His infantine wailing smote in sharp contrast upon the ears of the hilarious joshers, filling the silence that followed the subsidence of the laughter.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"Taci, bimba. Non aver paura!"</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Nobody understood the musical words of the patient, Madonna-eyed Italian mother, not even the baby, for it continued its yelling. She opened her gay colored shirt waist and pressed the child to her bosom. He was quieted.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"She can't speak </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">United States</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">, but I bet her Tony Spaghetti votes the same as you an' me. The young 'un ‘ll have more to say about the future of these Nunited States than your children an' mine unless we carry forward the word such as we are going to accomplish tonight."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"Yeh, you're damned right," answered the scowling companion of the lynx-eyed citizen in khaki clothes, who had thus commented upon the foreign woman's offspring.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">“They breed like cats. They’ll outnumber us, unless –“</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">A smell of garlic stifled his speech. Nick and Mike Axaminter, late for the night shift at the La Belle, bent over the irate American deluging him with the odor of garlic and voluble, guttural explosions of a Slovak tongue. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"What t’ hell! Git them buckets out o' my face, you hunkies, you!" </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Confused and apologetic the two men moved forward.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"Isn't this an awful fog, Barney," piped a gay, girlish voice.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"I'll tell the world it is," replied her red-haired companion, flinging a half smoked cigarette away in the darkness as he assisted the girl to the platform.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">They made their way to a vacant seat in the end of the car opposite the smoker, pausing for a moment respectfully to make the sign of the cross before two Sisters of Charity, whose flowing black robes and ebon headdress contrasted strikingly with the pale whiteness of their faces. The nuns raised their eyes, slightly smiled and continued their orisons on dark decades of rosaries with pendant crosses of ivory.<br />"Let's sit here," whispered the girl. "I don't want to be by those niggers."<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">In a few seconds they were settled. There were cooings of sweet words, limpid-eyed soul glances. They forgot all others. The car was theirs alone.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"Say, boy, ain't this some fog. Yuh can't see the old berg."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">“’Sthat so. I hadn't noticed."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Two Negro youths thus exchanged words. They were well dressed and sporty.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">“Well, it don't matter, as long as it don't interfere with the dance."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"I hope Daisy will be there. She's some stunnin' high brown an' I don’t mean maybe."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">“O <span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>boy!"</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Thereupon one began to hum "Daddy, O Daddy" and the other whistled softly the popular air from "Shuffle Along" entitled "Old-Fashioned Love.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">“Oi, oi! Ven I say vill dis car shtart. Ve must mek dot train fur </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Pittsburgh</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"Ach, Ish ka bibble. They can't do a thing without us, Laban."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">They settled down in their seats to finish the discussions in Yiddish, emphasizing the conversation with shrugs of the shoulder and throaty interjections.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">In a set apart <span style="mso-tab-count: 1"> </span>to themselves, for two<span style="mso-tab-count: 1"> </span>seats in<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>front and behind were unoccupied, sat an old Negro man<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>and<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>a Negro woman, evidently his wife. Crowded between them was a girl of fourteen or fifteen.<br />"'This heah is suah cu'us weather," complained the old man.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">“We all nevah had no sich fog in </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Oklahoma</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">The girl's hair was bobbed and had been straightened by "Poro" treatment, giving her an Egyptian cast of features.<br />“Gran’ pappy," said the girl, "yo' cain't see ovah yander." </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"Ain’t it de troot, chile."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"Ne' min', sugah," assured the old woman. "Ah done paid dat ‘ployment man an' he sayed yo' bound tuh lak de place. Dis here lady what’s hirin yo' is no po' trash an' she wants a likely gal lak yo' tuh ten' huh baby."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Now these series of conversations did not transpire in chronological<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>order. They were uttered more or less simultaneously during the interval that the little conductor stood on tiptoe in an effort to keep one hand on the signal rope, craning his neck in a vain and dissatisfied endeavor to pierce the miasma of the fog. The motorman chafed <span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>in his box, thinking of the drudging lot of the laboring man<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>….</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">The garrulous group in the smoker were smouldering cauldrons of discontent. In truth their dissatisfaction ran the gamut of hate. It was stretching out to join hands with an unknown and clandestine host to plot, preserve, defend their dwarfed and twisted ideals.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">The two foreign intruders in the smoker squirmed under the merciless, half articulate antipathy. They asked nothing but a job to make some money. In exchange for that magic English word job, they endured the terror that walked by day, the boss. They grinned stupidly at profanity, dirt, disease, disaster. Yet they were helping to make </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">America</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Three groups in the car on this foggy evening were united under the sacred mantle of a common religion. Within its folds they sensed vaguely a something of happiness. The Italian mother radiated the joy of her child. Perhaps in honor of her and in reverence the two nuns with downcast eyes, trying so hard to forget the world, were counting off the rosary of the blessed Virgin –"Ave, Maria," "Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">The youth and his girl in their tiny circle of mutual attraction and affection could not as in Edwin Markham's poem widen the circle to include all or even to embrace that small circumscribed area of humanity within the car.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">And the Negroes? Surely there was no hate in their minds. The gay youths were rather indifferent. The trio from the South, journeying far for a greater freedom of self expression philosophically accepted the inevitable "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">The Jews were certainly enveloped in a racial consciousness,<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>1 unerringly fixed on control and domination of money, </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">America</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">'s most potent factor in respectability.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">The purplish haze of fog contracted. Its damp presence slipped into the car and every passenger shivered and peered forth to see. Their eyes were as the eyes of the blind!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">At last the signal bell rang out staccato. The car suddenly lurched forward, shaking from side to side the passengers in their seats. The wheels scraped and began to turn. Almost at once a more chilling wetness filtered in from the river. In the invisibility of the fog it seemed that one was traveling through space, in an aeroplane perhaps, going nobody knew where.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">The murmur of voices buzzed in the smoker, interrupted by the boisterous outbursts of laughter. A red glare tinted the fog for a second and disappeared. La Belle was "shooting" the furnaces. Then a denser darkness and the fog.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">The car lurched, scintillating sparks flashed from the trolley wire, a terrific crash-silence. The lights went out. Before anybody could think or scream, there came a falling sensation, such as one experiences when dropped unexpectedly in an elevator or when diving through the scenic railways of the city amusement parks, or more exactly when one has a nightmare and dreams of falling, falling, falling.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"The bridge has given way. God! The muddy water! The fog! Darkness.</span><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Death."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">These thoughts flashed spontaneously in the consciousness of the rough ignorant fellows, choking in the fumes of their strong tobacco, came to the garlic-scented "hunkies," to the Italian Madonna, to the Sisters of Charity, to the lover boy and his lover girl, to the Negro youths, to the Jews thinking in Yiddish idioms, to the old Negro man and his wife and the Egyptian-faced girl, with the straightened African hair, even to the bored motorman and the weary conductor.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">To drown, to strangle, to suffocate, to die! In the dread silence the<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>words screamed like exploding shells within the beating temples of terror-stricken passengers and crew.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Then protest, wild, mad, tumultuous, frantic protest. Life at bay and bellowing furiously against its ancient arch-enemy and antithesis – Death. An oath, screams,-dull, paralyzing) vomit-stirring nausea. Holy, unexpressed intimacies, deeply rooted prejudices were roughly shaken from their smug moorings. The Known to be changed for an Unknown,<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>the<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>ever<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>expected,<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>yet<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>unexpected,<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Death.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No! Not<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>that.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Lee Cromarty saw things in that darkness. A plain, one-story frame house, a slattern woman on the porch, an overgrown, large hipped girl with his face. Then the woman's whining, scolding voice and the girl's bashful confidences. What was dimming that picture? What cataract was blurring his vision? Was it fog?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">To Lafe, leader of the crowd, crouched in his seat, his fingers clawing the air for a grasping place, came a vision of a hill-side grave, – his wife's – and he saw again how she looked in her coffin – then the fog.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"I'll not report at the mine," thought Bill. "Wonder what old Bunner will say to that." The mine foreman's grizzled face dangled for a second before him and was swallowed in the fog.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">Hoarse, gasping exhalations. Men, old men, young men, sobbing. "Pièta! Madre mia! – Mercy, Virgin Mary! My child!"</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">No thoughts of fear or pain on the threshold of death, that shadow from whence all children flow, but all the Mother Love focused to save the child.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">"<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Memorare</i>, remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that any one who fled to thy protection, implored thy help and sought thy intercession was left unaided."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US">The fingers sped over the beads of the rosary. But looming up, inerasable, shuttled the kaleidoscope of youth, love, betrayal, renunciation, the vows. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Miserere, Jesu! </i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">"Life is ever lord of Death</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">And Love can never lose its own."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">The girl was hysterical, weeping, screaming, laughing. Did the poet dream an idle dream, a false mirage? Death is master. Death is stealing Love away. How could a silly girl believe or know the calm of poesie?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">The<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>boy<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>crumbled.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>His<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>swagger and bravado<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>melted. The passionate call of sex became a blur. He was not himself, yet he was looking at himself, a confusion in space, in night, in Fog. And who was she hanging limp upon his arm?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">That dance? The jazz dance? Ah, the dance! The dance of Life was ending. The orchestra was playing a dirge and Death was leading the Grand March. Fog! Impenetrable fog!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">All the unheeded, forgotten warnings of ranting preachers, all the prayers of simple black mothers, the Mercy-Seat, the Revival, too late. Terror could give no articulate expression to these muffled feelings. They came to the surface of a blunted consciousness, incoherent.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Was there a God in </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Israel</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">? Laban remembered </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Russia</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> and the pogrom. The old Negro couple remembered another horror. They had been through the riots in </span><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Tulsa</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">. There they had lost their son and his wife, the Egyptian-faced girl's father and mother. They had heard the whine of bullets, the hiss of flame, the howling of human wolves, killing in the most excruciating manner. The water was silent. The water was merciful.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">The old woman began to sing in a high quavering minor key:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">"Lawdy, won't yo' ketch mah groan,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Oh Lawdy, Lawdy, won't yo' ketch my groan."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">The old man cried out: "Judgment! Judgment!"<br />The Egyptian-faced girl wept. She was sore afraid, sore afraid. And the fog was round about them.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Time is a relative term…. What happened inside the heads of these men and women seemed to them to have consumed hours instead of seconds. The conductor mechanically grabbed the trolley rope, the motorman threw on the brakes.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">The reaction came. Fear may become inarticulate and paralyzed. Then again it may become belligerent and self-protective, striking blindly in the maze. Darkness did not destroy completely the sense of direction.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">"The door! the exit!"</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">A mad rush to get out, not to be trapped without a chance, like rats in a trap.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">"Out of my way! Damn you – out of my way!" </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Somebody yelled: "Sit still!"</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Somebody hissed: "Brutes! Beasts!"</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Another concussion, accompanied by the grinding of steel. The car stopped, lurched backward, swayed, and again stood still. Excited shouts reechoed from the ends of the bridge. Automobile horns tooted. An age <span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>seemed to pass, but the great smash did not come. There was still time – maybe. The car was emptied.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">"Run for the </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Ohio</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> end!" someone screamed.<br />The<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>fog shut <span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>off every man from his neighbour. The sound of scurrying feet reverberated, of the Italian woman and her baby, of the boy carrying his girl, of the Negro youths, of the old man and his wife, half dragging the Egyptian-faced girl, of the Sisters of Charity, miners. Flitting like wraiths in Homer's Hades, seeking life.<br />In five minutes all were safe on </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Ohio</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> soil. The bridge still stood. </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">A street</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> light gave a ghastly glare through the fog. The whore houses on<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Water Street</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> brooded evily in the shadows. Dogs barked, the Egyptian-faced girl had fainted. The old Negro woman panted, "Mah Jesus! Mah Jesus!"</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">The occupants of the deserted car looked at one another. The icy touch of the Grave began to thaw. There was a generous intermingling. Everybody talked at once, inquiring, congratulating.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">"Look after the girl," shouted Lee Cromarty. "Help the old woman, boys."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Bells began to ring. People came running. The ambulance arrived.<br />The colored girl had recovered. Then everybody shouted again. Profane miners, used to catastrophe, were strangely moved. The white boy and girl held hands.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">"Sing us a song, old woman," drawled Lafe.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">"He's heard mah groan. He done heard it," burst forth the old woman in a song flood of triumph.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">"Yes, he conquered Death and Hell,<br /><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>An' He never said a mumblin' word,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Not a word, not a word."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">"How you feelin', Mike," said Bill to the garlic eater. "Me fine. Me fine."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">The news of the event spread like wildfire. The street was now crowded. The police arrived. A bridge official appeared, announcing the probable cause of the accident, a slipping of certain supports. The girders fortunately had held. A terrible tragedy had been prevented.<br />"I'm a wash-foot Baptist an' I don't believe in Popery," said Lafe, "but, fellers, let's ask them ladies in them air mournin' robes to say a prayer of thanksgiving for the bunch." </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">The Sisters of Charity did say a prayer, not an audible petition for the ears of men, but a whispered prayer for the ears of God, the Benediction of Thanksgiving, uttered by the Catholic Church through many years, in many tongues and places. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">"De profundis," added the silently moving lips of the white-faced nuns. "Out of the depths have we cried unto Thee, O Lord. And Thou hast heard our cries." </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">The motorman was no longer dissatisfied. The conductor's strength had been renewed like the eagle's. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">"Boys," drawled Lafe, "I'll be damned if I'm goin' to that meetin’ tonight." </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">"Nor me," affirmed Lee Cromarty. "Nor me," repeated all the others. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">The fog still crept from under the bed of the river and down from the lowering hills of </span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">West Virginia</span><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> – dense, tenacious, stealthy, chilling, but from about the hearts and minds of some rough, unlettered men another fog had begun to lift. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-US"> </span></p>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-84668261351514722412011-06-26T11:43:00.005+02:002011-06-26T12:23:22.366+02:00Excerpt from 'Clotelle, or the Colored Heroine'William Wells Brown (1814-1884), who has written the following excerpt of a novel of his, was a <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.cwo.com/%7Elucumi/brown.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 174px; height: 236px;" src="http://www.cwo.com/%7Elucumi/brown.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>prominent abolitionist lecturer and novelist. He was born into slavery in the South but managed to escape to the North in 1834. His mother had William by George Higgins, a white planter who was a cousin to the owner. The owner, Dr. Young, had promised Higgins that he would not sell his son (as Higgins recognized William as such) but William ended up being sold many times before he was 20 years old. In Buffalo, New York, he aided slaves escape by means of the Underground Railroad and he became active in the abolitionist movement by joining numerous anti-slavery societies such as the Negro Convention Movement. He lectured in England from 1849 and because of the 1850 Fugitive Law he stayed there until 1854 when the Richardson family bought his freedom (as they had done the same for Frederick Douglas).<br /><br />The following excerpt is taken from the third edition of William Wells Brown's historic novel; this edition is called <span style="font-style: italic;">Clotelle, or the Colored Heroine</span> (1867) and it is considered to be the first novel by an African-American. Brown advises his readers that the two leading characters are real personages and that the author witnessed many of the incidents.<br /><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:hyphenationzone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabel - Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-family:Calibri;"><br /></span></i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">[Quadroon; Octoroon]</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">A few miles out of </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Richmond</span></i><i style=""><span style=";font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB"> is a pleasant place, with here and there a<span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>beautiful cottage surrounded by trees so as scarcely to be seen. Among these was one far retired from the public roads, and almost hidden among the trees. This was the spot that Henry Linwood had selected for Isabella, the eldest daughter of Agnes. The young man hired the house, furnished it, and placed his mistress there, and for </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">many months no one in his father's family knew where he spent his leisure hours.</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">When Henry was not with her, Isabella employed herself in looking after her little garden and the flowers that grew in front of her cottage. The passion-flower, peony, dahlia, laburnum, and other plants, so abundant in warm climates, under the tasteful hand of Isabella, lavished their beauty upon this retired spot, and miniature paradise.<br />Although Isabella had been assured by Henry that she should be free and that he would always consider her as his wife, she nevertheless felt that she ought to be married and acknowledged by him. But this was an impossibility under the State laws, even had the young been disposed to do what was right in th</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">e matter. Related as he was, however, to one of the first families in </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Virginia</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style=" mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">, he would not have dared to marry a woman of so low an origin, even had the laws been favorable.</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Here, in this secluded grove, unvisited by any other except her lover, Isabella lived for years. She had become the mother of a lovely daughter, which its father named Clotelle. The complexion of the child was still fairer than that of its mother. Indeed, she was not darker than other white children, and as she grew older she more and more resembled her father.</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">As time passed away, Henry became negligent of Isabella and his child, so much, so, that days and </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">even weeks passed without their seeing him, or knowing where he was. Becoming more acquainted with the world, and moving continually in the society of young women of his own station, the young man felt that Isabella was a burden to him, and having as some would say, "outgrown his love," he longed to free himself of the responsibility; yet every time he saw the child, he felt that he owed it his fatherly care.</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Henry had now entered into political life, and been elected to a seat in the legislature of his native State; and in his intercourse with his friends had become acquainted with Gertrude Miller, the daughter of a wealthy gentleman living near Richmond. Both Henry and Gertrude were very good-looking, and a mutual attachment sprang up between them.</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Instead of finding fault with the unfrequent visits of Henry, Isabella always met him with a smile, and tried to make both him and herself believe that business was the cause of his negligence. When he was with her, she devoted every moment of her time to him, and never failed to speak of the growth and increasing intelligence of Clotelle.</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">The child had grown so large as to be able to follow its father on his departure out to the road. But the impression made on Henry’s feelings by the devoted woman and her child was momentary. His heart had grown hard, and his acts were guided by no fixed principle. Henry and Gertrude had been married nearly two years before Isabella knew anything of the event, and it was merely by accident that she bec</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">ame acquainted with the facts.</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">One beautiful afternoon, when Isabella and Clotelle were picking wild strawberries some two miles from their home, and near the roadside, they observed a one-horse chaise driving past. The mother turned her face from the carriage not wishing to be seen by strangers, little dreaming that the chaise contained Henry and his wife. The child, however, watched the chaise, and startled her mother by screaming out at the top of her voice, "Papa! papa!" and clapped her little hands for joy. The mother turned in haste to look at the strangers, and her eyes encountered those of Henry's pale and dejected countenance. </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;font-family:Calibri;" lang="EN-GB">Gertrude’s eyes were on the child. The swiftness with which Henry drove by could not hide from his wife the striking resemblance of the child to himself. The young wife had heard the child exclaim “Papa! Papa!” and she immediately saw by the quivering of his lips and the agitation depicted in his countenance, that all was not right.</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-family:Calibri;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b1/Brown_Clotel_1853.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 257px; height: 434px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b1/Brown_Clotel_1853.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></span></i></p>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-56073289777346551042011-06-24T11:21:00.002+02:002011-06-24T11:25:56.518+02:00Sundiata’s Triumph by an anonymous writer<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">A record of one side of the Sumanguru’s defeat from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">The African Past: Chronicles from Antiquity to Modern Times</i> by Basil Davidson.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">In about the year 1240, according to tradition, the Mandingo ruler Sundiata Keita fought a crucial battle against the Sosso (Fulah) King Sumanguru, and won. This is generally accounted as the beginning of the empire of </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Mali</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">. An anonymous manuscript in Arabic, recovered and translated by the late Maurice Delafosse, tells the story of this battle as popular </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">memory recorded it long afterwards.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style=""><span style="" lang="EN-GB">As Sundiata advanced with his army to meet Sumanguru, he learned that Sumanguru was also coming against him with an army prepared for battle. They met in a place called Kirina [not far from modern Koulikoro]. When Sundiata turned his eyes on the army of Sumanguru he believed they were a cloud and said: ‘What is this cloud on the eastern side?’ They told him it was the army of Sumanguru. As for Sumanguru, when he saw the army of Sundiata, he exclaimed: ‘What is that mountain of stone?’ For he thought it was a mountain. And they told him: ‘It is the army of Sundiata, which lies to the west of us.’ Then the two</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"> columns came together and fought a murderous battle; in the thick of the fight, Sundiata uttered a great shout in the face of the warriors of Sumanguru, and at once these ran to get behind Sumanguru; the latter in his return uttered a great shout in the face of the warriors of Sundiata, all of whom fled to get behind Sundiata. Usually, when Sumanguru shouted, eight heads would rise above his own head.</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style=""><span style="" lang="EN-GB">When they had done this, Sundiata said to Sangaran Danguinia Konnté: ‘Have you forgotten the taboo?’ [A reference to an earlier prophecy of Sumanguru’s imminent downfall, and the manner of its bringing about] As soon as Sangaran Danguinia heard Su</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">ndiata’s question he came to the front of the army, halted, grasped the arrow (spear?) armed with the spur of a white cock, and threw it at Sumanguru. As soon as it had struck Sumanguru, Sangaran said: ‘This is the arrow of him who knows the ancient secrets…’ While he was saying this, Sumanguru vanished and was seen no more. Now he had had a gold bracelet on his wrist, and this fell on that spot [i.e., at Kirina]; a baobab tree grew out of it and carries the mark to this day. [Fifty years ago, it is said, the people of Kirina would still show their visitors a baobab tree which they held to be the same one as grew there on the day of Sundiata’s famous victory]</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">…As for Sundiata, he defeated the army of Sumanguru, ravaged the land of the Susu and subjugated its people. Afterwards Sundiata became the ruler of an immense empire [</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">Mali</span></i><i style=""><span style="" lang="EN-GB">]…</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.mrdowling.com/images/609sundiata.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 263px;" src="http://www.mrdowling.com/images/609sundiata.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-88605140680307135302011-04-09T11:14:00.000+02:002011-04-09T11:32:21.725+02:00The Creator Nyame and His Four Wives<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">This is a story of the Krachi people of Ghana.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Nyame was married to Akoko, the barn-door fowl, but after a while he took to himself four other wives. Akoko, of course, retained her rights as the head wife, and the other four wives obeyed her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">One day Nyame called the four newcomers together and asked each one what present she would give him in return for his having raised her above other women in the tribe.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The first one promised that she would always sweep his compound for him and keep the place neat and tidy; the second said she would always cook for him and never complain when there were many visitors; the third agreed to spin cotton for him and to bring him all the water he might require; and the fourth one said that she would bear him a child of gold.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">This last promise pleased Nyame, and everyday he killed a sheep for this woman. But the child was long in coming. Just when Nyame’s patience was giving out, the woman conceived, and Nyame detailed Akoko to tend and care for her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">So Akoko took the woman into her hut and, when the time of delivery was at hand, Akoko told her that, whatever else she did, she was to be sure to shut her eyes when the child was born and not to open them until she was told so. The woman obeyed, and Akoko hurried out and brought back a big pot.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Now it happened that the woman bore twins. The first one to be born was made entirely of silver, and Akoko at once took the babe and placed it in the pot. The second child was of gold, and Akoko placed it in the pot. Then she hurried outside and found two frogs. Returning with these, she placed them on the couch and then told the mother to open her eyes and see her children.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Then Akoko hastened out of the hut with the pot and ran with it as fast as she could to the far, </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">far bush, where she found a dead odum tree. There she hid the pot with the two babies and then returned swiftly to Nyame’s compound, passing by his hut on the way. She told her husband that the children had been born and asked him to go with her to see his offspring.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Nyame at once arose and went to the hut where the mother was lying. To his consternation and anger, he found two frogs instead of the expected child of gold. He gave orders that the frogs were to be killed at once and that the woman should be sent into the farthermost corner of his kingdom.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Now it chanced that Nyame had a certain hunter whose hut was situated i</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">n the far bush. He happened to be out hunting on the day the children were born and his chase led him to the odum tree. There his eye was attracted by the glitter of the golden child and he cried out, “Why, what is this?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The children answered him, “We are the children of Nyame.” But he could not believe that.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">He took some of the dust that had fallen from their bodies, however, and put it into his bag. Then he took up the children and carried them to his hovel. There he kept them secretly, nor did he tell any man of what he had found.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">And every time the hunter wanted money he would father some of the children’s dust. Thus he became a very rich man. Instead of having a solitary hovel in the bush, he built a huge compound and round him there gathered a great town.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Now not very far away there lived Ananse. One day he went out into the bush to gather some white ants for his fowls and he came across the new town. He was astounded to see that in the place where expected a hovel there was so much wealth and so many people. His curiosity aroused, Ananse entered the town to learn how the changed had come about. By sheer accident he espied the former hunter playing with the children. At once Ananse knew that the latter we</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">re the lost children of Nyame, and he hurried back home to send a message to their father. But the hunter had also seen Ananse, and he knew full well that busybody would betray his secret. Therefore he called the children and told them that, as they claimed they were the children of Nyame, and he proposed to take them to Nyame.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The next morning he prepared hammocks and fine clothes for the children and proceeded on the way to Nyame. On the road the children called their foster-father and told him that he must collect some stones with which to play <i style="">wari</i>, as they themselves could not speak to their father, but that the stones would tell him the whole story.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The man did som and they arrived before Nyame. There the hunter placed stools and asked Nyame if he would play a game of <i style="">wari</i> with him. Nyame agreed, but the silver child said, no, he himself wished to play, that the stones would tell the story for which they had come. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Then the silver child and Nyame sat down to the game and, as the stones went round and round the board, the golden child sang the story of their adventures from the time of their mother’s promise until their birth; he sang of the baseness of Akoko and of the kindness of the hunter wh</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">o had fed them instead of killing them for their silver and gold.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The Nyame knew them to be his children, and he sent straightway into the far, far bush to call the woman whom he had exiled. When she arrived, she was dirty all over and her hair was uncut and unkempt. Nyame himself washed the woman, and when she was all clean and nice again he sent for Akoko.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Great was Nyame’s wrath. He tied the evil fowl Akoko, his first wife, by her foot to a stick and </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">cursed her. Then he threw her down from the sky and gave orders that every time the fowl wished to drink she would first have to raise her head to him and beg. Further, Nyame gave orders that every man would in the future sacrifice fowls as the ordinary sacrifices to the gods.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Are not these things done to this day?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">As for the children – once every year they are washed, and the dust from them falls upon the earth. Some falls on men, and these are the lucky ones who become wealthy.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://adinkra.org/images/tamf_lg.gif"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 164px;" src="http://adinkra.org/images/tamf_lg.gif" alt="" border="0" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Adrinka symbol, Tamfo Bebre, "the enemy will stew in his own juice", stands for jealousy and envy.</span><br /></p>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-54124857327140848642011-04-06T09:31:00.000+02:002011-04-06T09:34:05.568+02:00Peter TongoloThe story of a remarkable carpenter from the present US Virgin Islands (story in the photo).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUsYF6cqaa9ahQ6_OCtDtIiu3EhNrhjLRH5l9iXSJtQRYOCIlwT4vkuItP-1H95kCo_RGV__wNFut8ZKdmEmOwfjOIHg5GV6J8BiYNfO2nT3wJFdZIBSWrQSXVRGAm705oGCUZpn0UAEL/s1600/DSCN3252.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 351px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUsYF6cqaa9ahQ6_OCtDtIiu3EhNrhjLRH5l9iXSJtQRYOCIlwT4vkuItP-1H95kCo_RGV__wNFut8ZKdmEmOwfjOIHg5GV6J8BiYNfO2nT3wJFdZIBSWrQSXVRGAm705oGCUZpn0UAEL/s320/DSCN3252.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592370423988932834" border="0" /></a>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-60919101449824685412011-04-03T23:38:00.000+02:002011-04-03T23:59:41.459+02:00The West Indian Heritage<span style="" lang="EN-GB">A new exhibition opened at the </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">National</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Museum</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> in </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Copenhagen</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> yesterday. An exhibition o</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">f the West Indian Heritage (more specifically about the former Danish West Indies), which brings the buildings into the picture of the structure of the colony and its function. On top of that it </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">will draw parallels to the situation and the heritage from today. Danes still tend to call the </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Virgi</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">n </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Islands</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> ‘the Danish West Indies’, which is wrong and I wish they would quit it.</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> Neither the </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">islands nor the people have been under Danish rule for almost a hundred years. If I use the term, it will be in reference to the period where V.I. was a Danish colony. No, Danish <u>slavery</u> was </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">not better than other countries’ doings. I took some pictures of the opening I want to share. It is an important subject, and I sincerely hope </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Denmark</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> will pay back what they ow</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">e the populace of the V.I. by 2017, when it will be a hundred years since </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Denmark</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> sold V.I. to </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">USA</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">.<br /><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrSKGuyFmTzGuMZwwBj3rS1uA2yUVFFgAaFzPxzfIWAk9mCGBWHiSyW-NWMWrqmd9GP9j9Rhw-WeeGfzN_K4_UVxJWxP0nuqK0G4lXsWmWLO0exBdyzhipZyJgsEkSccSkUxWGxB325EFi/s1600/DSCN3238.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrSKGuyFmTzGuMZwwBj3rS1uA2yUVFFgAaFzPxzfIWAk9mCGBWHiSyW-NWMWrqmd9GP9j9Rhw-WeeGfzN_K4_UVxJWxP0nuqK0G4lXsWmWLO0exBdyzhipZyJgsEkSccSkUxWGxB325EFi/s320/DSCN3238.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591475697642534242" border="0" /></a></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZH9ChyphenhyphenOUjwd8o_GYkSTbAIef4ROA0A6_Ky-ifK9Zx_TwARsvjBiCFIGE8hA_htc7Z_9T9WYOAV30qn0_tdyOKC6bFjwb_S54TYn4cYiG_NLy4TxUA9xiZTm2CSpCeqPa_6KWF5SNMQdbV/s1600/DSCN3229.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZH9ChyphenhyphenOUjwd8o_GYkSTbAIef4ROA0A6_Ky-ifK9Zx_TwARsvjBiCFIGE8hA_htc7Z_9T9WYOAV30qn0_tdyOKC6bFjwb_S54TYn4cYiG_NLy4TxUA9xiZTm2CSpCeqPa_6KWF5SNMQdbV/s320/DSCN3229.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591477945283410498" border="0" /></a><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsLvDpvIksipnxP3N6TEr7q03R6DFbV3gNzUBpMWuM_pAwZDGE-O2Rq5aCXHqhXKhLlYpcs6JNRu91KZG6UmLUWKfkJJXvDgyryk9zZH4LDIgTzWBvxIWIICVilICOE86ZS1HgRIWH_7uj/s1600/DSCN3247.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsLvDpvIksipnxP3N6TEr7q03R6DFbV3gNzUBpMWuM_pAwZDGE-O2Rq5aCXHqhXKhLlYpcs6JNRu91KZG6UmLUWKfkJJXvDgyryk9zZH4LDIgTzWBvxIWIICVilICOE86ZS1HgRIWH_7uj/s320/DSCN3247.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591477949576276210" border="0" /></a><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8cPLYCm0SC2_tV_3oDN4Tk37X7z5G70oPef4_gTEG8sfVgkGv037N_wl3j_ZCSBLcmX30P2Wo6r99eXKqgXzNfRrYPowjMn-SeSh_70T4vAbh2-_nXdTjhG-M518p_vPGOS41AEMtuAb/s1600/DSCN3246.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8cPLYCm0SC2_tV_3oDN4Tk37X7z5G70oPef4_gTEG8sfVgkGv037N_wl3j_ZCSBLcmX30P2Wo6r99eXKqgXzNfRrYPowjMn-SeSh_70T4vAbh2-_nXdTjhG-M518p_vPGOS41AEMtuAb/s320/DSCN3246.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591478829734966210" border="0" /></a><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgge4OaNuLY6jIXox3vlQGWruBsa_mgJzVBbswSx_9vrWU4ujcuC6NlLOETgrJX7U5byttPCulPgP5YltyXesq5Az2oomQWgNMXKRGq1tpb-n8ya0BODSRdwouktQ-zKTwyaRVzqz74-dWT/s1600/DSCN3264.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgge4OaNuLY6jIXox3vlQGWruBsa_mgJzVBbswSx_9vrWU4ujcuC6NlLOETgrJX7U5byttPCulPgP5YltyXesq5Az2oomQWgNMXKRGq1tpb-n8ya0BODSRdwouktQ-zKTwyaRVzqz74-dWT/s320/DSCN3264.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591479570721671346" border="0" /></a><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyoWWHFbc0FVVPdhDutRMMZli0mPx0B6batKP5CiP-mKFaEZLCg4jGAsnHSsM6hNtJ2_XR6VMgE8RgdeGwVweyHDo_7diAxCRt5TSkUX3Djnd_cphpkMHbn-KAqbAShIJCV8Z6aC54K9S/s1600/DSCN3285.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyoWWHFbc0FVVPdhDutRMMZli0mPx0B6batKP5CiP-mKFaEZLCg4jGAsnHSsM6hNtJ2_XR6VMgE8RgdeGwVweyHDo_7diAxCRt5TSkUX3Djnd_cphpkMHbn-KAqbAShIJCV8Z6aC54K9S/s320/DSCN3285.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591479770412611746" border="0" /><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHGcullsP-rZuYwrzNOeRs-m_IqmgkJ2dh2Ew3DSpj8WeReTKIuiCzQtMYl1p_HgylmpwysVVxRMvA-uUa9demG92MInzQogtuzT3fFU5jbMmakBoG7vXxvoukV_TMyFNB4sEJefAHKpB/s1600/DSCN3307.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHGcullsP-rZuYwrzNOeRs-m_IqmgkJ2dh2Ew3DSpj8WeReTKIuiCzQtMYl1p_HgylmpwysVVxRMvA-uUa9demG92MInzQogtuzT3fFU5jbMmakBoG7vXxvoukV_TMyFNB4sEJefAHKpB/s320/DSCN3307.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591480221905607586" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-63913254298792498472011-03-26T16:00:00.000+01:002011-03-26T16:01:28.726+01:00Black Woman<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:hyphenationzone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabel - Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">One of the poets I really like and admire is Léopold Sédar Senghor. His words look as if they dance across the paper, and it appears that I never stop to be amazed of his language of arts and truth. Needless to say, he was not only a poet but one of the greatest African intellectuals of the 20th century as he in 1960 became the first President of Republic Senegal and in the 1930s he was one of les trois pères, the three fathers, of the movement la Négritude along with Aimé Césaire (</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Martinique</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">) and León Damas (</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">French Guiana</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">). In the 1920s and 30s movements and literary styles such as the Harlem Rennaissance swept over the African Diaspora and black students and scholars took up the yearning for Black solidarity against colonial racism which resulted in the controversial Négritude movement. Wole Soyinka, the Nigerian poet and novelist, opposed la Nègritude saying “<i>Un </i></span><i><span style="" lang="EN-GB">tigre</span></i><i><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> ne proclame pas sa tigritude, il saute sur sa proie”</span></i><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> (“A tiger does not proclaim its tigerness; it jumps on its prey”). Nevertheless, la Nègritude is a marking point in Black history and a number of passionate writers have contributed to the movement, including Paul Niger and Guy Tirolien (Guadeloupe), Gilbert Gratiant and Edouard Glissant (Martinique), Jacques Roumain, Jean Brière, Félix Morisseau-Leroy and René Depestre (Haiti), Birago Diop and David Diop (Senegal), and Bernard Dadié (Côte d’Ivoire)</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB"></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> It annoys me so much that I have yet to learn French so I can read the great literature of the French Antilles and other French speaking areas because there is so so much Black history and literature in French. I am certain that his poems are even more beautiful in the original language. Until then I will post his poems in English for the masses, including myself.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“Naked woman, black woman<br /><br />Clothed with your colour which is life,<br />with your form which is beauty!<br /><br />In your shadow I have grown up; the<br />gentleness of your hands was laid over my eyes.<br /><br />And now, high up on the sun-baked<br />pass, at the heart of summer, at the heart of </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">noon</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">,<br />I come upon you, my Promised Land,<br />And your beauty strikes me to the heart<br />like the flash of an eagle.<br /><br />Naked woman, dark woman<br /><br />Firm-fleshed ripe fruit, sombre raptures<br />of black wine, mouth making lyrical my mouth<br />Savannah stretching to clear horizons,<br />savannah shuddering beneath the East Wind's<br />eager caresses<br /><br />Carved tom-tom, taut tom-tom, muttering<br />under the Conqueror's fingers<br /><br />Your solemn contralto voice is the<br />spiritual song of the Beloved.<br /><br />Naked woman, dark woman<br /><br />Oil that no breath ruffles, calm oil on the<br />athlete's flanks, on the flanks of the Princes of Mali<br />Gazelle limbed in Paradise, pearls are stars on the<br />night of your skin<br /><br />Delights of the mind, the glinting of red<br />gold against your watered skin<br /><br />Under the shadow of your hair, my care<br />is lightened by the neighbouring suns of your eyes.<br /><br />Naked woman, black woman,<br />I sing your beauty that passes, the form<br />that I fix in the Eternal,<br /><br />Before jealous fate turn you to ashes to<br />feed the roots of life.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-10713373073329610942010-08-21T15:24:00.000+02:002010-08-21T15:51:25.007+02:00Let no one uproot the PumpkinOkot p’Bitek’s Song of Lawino is a poem concerning the rural Acholi woman Lawino’s tribulations as her husband, Ocol, has turned ‘western’ and looks down upon his roots. Lawino, the defender of her people’s virtues and values, laments her husband’s modern ways of living, but his degrading reply is to be found in the book from 1970, Song of Ocol, where he mocks her defence.<br /><br />The excerpt below is taken from Song of Lawino:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Democratic Party<br />How does it differ<br />From the Congress?<br /><br />Ocol says<br />They want Uhuru,<br />His brother says<br />They want Uhuru and Peace,<br />Both of them say they fight ignorance and disease!<br /><br />Then why do they not join hands,<br />Why do they split up the army<br />Into two hostile groups?<br />The spears of the young men<br />And their shields,<br />Why are the weapons<br />And the men and women<br />Dispersed so uselessly?<br /><br />And while the pythons of sickness<br />Swallow the children<br />And the buffalos of poverty<br />Knock the people down<br />And ignorance stands there<br />Like an elephant,<br /><br />The war leaders<br />Are tightly locked in bloody feuds,<br />Eating each other’s liver<br />As if the D.P. was leprosy<br />And the Congress yaws;<br /><br />If only the parties<br />Would fight poverty<br />With the fury<br />With which they fight each other,<br />If diseases and ignorance<br />Were assaulted<br />With the deadly vengeance<br />With which Ocol assaults his mother’s son,<br />The enemies would have been<br />Greatly reduced by now.<br /></span><br />Okot p'Bitek was born in 1932 in Gulu, Northern Uganda to Acholi parents. He began writing in his mother tongue Lwo, one of the Western Nilotic languages, subsequently his works <span style="font-style: italic;">White Teeth</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Song of Lawino</span> were translated into English.<br />p'Bitek passed away on July 20, 1982.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG5tCyyyR-BLbb3W8Vgjq6oTdwsOZOLV4-9VPBmPLf0xJQ6UjpK_BdXA6jxubKVgz0fxa7Mj5XKAqoynAalRLkSik38VrpVawk4HYhRTjNRYPH6oRLbRCs5hAJ2qtI6wyHqZaWLsIqJHCI/s1600/DSCN2194.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 361px; height: 269px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG5tCyyyR-BLbb3W8Vgjq6oTdwsOZOLV4-9VPBmPLf0xJQ6UjpK_BdXA6jxubKVgz0fxa7Mj5XKAqoynAalRLkSik38VrpVawk4HYhRTjNRYPH6oRLbRCs5hAJ2qtI6wyHqZaWLsIqJHCI/s320/DSCN2194.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507859130709153410" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-77674788917071960032010-06-28T16:20:00.000+02:002010-06-28T16:24:23.788+02:00Tomorrow<span style="font-style: italic;">Tomorrow</span> by Frank Kobina Parkes from <span style="font-style: italic;">Songs from the Wilderness</span>, 1965.<br /><br />"If you forever fix your eyes on muddy river banks<br />To see the slime and rotten eggs that foul the air<br />You lose sight of the graceful brook<br />Which though not clear, is not so dark<br />As to absorb your image<br /><br />If you will ever strain your eyes on bloated, croaking frogs<br />Beside the stream, and filthy ducks that swim the tide<br />You may not taste the flowing spring<br />Which though not white, is yet not black<br />And can reflect your shadow<br /><br />If you forever look with jaundiced eye on struggling man<br />And see his faults and only those - his darker self<br />You will deride the God-like soul<br />Which sleeps beneath. Yearns. Waits just a while<br />A brief, brief while to flower."Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-86382782328642524272010-06-27T11:08:00.000+02:002010-06-27T11:08:38.038+02:00Redemption<span style="font-style:italic;">Redemption</span> by Frank Kobina Parkes from <span style="font-style:italic;">Songs from the Wilderness</span>, 1965
<br />
<br />"My world pines in your marble breasts, daughter of woe
<br />Green buds crack in the dry harmattan wind
<br />Sun beats down on the city of a million dead
<br />Men wove hats with their hands for a shelter
<br />And monkeys, from tree-tops bare, mock
<br />With crown-capped glee
<br />Bare-headed among the despoiled flowers I stand
<br />Empty-handed, in built-up deserts
<br />I groan mankind's loss
<br />And search wide heavens for a sign not written there
<br />
<br />I am a stranger....
<br />
<br />My mother's house is desolate and bare
<br />I, stranger upon earth, walk alone the misty pavements
<br />Where bright sun shines and brings no warmth
<br />As snowflakes parachute to rescue earth
<br />
<br />Yet you are shivering, daughter of the land
<br />
<br />I feel, can touch and yearn to chant old psalms
<br />Recorded on soundtracks through Adam's mind
<br />But I am no more human
<br />Purged of mankind-knowing griefs
<br />Snobbery passes me by
<br />And I have lost my voice
<br />In the whining of the arctic winds bleak and sharp
<br />Despair withdraws from my cold paw in friendship shot
<br />Alone I prowl, being without soul
<br />Lone as a star that twinkles in a firmament of crushed-out eyes
<br />Depths are frozen wombs
<br />Barren skulls and cross-bones picked
<br />And earth belongs to other races - pressed in steel
<br />
<br />I am lost...and you...
<br />And what shall we make
<br />Of all these shining orbs and incandescent tombs?
<br />
<br />The sun is dark, is cold the sun
<br />I am a potter's vessel shaped by knowing hands
<br />Fallen from sky of earth-dreams that never flower
<br />The eye of the Lord is on me
<br />(And his wrath too)
<br />How long,
<br />How long shall I riddle rock breasts for warmth
<br />How long shall I, a worn Silesian exile, turn
<br />Sore feet for refuge to shrines of past oppression?
<br />
<br />Suffer me
<br />Oh suffer me not to be separated
<br />Firm breasts that milked my toothless gum
<br />
<br />In the desert place
<br />Let my cry come unto Thee!
<br />
<br />I shall return
<br />I shall return to sun-warmed lands
<br />Where rivers flow all through the year
<br />I shall return with the glory of sun-down
<br />Only to battered citadels will I return
<br />To bashed-in skulls and sun-picked bones
<br />Wild groans of shattered hearthstones pierce my ears
<br />Knock, O knock down the battlements of pride
<br />
<br />Caress stone breasts with benumbed hands
<br />That fire may rise
<br />And coldness burn
<br />And warmth return
<br />And in red glow, behold:
<br />That sign sure writ in blood
<br />
<br />Shall these bones live?
<br />Shall these bones live?
<br />
<br />The streams of Life gush out in tuneful song
<br />Dead bones in rocky caves astir
<br />Dead bones in mansions moving,
<br />As the glory of God descends on earth
<br />
<br />To be despoiled."<o:p></o:p></span></p> Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-16799573834962318852010-06-26T16:06:00.000+02:002010-06-26T16:37:10.364+02:00After the HolocaustThe poem <span style="font-style: italic;">After the Holocaust</span> by Frank Kobina Parkes from his collection of poems <span style="font-style: italic;">Songs from the Wilderness</span> from 1965:<br /><br />"Let us build new homesteads<br />New dreams to decorate these ruins<br />Let us weave fresh rafters from rescued stalks<br />Let us start all over again<br /><br />The past is a pitiless dream<br />A dread nightmare, you may remember, which stared<br />Deep into our fearless eyes<br />We gave it a glance for glance<br />Frown for frown<br />Fouler word for filthy word<br />And when it kept on staring<br />Like a senseless imbecile<br />We lost our minds completely<br />We braced ourselves for self-assertion<br />To knock this beast over<br />And so redeem our peace<br /><br />And that, you may remember,<br />Was the storm clouds breaking over us<br />And death marching in<br />And flowering fields laid low<br />And children in the womb with them<br /><br />Now we look back to the pity of the nightmare<br />Not being anywhere near at all<br />And to sad awakening that our stare<br />Had been nowhere but into blank brotherly eyes<br />Seized by delirium like ourselves<br />And that, had the black storm only given us<br />A moment's chance,<br />And not struck just then....<br /><br />But the past is horrific reality."Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9057050222253276925.post-4500238340311494992010-06-24T22:30:00.000+02:002010-06-24T23:45:37.849+02:00Busi Mhlongo has joined the ancestors...I just heard that Busi Mhlongo's time had come, and I try in vain to stop my tears. She had a voice which reached the deepest core of my soul.<br />The Queen of Maskanda, traditionally Zulu music played by men, fought a battle against cancer but succumbed at Inkosi Albert Luthuli Hospital, Durban, 15th June. <br /><br />Jacob Zuma uttered these words in her remembrance: “She transformed the maskandi guitar of migrant Zulu mine workers into an instrument of peace.<br />Her music carried poignant messages of South Africa’s struggle for freedom and justice. She ensured her compositions defied categorisation and emphasised the universality of the human race.<br />Her love for music kept the flames of hope alive during our country’s struggle for democracy. Her music encouraged and influenced a range of contemporary South African artists.<br />She inspired the nation and let the world know of South Africa’s quest for freedom. A true legend has passed away.”<br /><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/UzC3FDdprbc&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/UzC3FDdprbc&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/UXcIhP1WbQM&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/UXcIhP1WbQM&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Carinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02294068642295694900noreply@blogger.com0