Paul Laurence Dunbar
Paul Laurence Dunbar was born in 1872 at Dayton, Ohio, the son of negro slaves. He was, before and after he began to write his interpretative verse, an elevator-boy. He tried newspaper work unsuccessfully and, in 1899, Dunbar was given a minor position in the Library of Congress at Washington, D. C.
Although Dunbar wrote several volumes of short stories and two novels, he is most at home in his verse. And even here, his best work is not those straight, “literary English” pieces by which he set such store, but the racy rhymes written in negro dialect, alternately tender and mocking. Dunbar’s first collection, Lyrics of Lowly Life (1896), contains many of his most characteristic poems. In an introduction, in which mention was made of the octoroon Dumas and the great Russian poet Pushkin, who was a mulatto, William Dean Howells wrote, “So far as I could remember, Paul Dunbar was the only man of pure African blood and of American civilization to feel the negro life æsthetically and express it lyrically.... His brilliant and unique achievement was to have studied the American negro objectively, and to have represented him as he found him—with humor, with sympathy, and yet with what the reader must instinctively feel to be entire truthfulness.”
Lyrics of the Hearthside (1899) and Lyrics of Love and Laughter (1903) are two other volumes full of folk-stuff. And though the final Lyrics of Sunshine and Shadow (1905) is less original, being crowded with echoes of all kinds of poetry from the songs of Robert Burns to the childhood rhymes of J. W. Riley, it contains a few of Dunbar’s least-known but keenest interpretations.
Dunbar died in the city of his birth, Dayton, Ohio, February 10, 1906.
The Turning of the Babies in the Bed27
Woman’s sho’ a cur’ous critter, an’ dey ain’t no doubtin’ dat.
She’s a mess o’ funny capahs f’om huh slippahs to huh hat.
Ef yo’ tries to un’erstan’ huh, an’ yo’ fails, des’ up an’ say:
“D’ ain’t a bit o’ use to try to un’erstan’ a woman’s way.”
I don’ mean to be complainin’, but I’s jes’ a-settin’ down
Some o’ my own obserwations, w’en I cas’ my eye eroun’.
Ef yo’ ax me fu’ to prove it, I ken do it mighty fine,
Fu’ dey ain’t no bettah ’zample den dis ve’y wife o’ mine.
In de ve’y hea’t o’ midnight, w’en I’s sleepin’ good an’ soun’,
I kin hyeah a so’t o’ rustlin’ an’ somebody movin’ ’roun’.
An’ I say, “Lize, whut yo’ doin’?” But she frown an’ shek huh haid,
“Hesh yo’ mouf, I’s only tu’nin’ of de chillun in de bed.
“Don’ yo’ know a chile gits restless, layin’ all de night one way?
An’ yo’ got to kind o’ ’range him sev’al times befo’ de day?
So de little necks won’t worry, an’ de little backs won’t break;
Don’ yo’ t’ink ’cause chillun’s chillun dey haint got no pain an’ ache.”
So she shakes ’em, an’ she twists ’em, an’ she tu’ns ’em ’roun’ erbout,
’Twell I don’ see how de chillun evah keeps f’om hollahin’ out.
Den she lif’s ’em up head down’ards, so’s dey won’t git livah-grown,
But dey snoozes des’ ez peaceful ez a liza’d on a stone.
W’en hit’s mos’ nigh time fu’ wakin’ on de dawn o’ jedgement day,
Seems lak I kin hyeah ol’ Gab’iel lay his trumpet down an’ say,
“Who dat walkin’ ’roun’ so easy, down on earf ermong de dead?”—
’T will be Lizy up a-tu’nin’ of de chillun in de bed.
A Coquette Conquered28
Yes, my ha’t’s ez ha’d ez stone—
Go ’way, Sam, an’ lemme ’lone.
No; I ain’t gwine change my min’;
Ain’t gwine ma’y you—nuffin’ de kin’.
Phiny loves you true an’ deah?
Go ma’y Phiny; whut I keer?
Oh, you needn’t mou’n an’ cry—
I don’t keer how soon you die.
Got a present! Whut you got?
Somef’n fu’ de pan er pot!
Huh! Yo’ sass do sholy beat—
Think I don’t git ’nough to eat?
Whut’s dat un’neaf yo’ coat?
Looks des lak a little shoat.
’Tain’t no possum? Bless de Lamb!
Yes, it is, you rascal, Sam!
Gin it to me; whut you say?
Ain’t you sma’t now! Oh, go ’way!
Possum do look mighty nice;
But you ax too big a price.
Tell me, is you talkin’ true,
Dat’s de gal’s whut ma’ies you?
Come back, Sam; now whah’s you gwine?
Co’se you knows dat possum’s mine!
Discovered29
Seen you down at chu’ch las’ night,
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy.
What I mean? Oh, dat’s all right,
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy.
You was sma’t ez sma’t could be,
But you couldn’t hide f’om me.
Ain’t I got two eyes to see!
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy.
Guess you thought you’s awful keen;
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy.
Evahthing you done, I seen;
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy.
Seen him tek yo’ ahm jes’ so,
When he got outside de do’—
Oh, I know dat man’s yo’ beau!
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy.
Say now, honey, wha’d he say?—
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy.
Keep yo’ secrets—dat’s yo’ way—
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy,
Won’t tell me an’ I’m yo’ pal!
I’m gwine tell his othah gal,—
Know huh, too, huh name is Sal.
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy.