2 February 2017: Because he is one of my heroes, because I am teaching his _Narrative_ tomorrow in ENGL 204, and because he's in the news (thanks to a certain president who obviously didn't pay attention in class), I was delighted to come across this poem about Frederick Douglass, written by the fantastic Robert Hayden.
When it is finally ours, this freedom, this liberty, this beautiful
and terrible thing, needful to man as air,
usable as earth; when it belongs at last to all,
when it is truly instinct, brain matter, diastole, systole,
reflex action; when it is finally won; when it is more
than the gaudy mumbo jumbo of politicians:
this man, this Douglass, this former slave, this Negro
beaten to his knees, exiled, visioning a world
where none is lonely, none hunted, alien,
this man, superb in love and logic, this man
shall be remembered. Oh, not with statues’ rhetoric,
not with legends and poems and wreaths of bronze alone,
but with the lives grown out of his life, the lives
fleshing his dream of the beautiful, needful thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment