Analyses of Black Poetry

Those Winter Sundays 

By Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early

and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,

then with cracked hands that ached

from labor in the weekday weather made

banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.

When the rooms were warm, he’d call,

and slowly I would rise and dress,

fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,

who had driven out the cold

and polished my good shoes as well.

What did I know, what did I know

of love’s austere and lonely offices?

Analysis by Anna Rosciszewski

“Those Winter Sundays” is a poem which investigates the speaker’s relationship with his father as well as his younger self. It presents a narrative of painstaking tasks that his father carries out unthanked and the wrought relationship the speaker has with him. The poem begins by describing how his father got up early to make a fire to keep out the cold of a winter morning, establishing his steel spirit. The cold is described as “blueblack,” the deepest, most intense kind of cold. This word, to me, creates an image of weather so cold that it is almost deadly, making the father’s actions more difficult. Furthermore, the father’s hands are “cracked” and ache “from labor in the weekday weather,” demonstrating the physical pain that his father endures in order to provide for his family in both making fires on Sunday morning and working during the week. Moreover, his hand aching from the labor tells us that he is not young but rather withered from years of hard work. Later in the poem, the father breaks wood. The speaker describes it as “the cold splintering, breaking,” which is not only beautiful and almost heroic imagery– the father cutting the cold with and to protect his family– but also another admission of his father’s pain. 

At the end of the first stanza, the blazing fires contrast with the earlier image of harsh cold, demonstrating the fruits of his labor with powerful imagery. However, despite this magnanimous gesture, we learn that “No one thanked him.” To me, this pronouncement of ingratitude by the speaker conveys a tone of regret, signaling that he wishes he had which we see later in the poem. 

The father’s pain translates to a fear of the father in the family with the speaker “fearing the chronic angers” of the house that he warms. I think this line is especially significant because it differs from the rest of the narrative of the poem, enlightening the reader on why the father goes unthanked for his sacrifices. The notion that this chronic pain is in the house– in the walls– denotes the strained relationship the speaker and his father have. I think it's important to note the use of the word “chronic,” because it connects back to his father’s aching hands– his chronic pain from labor– and also described it as always being present in the relationship. We can infer that the father is an angry man, and that this gets transferred unto the family.

The speaker revisits his regret, stating that he spoke “indifferently to him” even though he “drove out the cold and polished” his “good shoes as well.” The poem concludes in the same tone of regret but with a new layer of self-understanding. The speaker asks himself, “What did I know, what did I know/ of love’s austere and lonely offices?” The repetition of the start of the question tells us that the speaker asks himself the question often, that it still haunts him. The last line is definitely my favorite in the poem because it’s vulnerable and emotional. Throughout the poem, he is looking back on how his father loved his love for him. In this last line, he realizes that his father loved him but that his way of loving was unique– it was severe and indirect, shown through his sacrifices for his family. 

“In the Life” by Essex Hemphill 

Mother, do you know 

I roam alone at night? 

I wear colognes, 

tight pants, and 

chains of gold, 

as I search 

for men willing 

to come back 

to candlelight.  

I’m not scared of these men though some are killers 

of sons like me. I learned there is no tender mercy 

for men of colour, 

for sons who love men 

like me.  

Do not feel shame for how I live. I chose this tribe 

of warriors and outlaws. 

Do not feel you failed 

some test of motherhood. My life has borne fruit 

no woman could have given me anyway. 

If one of these thick-lipped, wet, black nights 

while I’m out walking, 

I find freedom in this village. If I can take it with my tribe I’ll bring you here. 

And you will never notice

the absence of rice 

and bridesmaids.  

Analysis by Lucia Laski

In Essex Hemphill’s “In The Life,” the speaker speaks directly to his mother, describing his lifestyle and mentality in regard to his identity as a Black gay man. The poet seeks to illustrate his purpose in living as he does, outlining the number of dangerous situations he could be placed in on the sole basis of his identity, and emphasizes the freedom and pride which he feels within his supportive community, or his “tribe”.  

The speaker begins by asking his mother if she knows that he roams “alone at night,” and describes that he wears “colognes, / tight pants, and / chains of gold” as he searches for men to go home with. The speaker’s lifestyle, as well as the tone of the poem, is immediately established as one of searching for connection and living in one’s own individuality, despite the ominous tone through his diction of roaming “alone”. He then describes the men that he seeks, and claims that he is not fearful of them, though noting that “some are killers / of sons like me,” illustrating the reality and violence enacted upon homosexuals in society, as well as the constant fear that homosexual individuals can live with, especially in the dark hours of the night. He then intersects his sexuality and the discrimination he faces with discussions of his race and how it plays into others’ perceptions of him and his treatment in society, stating that he “learned there is no tender mercy / for men of colour, / for sons who love men / like me”. The final line in this stanza holds a double meaning: the first one being that the sons are like the speaker because of their shared identities, and the second one being that the men that the sons love are like the speaker because of their shared identities. Such a notion reveals the violence that Black gay men are uniquely vulnerable to, illustrating the tragedy which can occur at the intersection of living freely and embracing your identity publicly. Although, the speaker then shows the flip side of his identity, the wonderful and intimate parts of having a community of people who are like him. He asks his mother to “not feel shame for how [he] lives,” adding that he “chose this tribe of warriors and outlaws,” alluding to the empowerment and power of community which he feels pride and acceptance in. He is aware of the dangers associated with living freely but believes in the power of the friendships and relationships within which he finds a home, asserting that his mother should remark the pride and strength of his identity rather than the shame that society seeks to implement within individuals. In the last stanza, the speaker explicitly illuminates his sense of freedom: “I find freedom in this village. / If I can take it with my tribe / I’ll bring you here. / And you will never notice / the absence of rice / and bridesmaids”. The speaker’s power in his own joy and independence from shame and hiding illustrates the strength he has found in his own identity, finally demonstrating to his mother the joys of living as oneself, no matter if this life is outlined as what society dictates.

Alternate Names for Black Boys

By Danez Smith

1.   smoke above the burning bush

2.   archnemesis of summer night

3.   first son of soil

4.   coal awaiting spark & wind

5.   guilty until proven dead

6.   oil heavy starlight

7.   monster until proven ghost

8.   gone

9.   phoenix who forgets to un-ash

10. going, going, gone

11. gods of shovels & black veils

12. what once passed for kindling

13. fireworks at dawn

14. brilliant, shadow hued coral

15. (I thought to leave this blank

    but who am I to name us nothing?)

16. prayer who learned to bite & sprint

17. a mother’s joy & clutched breath

Analysis by Zofia Rosciszewski 

Smith’s 2015 poem explores African American history through listing 17 alternate names for black boys as the title suggests. Although some of these names create fantastic imagery, the reader realizes through reading that even the most beautiful lines are references to something sadder: “1. smoke above the burning bush […] 4. coal awaiting spark & wind […] 9. phoenix who forgot to un-ash.” These lines specifically present captivating imagery that may not entirely name sense at first. These names appear to solely speak upon the darker color of African American skin. That is until the 12th line which reads “12. what once passed for kindling.” To me, this line ties in the message that the previous lines represent and makes reference to a dark and tragic event: The 1921 Tulsa Massacre, otherwise known as “Black Wall Street.” A white mob, motivated by hate against this prominent black neighborhood, decided to set fire to many homes and buildings, ultimately killing around 300 African Americans and leaving many more homeless.

Although there are many more nuances to this poem, the subtle references to the Tulsa Massacre seemed to me the most powerful, establishing a tone of dehumanization to illustrate how African American were treated in the Jim Crow South.

Still I Rise

By Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

Analysis by Leila Lucas

Simple in form, but lyrical with an incredible message, Maya Angelou proves herself time and time again with her incredible poetry. This poem, Still I Rise, is not a narrative, but instead statements in defiance to all that have held Angelou down. The first two lines, “You may

write me down in history/With your bitter, twisted lies,” set the tone for the rest of the poem.

Angelou, as a Black woman in the 20th century, dealt with prejudice in every aspect of her life.

Segregation, slavery, and a long history of racism have uplifted White Americans while pushing

down those who do not fit into their world view. The villainization of Black people is not new,

and Angelou immediately acknowledges that it is a lie, meant only to increase the gap between

Black and White Americans. However, she then defies these social norms, saying that she will

rise. No matter how hard her life is, how much she is “trod [me] in the dirt,” she will always rise.

She will not be docile, instead fighting back, carving out a space for herself in the world.

Angelou is proud of herself, and nobody will be able to bring her down. She perseveres, she will

not bow down, and still, she rises.

Caged Bird 

By Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps

on the back of the wind   

and floats downstream   

till the current ends

and dips his wing

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and   

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn

and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied   

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

Analysis by Therina Brutus 

Maya Angelou’s “Caged Bird” explores the Black experience in America through the relationship of freedom and oppression. The notion of a bird living freely in nature and a bird suffering  in a cage is used as an extended metaphor for the collective experiences of African Americans. 

The free bird “dips his wing / in the orange sun rays / and dares to claim the sky.” With the imagery of the bird having the ability to move freely as he wishes, it allows the audience to understand what having true freedom is like. The free bird does not think of what limits him, it is only what feels natural. 

The caged bird “can seldom see through / his bars of rage / his wings are clipped and / his feet are tied.” The bird that suffers in the cage can only see what limits him, contrasting the free bird. The notion of blinding rage acs as the driving force behind rebelling against his circumstance. In a broader interpretation, this rage translates to the spirit of African Americans in the long history of fighting for freedom. It is described as blinding in the same sense that this feeling cannot be ignored or separated from the Black experience in America. 

Thus, “the caged bird sings / with a fearful trill / of things unknown / but longed for still.” When the bird feels so limited by his circumstance, he does the only thing that he can do: sing. He sings of freedom, which he doesn’t and won’t ever know. These lines can refer to both Black spirituals and the lasting fight for freedom. Black spirituals expressed hope and sadness in slavery and throughout Black history. African Americans have continuously fought against prejudice; it is not only driven by hope, but sorrow and anger for their conditions. 

With the conflict that the caged bird experiences, the poet explains that the free bird “names the sky his own.” The bird’s freedom is boundless. Further, it moves the bird to take up more space and look for more that it can have. The perspective of this bird shifts, as his entitlement underlies freedom. More broadly, this line can refer to free people in slavery in that they viewed freedom as a personal right rather than a privilege.

In the end, “a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams [...] so he opens his throat to sing.” The bird kept in captivity realizes that his wishes for freedom will never be fulfilled. Nonetheless, he ensures that he is heard. It could be interpreted as recognition that true freedom for African Americans in society is still far off. Oppression is overbearing and all-encompassing, limiting freedom in every way. Despite this, the Black community will continue to be heard and seen, just as the caged bird sings.  

Bury Me in a Free Land

By Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Make me a grave where’er you will,

In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill; 

Make it among earth’s humblest graves,

But not in a land where men are slaves.

I could not rest if around my grave

I heard the steps of a trembling slave;

His shadow above my silent tomb

Would make it a place of fearful gloom.

I could not rest if I heard the tread

Of a coffle gang to the shambles led,

And the mother’s shriek of wild despair

Rise like a curse on the trembling air.

I could not sleep if I saw the lash

Drinking her blood at each fearful gash,

And I saw her babes torn from her breast,

Like trembling doves from their parent nest.

I’d shudder and start if I heard the bay

Of bloodhounds seizing their human prey,

And I heard the captive plead in vain

As they bound afresh his galling chain.

If I saw young girls from their mother’s arms

Bartered and sold for their youthful charms,

My eye would flash with a mournful flame,

My death-paled cheek grow red with shame.

I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might

Can rob no man of his dearest right;

My rest shall be calm in any grave

Where none can call his brother a slave.

I ask no monument, proud and high,

To arrest the gaze of the passers-by;

All that my yearning spirit craves,

Is bury me not in a land of slaves.

Analysis by Chloe Belga

Written in 1858 in the Anti-Slavery Bugle journal by African American poet Frances EW Harper, the poem “Bury Me in a Free Land” portrays the speaker’s absolute refusal to rest where the practice of slavery perseveres. Through repetition and the consistent AABB rhymes at each quatrain, creating a kind of chorus which often intertwines “slave” and “grave,” Harper reinforces the idea that she will not rest until the abolishment of slavery. The first stanza presents this through the imperative “Make me a grave where’er you will,” which ends with the exception that it cannot be “where men are slaves,” rhyming this with the prior verse “among earth’s humblest graves.” 

The speaker then starts the following two stanzas with “I could not rest if” and brings to life what she sees on this land. The way she includes concrete stories is significant as it allows for the imagery to resonate more with the audience. In the first stanza, she writes, “I heard the steps of a trembling slave; / His shadow above my silent tomb / Would make it a place of fearful gloom” which establishes stillness—an explicit lack of movement—and this drastically contrasts with the second stanza’s last couplet: “And the mother’s shriek of wild despair / Rise like a curse on the trembling air.” The poem escalates in tension through Harper’s sudden use of movement, as well as through the repetition of words, such as “trembling,” maintaining a musical quality to the poem. The horror of resting where slavery is still alive increases as she personifies the lash as “drinking her blood” and continues with the aforementioned ideas, “babes torn from her breast, / like trembling doves from their parent nest.” Throughout the poem, the speaker is growing more and more afraid at the prospect of being buried in a land that isn’t free as the imagery becomes more gruesome while still returning to the constant “trembling” the thought provokes. 

The diction is what truly gives the poem its sound as it is carefully chosen to progressively shock the reader from “bloodhounds seizing their human prey,” to “death-paled cheek,” all of which reiterating death—the theme the speaker is circling around, which includes her own death as she considers where her grave or the end of her life will be and what slaves must endure. There is a shift in the penultimate stanza as the speaker no longer employs a negation and instead imagines what the land would be like if it were free: “I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might / Can rob no man of his dearest right.” The repetition of dear for “friends” and “right” further underlines how important this is to her, that she refuses to die until this imagined land comes true. The last stanza circles back to the first, affirming that she is not asking for much, that you can bury her anywhere, as long as it is in the land of the free.