The background for my writing my latest poem is given.
I recently (9 July 2015) posted a new free-verse poem relating my version of the experience of Blacks in Old Dixie or the Deep South. It is based upon my reading of history, viewing documentaries on TV about the Old South and the Civil War period, and even my taking a history elective in Southern History while an undergraduate at the University of Georgia - Athens way back in 1964. I have always been a history buff. I added my own life experiences to the mix, growing up in Macon, Georgia from 1944 until I left for UGa in 1962. I lived in Athens, Georgia while I obtained my B.S -1966, M.S -1968, and returned from the Army for my Ph.D. in 1971 - 1973. I lived through the civil rights era, watched sit-ins at my local lunch counters, saw Martin Luther King, Jr in the news and listened to his speeches on TV, and experienced MLK's murder by a White racist. I witnessed the changes in the Jim Crow laws that forced an end to desegregation and forced the South to let Blacks vote, attend White schools, sit at the front of the bus, eat in the same restaurants as Whites, and even rent rooms at any motel on the highway (instead of having to hunt down a motel for coloreds or sleep in their car on road trips). I also witnessed how these federally-forced changes were met with rage and racism by Southern Whites. During this period is when many Southern states starting flying the Confederate battle flag over the state capitals to send a clear racist message to all. I heard frequently the hatred many Southern Whites had for "Earl Warren's liberal Supreme Court" and how it was "ruining our nation." I have lived in the Deep South almost all of my 70+ years of life (except for a two-year postdoctoral fellowship in Canada from summer of 1973 - summer of 1975 and a stint in the U.S. Army, where I lived two years in Texas and 9 months in Vietnam). I have lived in Shreveport, Louisiana from July, 1975 until the present. I am a true Southerner by birth and by inclination.
While in high school I witnessed the uproar as the University of Georgia was forced to admit a few Black students to the Athens campus. When I went to UGa as a freshman in September of 1962, I remember vividly an incident that happened the first month I was on campus. There were still only a handful of Black students there. One day a Black co-ed was walking ahead of me across campus to her next class. A brutish male student coming toward her lowered his shoulder and plowed into her, sending her sprawling onto the grass (thankfully she did not fall on the concrete sidewalk), purse and armful of books flying. I stopped to check on her and help her stand and then started to help retrieve her books. One of my high school friends walked by at that moment and said to me, "Harry, I never knew you were a nigger-lover." It was the last time he or I ever spoke. Such memories as these are my recollection of race relations in the South of my younger years.
When I was growing up in Macon, there were many, many churches. Macon bragged about the large number of churches it had for its population size. One of these was a large church on the campus of Mercer College. The church did missionary work in Africa and even converted a tribe to Christianity. Well, the tribal chief's son came to go to school at Mercer, and when Sunday rolled around, he went to attend church services. They wouldn't let him enter the church doors because if they were to let him in then they might have to allow local Blacks to worship there as well. This caused an uproar among the church members, so much so that the congregation split and some members left to start another church. The chief's son went home angry back to his tribe, where the missionaries were asked to depart immediately. This was among my first realization that most of the White racists were good church-goers who professed to be devout Christians. Even KKK members saw no problem burning crosses and spewing hatred and racism while considering themselves a Christian group. As a boy, I watched as the deacons of my church blocked the church's doors to turn away a group of Black protesters seeking entrance to join that Sunday morning's church services. I have never understood how racist people's mind works to allow them to approve of being a hate-filled racist and loving Jesus (who Himself was a Jew) and truly believing that they will someday go to Heaven. ???
I have long pondered about what makes some people be so filled with hate and racism. The events in Charleston, SC this month where a young White Supremacist racist murdered members of a historically famous Black church caused me to crystallize my thoughts and put them down in a poem. The poem is my opinion and my views on how the Blacks have suffered mistreatment from White Southerners for centuries continuing to this day with the Republicans trying to prevent Blacks from voting and denying available health care to hundreds of thousands of poor Blacks in various Southern states. Racism didn't disappear with the Civil Rights laws; it merely went underground and became more subtle and refined.
I believe a poet should sometimes write enjoyable-to-read poems of love, Nature, pretty flowers, puppies and kittens, and the like. However, it is the duty of a poet to sometimes hold a mirror up to society and ask it to consider how things could be so much better if we all changed our ways. Some poems should make the readers think. I hope "The Black Experience in Old Dixie" does just that.
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=331600
My poem has received a bit of attention in the short time it has been posted. It has 121 views, but I have had little feedback on it. There have been only two reviews given. I would appreciate your reading it and offering your comments.
