Jennings



Dunbar was born near Dayton, Ohio to parents who had escaped from slavery; his father was a veteran of the American Civil War,having served in the 55th Massachusetts Infantry Regiment and the 5th Massachusetts Colored Cavalry Regiment. His parents instilled in him a love of learning and history. He was a student at an all-white high school, Dayton Central High School, and he participated actively as a student. During high school, he was both the editor of the school newspaper and class president, as well as the president of the school literary society. Dunbar had also started the first African-American newsletter in Dayton.


 * We Wear the Mask**

WE wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,— This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties. Why should the world be over-wise, In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, let them only see us, while We wear the mask. We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but oh the clay is vile Beneath our feet, and long the mile; But let the world dream otherwise,

We wear the mask!

When read literally, “We Wear the Mask” does not mean too much different than if it were read with a deeper meaning. The first stanza in this poem talks about a group of people who are wearing a mask that hides the pain that they feel. This mask shows a grin on it but it is also a lie. The narrator rhetorically asks why should the rest of the world know what is under the mask. Why should they see the sadness and pain? The narrator says that the world should only see the mask and nothing else. Then, in the third stanza, it says that his people sing even though the ground is vile and the walk is long, but the world can just dream otherwise. The deeper meaning of this poem is all about slavery. The first stanza is all about how the African Americans that live in America are feeling so much pain from having to live through slavery and now have to face the prejudices after slavery. Despite the pain they feel, they must not show it and have to keep moving forward in life. In the second stanza it says “Why should the world be overwise.” Even though these African Americans are feeling pain, the rest of the world does not know or care because they just see them as doing fine. So, while the rest of the world just ignores their feelings, they must continue acting like nothing is wrong because they have no choice. In the last stanza, they are crying out to Christ to ease their pain. They will continue to rejoice, but they have a long way to go. They will continue their long painful journey while the rest of the world stays oblivious.  I think everyone has to go through this sometimes. There are a lot of times when we feel all alone, but we have to hide any doubt or sadness, or whatever we feel and keep pushing along. Sometimes we all have to put on the mask and pretend all is well even though it is not. It may be a big hill to climb, but it is no one else’s responsibility but your own to overcome any obstacles in life.

Claude McKay was a Jamaican writer and poet. He was a communist in his early life, but after a visit to the Soviet Union, decided that communism was too disciplined and confining. He was never an actual member of the Communist Party. McKay was involved in the Harlem Renaissance and wrote three novels: //Home to Harlem//(1928), a best-seller which won the Harmon Gold Award for Literature, //Banjo// (1929), and //Banana Bottom// (1933). McKay also authored a collection of short stories, //Gingertown// (1932), and two autobiographical books, //A Long Way from Home// (1937) and //Harlem: Negro Metropolis// (1940). His book of poetry, //Harlem Shadows// (1922) was among the first books published during the Harlem Renaissance. His book of collected poems, //Selected Poems// (1953), was published posthumously.


 * America**

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness, And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth, Stealing my breath of life, I will confess I love this cultured hell that tests my youth! Her vigor flows like tides into my blood, Giving me strength erect against her hate. Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood. Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state, I stand within her walls with not a shred Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer. Darkly I gaze into the days ahead, And see her might and granite wonders there, Beneath the touch of Time's unerring hand, Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.

When reading this, it is clear that the narrator is being treated badly by a “she.” He is being fed bitter bread is being bit in the neck. This “she” is trying its best to wear him down and possibly take his life away. Even though the narrator is being fought against by her, he still loves her. The hate that he feels is what gives him strength to keep going. He does not hate her back like a normal thing would hate something that tries to take his life. He also knows that as long as time keeps on ticking he will keep facing this pain. ` Obviously the “she” in this poem is the country of America, seeing as how that is what the name of the poem is called. In the beginning the narrator talks about how badly he is being treated by America. Being a black man around this time, he is still being treated badly and a lot of people in the country. It probably wears on him greatly and he has to endure a lot. It is this same hatred that he feels that actually gives him strength. He knows that he will be a stronger person for enduring all the racism. He does not show hatred back, however. He has nothing bad to say though because and he does not fear. He knows that there are many dark days to come in his future and wonders if it will ever get better. He knows that if this kind of behavior continues to exist, then America is just going to be wasting something very valuable for absolutely no reason. This really shows the adversity African Americans had to endure after slavery. At some point we all must face adversity and obstacles. We must use this to fuel our fire within and give us a reason to keep pushing forward. We must not be scared or angry or we defeat our purpose.



Robinson was born in Head Tide, Lincoln County, Maine but his family moved to Gardiner, Maine in 1870. He described his childhood in Maine as "stark and unhappy" his parents, having wanted a girl, did not name him until he was six months old, when they visited a holiday resort; other vacationers decided that he should have a name, and selected a man from Arlington, Massachusetts to draw a name out of a hat. His brother Dr. Dean Robinson died of a drug overdose. It has been speculated that his poem Richard Cory may relate to his other brother Herman Robinson. His early difficulties led many of his poems to have a dark pessimism and his stories to deal with "an American dream gone awry." 
 * Richard Cory**
 * WHENEVER Richard Cory went down town, || ||
 * We people on the pavement looked at him: || ||
 * He was a gentleman from sole to crown, || ||
 * Clean favored, and imperially slim. || ||
 * And he was always quietly arrayed, || ||
 * And he was always human when he talked; || ||
 * But still he fluttered pulses when he said, || ||
 * “Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked. || ||
 * And he was rich,—yes, richer than a king,— || ||
 * And admirably schooled in every grace: || ||
 * In fine, we thought that he was everything || ||
 * To make us wish that we were in his place. || ||
 * So on we worked, and waited for the light, || ||
 * And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; || ||
 * And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, || ||
 * Went home and put a bullet through his head. ||
 * And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; || ||
 * And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, || ||
 * Went home and put a bullet through his head. ||

This poem is about a man named Richard Cory that seemed like the perfect man. He was a very nice man and looked very well and seemed very healthy. He was a very normal person when had talked to people and he always seemed very happy and upbeat every single day. He was a very rich and a very smart man and he seemed to have everything going for him. Everyone thought that he was such a great person and that he had it all. All of the towns people envied him and wished they were him. All these townspeople had to work hard their entire lives and felt that they had it bad because they had to live paycheck to paycheck. They never knew when they would have a meal. Then Richard Cory went home one night and shot himself in the head. This man, Richard Cory, always seemed like the perfect gentleman and always projected to everyone that he was very happy. Everyone else that saw him probably felt like their lives were so much worse than his. It seemed like Richard Cory had everything going for him; he was rich, healthy, nice, and envied by everyone else that saw him. All the other people that envied him had to work hard and go without food, and the food they ate was barely worth eating. They all wished that they could be him. One night however, Richard Cory put a bullet in his head. It was obvious that he was not very happy after all. Just because he was rich did not mean he was happy, and as it turned out he was a lot sadder than anyone else in the town.  To me, this shows that, even if you seem to have it all, you may not be happy. It is just like the old saying goes, “Money doesn’t buy you happiness.” All these people envied him because of his worldly possessions, but he hid what he really felt on the inside. He was obviously an extremely unhappy man. Also, just because a person seems to be perfectly fine doesn’t mean that they are really hurting on the inside.



Sandburg was born in Galesburn, Illinos to parents of Swedish ancestry. At the age of thirteen he left school and began driving a milk wagon. He then became a bricklayer and a farm laborer on the wheat plains of Kansas. After an interval spent at Lombard College in Galesburg, he became a hotel servant in Denver, then a coal-heaver in Omaha. He began his writing career as a journalist for the Chicago //Daily News// Later he wrote poetry, history, biographies, novels, children's literature, and film reviews. Sandburg also collected and edited books of ballads and folklore. He spent most of his life in the Midwest before moving to North Carolina.

GRASS

Shovel them under and let me work-- I am the grass; I cover all.
 * Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.

And pile them high at Gettysburg And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun. Shovel them under and let me work. Two years, ten years, and the passengers ask the conductor: What place is this? Where are we now?

I am the grass. Let me work. ||

The poem “Grass” by Carl Sandburg, is actually narrated by grass. The grass is saying to pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo. The grass says, “I am the grass; I cover all.” Actually if the “grass” is also referring to all of the soil and microorganisms within the soil, and if it is referring to all the natural vegetation in the world, yes it can cover virtually anything. Then the grass says that the bodies can be piled high at various other historic battle sights like Gettysburg, Ypres, and Verdun. The grass does not care, it just says to put the bodies under it and it will do all the work. Passengers come through and wonder where they are, and the grass just says, “I am the grass. Let me work.” This poem has a lot to do with major and deadly battles throughout history. The grass obviously does not care about burying bodies and moving on. This poem, I think, really talks about the heroes of various wars and how they don’t seem that important to some people. People that fight in wars are very important to the freedoms we have today, but most people don’t really realize what those people had to sacrifice. At the end of the poem, there are people passing by famous war battles years later that ask, “What place is this? Where are we now?” They are completely oblivious to the horrors and sacrifices that happened in these places. The grass, as time passes, just keeps doing its work, and the memories continue to be wiped away.  This poem really makes me think about how most people really don’t seem to realize or care about all the lives that were lost to give us the freedoms we have today. All the men and women that gave their lives may be long gone and have been in the ground for many years, but they must never be forgotten.



**Robert Lee Frost** (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) was an American poet He is highly regarded for his realistic depictions of [|r]ural life and his command of American colloquial speech. His work frequently employed settings from rural life in New England in the early twentieth century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes. A popular and often-quoted poet, Frost was honored frequently during his lifetime, receiving four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry. Robert Frost's personal life was plagued with grief and loss. His father died of tuberculosis in 1885, when Frost was 11, leaving the family with just $8. Frost's mother died of cancer in 1900. In 1920, Frost had to commit his younger sister, Jeanie, to a mental hospital, where she died nine years later. Mental illness apparently ran in Frost's family, as both he and his mother suffered from depression, and his daughter Irma was committed to a mental hospital in 1947. Frost's wife, Elinor, also experienced bouts of depression.

**The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost ** Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

In this poem, a man walks up to a fork in the road and he, of course, could only choose one road to take. He stood there for a long time trying to figure out which road to take. One of the roads bent in the undergrowth, so he took the other one. It was just a good as the other road, but it was grassy and hadn’t been traveled much. As he passed through this road, he noticed that it had been worn about the same as the other road. He wished he could have tried the other road, but he knew he probably would never get the chance. At the end he said that the road he chooses was the one less taken, and it had made all the difference. This “traveler” had a choice to make in life and debating on which choice to make. He decides to take that one that was less traveled. To me, this means that perhaps it was not traveled for a reason. Maybe it was not the best decision to make in a person’s life. He said “The passing there Had worn them really about the same.” If the road that had been less traveled was worn about the same as the other road, this could mean that the people that traveled the road decided to turn around and come back. Maybe the road was too difficult to pass or maybe they decided that it was not best to go down this path, and turned back around before it was too late. The traveler wanted to try the other path in his life, but he knew by the time he wanted to, it would be too late. When he says, “I shall be telling this with a sigh” it could mean he regretted his decision or he was relieved he made that decision. At the end, the decision he made was claimed as having made all the difference in his life. Once again, this difference could be either good or bad.  Everyone has choices in life, and they must be weighed before being made. Once the decision is made, a lot of the time it is impossible to come back and try that other choice. So, a lot of decisions made can change the outcome of a person’s life. In the end, the decisions made are either going to be good choices, or ones that are regretted.