Paul Laurence Dunbar 1872-1906

A Negro Love Story

Slave Ship Diagram

Paul Laurence Dunbar was an American poet, novelist, and short story writer of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Born in Dayton, Ohio, to parents who had been enslaved in Kentucky before the American Civil War started 1863-1865, Dunbar began writing stories and verse when he was a mere child. Dunbar's work offered a powerful voice for the African American experience during a time of deep racial segregation and inequality the Black community faced in America Post-Civil War.

He was one of the first Black writers in the United States to gain national recognition and earn a living from his writing. Mr. Dunbar wrote extensively in both Black dialect (AAVE) now known as African American Venular English and as well as in (SAE) Standard American English, which stirred debate even in his lifetime. While some praised his use of dialect for capturing the richness of Black vernacular, others criticized it for reinforcing stereotypes as unintelligent babble.

Unfortunately, Mr. Dunbar suffered deep resentment from the literary community's deep prejudice and biases for employing the Black dialect within his writings. A prejudice that plagued most poet's Black African American literary writers. Although the poems that were written in AAVE were never widely appreciate, the Black audience always enjoyed his rhythmic meter and his verse composition use of the dialect for capturing the richness of Black vernacular , irony, emotional truths, and his expressive use of rhythm that captivated his spectator's.

For example; "When Malindy Sings" Written in the Black dialect and according to the tales the poem was inspired by his mother in 1896 who enjoyed signing hymns and Spirituals while in the kitchen.

"When Malindy Sings"

G'way an' quit dat noise, Miss Lucy-

Put dat music book away;

What's de use to keepon tryin'?

Ef you practise twell you're gray,

You cain't sta't no notes a-flyin'

Lak de ones dat rants and rings

F'om de kitchen to de big woods

When Malindy signs.

You ain't got de nachel o'gans

Fu'to make de soun' come right,

You ain't got de tu'ns an' twistin's

Fu'to make it sweet an' light.

Tellyou one thing now, Miss Lucy,

An' I'm tellin' you fu'true,

When hit comes to raal right signin',

'T ain't no easy thing to do.

Easy 'nough fu' folks to hollah,

Lookin' at de lines an' dots,

When dey ain't no one kin sence it,

An' de chune comes in, in spots;

But fu' real melojous music,

Dat jes' strikes yo' hea't and clings,

Jes' you stan' an' listen wif me

When Malindy signs.

Ain't you nevah hyeahd Malindy?

Blessed soul, tek up de cross!

Look hyeah, ain't you jokin', honey?

Well, you don't know whut you los'.

Y'ought to hyeah dat gal a-wa'blin',

Robins, la'ks, an' all dem things,

Heish dey moufs an' hides dey faces

When Malindy signs.

Fiddlin' man jes' stop his fiddlin',

Lay his fiddle on de she'f;

Mockin'-bird quit tryin' to whistle,

'Cause he jes' so shamed hisse'f.

Folks a-playin' on de banjo

Draps dey fingahs on de strings-

Bless yo' soul-fu'gits to move'em,

When Malindy signs.

She jes spreads huh mouf and hollahs

"Come to Jesus," twell you hyeah

Sinnahs' tremblin' steps and voices

Timid-lak a-drawin' neah;

Den she tu'ns to "Rock of Ages,"

Simply to de cross she clings,

An'you fin' yo' teahs a-drappin'

When Malindy signs.

Who dat says dat humble praises

Wif de Master nevah counts?

Heish yo' mouf, I hyeah dat music,

Ez hits rises up an' mounts-

Floatin' by de hills an' valleys,

Way above dis buryin' sod,

Ez hit makes its way in glory

To de very gates of God!

Oh, hit's sweetah dan de music

of an edicated band;

An hit's dearah dan de battle's

Song o' triumph in de lan'.

It seems holier dan evenin'

When de solemn chu'ch bell rings,

Ez I sit an' ca'mly listen

While Malindy signs.

Towsah, stop dat ba'kin', hyeah me!

Mandy, mek dat chile keep still;

Don't you hyeah de echoes callin'

F'om de valley to de hill?

Let me listen, I can hyeah it,

Th'oo de bresh of angels' wings,

Sof' an' sweet, "Swing Lo, Sweet Chariot,"

Ez Malindy sings.

On the other hand, Paul Laurence Dunbar poems like "We Wear the Mask," and Sympathy would obviously stand in any poetic tradition.

"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 other-wise,

We wear the mask!

"Ink and Intimacy: A Love Story Inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar"

In the quiet hours of Dayton, Ohio, when the city hushed and the stars blinked awake, Paul Laurence Dunbar sat by his oil lamp, fingers stained with ink, heart heavy with hope. The world did not yet fully see him, but his words had wings—and love was the wind beneath them.

One evening, while giving a poetry reading at a modest literary salon, Paul spotted her: Alice. A schoolteacher with eyes like honeyed dusk and a mind sharpened by literature, she listened intently as Paul recited his verses in both proper verse and rich, lyrical dialect. When he finished, she approached with a copy of Majors and Minors in her hands.

"Your words," she said softly, "they sound like prayers and rebellion all at once."

Paul smiled, surprised and stirred. "Then I hope they find you faithful," he replied.

Over the following months, letters bloomed between them—pages of verse, secret thoughts, and shared dreams. Paul spoke of freedom, of sorrow, of beauty in broken places. Alice replied with poems of her own, gentler but no less fierce. Through the mail, they built a sanctuary of stanzas, each envelope sealing more than just ink.

One spring, beneath a willow tree near the Miami River, Paul gave her a poem instead of a proposal. It read:

"My love, like verses once denied, Now lifts its voice, no more to hide. In every line you’ll see my vow: I loved you then, I love you now."

She didn’t speak—just placed her hand in his.

In his poetry, Paul fought to be heard in a world that tried to silence him. But with Alice, he found a listener who didn’t just hear—she understood.

And in that understanding, he found the truest kind of love: one that made him braver with every line he wrote.

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