Friday, August 30, 2013

Henrietta Ray

Henrietta Ray, a fine Black poet and biographer

Date: 
Mon, 1852-08-30
The birth of Henrietta Ray in 1852 is celebrated on this date. She was a Black poet, teacher, and activist.
Henrietta Cordelia Ray was born in New York City, one of seven children of Charlotte Augusta Burrough and Charles B. Ray, a blacksmith, a Congregational minister, and a leading abolitionist. Young Ray was named after her father's first wife, Henrietta Green Regulus Ray, co-founder of the African Dorcas Association, a support group for the Free African Schools, and first president of the New York Female Literary Society (also known as the Colored Ladies Literary Society).
After graduating from the University of the City of New York in 1891 and the Sauvener School of Languages, she taught for many years in the New York City public school system. Culturally, Ray was well-born, well bred, and enjoyed many advantages accruing to her position in a family where birth, breeding, and culture were valuable. Ray also aspired to make her mark in literature, gaining some major notice as a writer in April 1876. The event was the unveiling of the Freedmen's Monument in Washington, D.C., where Frederick Douglass delivered the keynote address and William E. Matthews read Ray's ode, "Lincoln." The second in a series of important family events, was the graduation of Henrietta's older sister Charlotte, from Howard University in 1872, making her the first Black woman to earn a law degree from that university.
Years later, Henrietta Cordelia Ray received praise for the biography of he, "Sketch of the Life of Rev. Charles B. Ray," published in 1887.
As the Reconstruction era began to close, Ray's poetry had appeared in several periodicals, which encouraged her in her efforts to publish a complete collection. "Sonnets" was published in 1893, and "Poems," which contains "Sonnets," came out in 1910.
About Ray's poetry, Hallie Q. Brown wrote that it "may be likened to the quaint, touching music a shell murmuring of the sea, a faint yet clear note sounding all the pathos and beauty of undying life."
Henrietta Cordelia Ray died in 1916.
Reference:
Schomburg Center for Research in Black culture
515 Malcolm X Boulevard
New York, NY 10037-1801
(212) 491-2200
To be a Writer
Person / name: 
Ray, Henrietta Cordelia

Saturday, August 24, 2013

We Wear the Mask

The new movie, The Butler, reminds me of a poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar:

  Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)
              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!

Thursday, August 22, 2013

The Green River Writers Read at Thomas Jefferson Unitarian Church

 It's Not Just About Daffodils: Green River poets speak to the web of life
Host: E. Gail Chandler
 Speakers and Topic: Green River Writers is a non-profit organiza on founded in Kentucky in 1984 to support writers
through educati on, promotion and fellowship. Eight of their poets, including some Thomas Jefferson members, will
address ─ though some mes loosely ─ the seventh principle, the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a
part.

"I Rise" Maya Angelou


Tuesday, August 20, 2013

rerses@yahoo,.com

Death Inc.

He ain’t no lame mute with a black cloak
& a scythe
That is Mid-evil propaganda
You see,
You see,
Death is modern
And he is corporate.
Rich people buy stock
in the company
& become even richer.
Televangelists like Joel Osteen
sell stock and tell you
how to get rich and  saved—
at the same time, same channel.
Hollowburden or is it Halliburton
delivers death globally.
They took over from Dow
when napalm went out of style.
I saw death on Park Avenue;
he was wearing brand new Gucci shades
and a dark Versace suit.
His “appointments” were
kept neatly on a smartphone.
Mister Death, CEO of Death, Inc.
walked to the World Trade Center
and pointed—twice.

You know,
You know…
He’s an equal opportunity slayer.

©David L. Cooper 8/19/13

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Ephemeral

The mayflies dance and writhe
In sex and joie de vivre
For just  one day in May
          Foreplay
          Coitus
          Climax
Again and again
Then the silence
Of cold death.

To the gods
Who are immortal
You and I, love,
Are just two Mayflies
Writhing on our bed
For but a day
And then we turn
Back to clay.

                             ©David Cooper  August  13, 2013

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Kissing At the Hotdog Stand During the Baseball Game, or Postmodern Love Part II

The lark was stark
The dog did bark
The coming came
The middle of the end game—
Same old same old same
You took my heart
With your dimpled smile apart
I kissed your lips
And ruffled your slips
Of the tongue
We are not young;
Yet our sun, our sun

Oh, how we make him run.

Saturday, August 10, 2013

#21 Haiku by Richard Wright

21 On winter mornings
The candle shows faint markings
Of the teeth of rats.

Richard Wright




Richard Wright was primarily as novelist, but he did write and publish Haiku.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Matin


 

 

I must have the newspaper in the morning,

I must hold it, feel it, fold it, read it

Caress it like a lover

& I also need

A cup of steaming hot tea

& NRP

Anything else

Would be uncivilized.

My cat yowls for his food;

And for awhile

All is right with the world….

This ritual happens

365 times

A year.
David Cooper 2013

Thursday, August 1, 2013

Home of the Brave


 

                                    Lipstick in

                                    place

                                    hair coiffed

                                    & cameras rolling

 

                                    BANG!

 

                                    Sarah shot

                                    a moose.

                                     The moose

                                    was unarmed.

 

                                    He might have been

                                    Bullwinkle’s grandson.

 

                                    Smiling,

                                    Winking,

                                    this mighty warrior

                                    adjusts her Gucci glasses

                                    And stomps her Prada boots.

 

                                    © David Cooper

Solitary Cypress


Somewhere on Seventeen- Mile Drive

By the cruel sea

Is one, lone cypress

Guarding the land.

Arms outstretched to the sky

It stands silent sentry-- dayandnight

Nightandday--

Assaulted by the windblown sea.

 I feel like that lonely cypress

Slammed by wind and cold

And sea and salt—for all these

Years

Still standing solitary as

The lone cypress

Buffeted by the sea swept

Storms.

© David Cooper 2012