Paul Laurence Dunbar was the first African-American poet to garner national critical acclaim. Born in Dayton, Ohio, in 1872, Dunbar penned a large body of dialect poems, standard English poems, essays, novels and short stories before he died at the age of 33. His work often addressed the difficulties encountered by members of his race and the efforts of African-Americans to achieve equality in America. He was praised both by the prominent literary critics of his time and his literary contemporaries.
Paul Laurence Dunbar was the first African-American poet to garner national critical acclaim. Born in Dayton, Ohio, in 1872, Dunbar penned a large body of dialect poems, standard English poems, essays, novels and short stories before he died at the age of 33. His work often addressed the difficulties encountered by members of his race and the efforts of African-Americans to achieve equality in America. He was praised both by the prominent literary critics of his time and his literary contemporaries.
Dunbar was born on June 27, 1872, to Matilda and Joshua Dunbar, both natives of Kentucky. His mother was a former slave and his father had escaped from slavery and served in the 55th Massachusetts Infantry Regiment and the 5th Massachusetts Colored Cavalry Regiment during the Civil War. Matilda and Joshua had two children before separating in 1874. Matilda also had two children from a previous marriage.
Wannabe poet/writer Writers are alchemists, turning mere words into gold, weaving tapestries of imagination. Whether etching sonnets or code, the love of writing is a compass, guiding us through the labyrinth of existence. It whispers, “You are here; you matter.” And so, we write—because within these sentences, we discover echoes of our own souls. My love of writing started in high school. My problem is I’m never satisfied and always too critical of myself to ever let anyone read my musings. And when I would win an award in high school, I would be so embarrassed that I would do anything I could to disguise my works or just avoid everyone, hahaha. Recently I went to a high school reunion and low and behold, someone had one of my short stories and a couple poems out on a table with other students works that had been written in 1973 and 1974. And when I re-read them I was amazed at myself. Then somehow my older sister came across some of my poems and said she wanted them and praised me again. I don’t know what has changed other than just getting older and not caring one iota any more about what people think or say. It’s therapy for me to jot down words that mean something at the time, and if someone reading them happens to identify then all the better… and yes, I have a severe inferiority complex.
“My art and poetry has been a well kept secret most of my life. It has been my best friend, my confidant, my security blanket, my therapy. Writing saved my life at a time when I was drowning in my own tears. I haven’t had any formal training. I just enjoy the arts. If I’m not painting I’m writing so, I think it’s safe to say that I’ve found my voice.”
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