Paul Lawrence Dunbar: "The Mystery"

THE MYSTERY

I was not; now I am--a few days hence
I shall not be; I fain would look before
And after, but can neither do; some Power
Or lack of power says "no" to all I would.
I stand upon a wide and sunless plain,
Nor chart nor steel to guide my steps aright.
Whene'er, o'ercoming fear, I dare to move,
I grope without direction and by chance.
Some feign to hear a voice and feel a hand
That draws them ever upward thro' the gloom.
But I--I hear no voice and touch no hand,
Tho' oft thro' silence infinite I list,
And strain my hearing to supernal sounds;
Tho' oft thro' fateful darkness do I reach,
And stretch my hand to find that other hand.
I question of th' eternal bending skies
That seem to neighbor with the novice earth;
but they roll on, and daily shut their eyes
On me, as I one day shall do on them,
And tell me not the secret that I ask. 

-- Paul Lawrence Dunbar --
The Complete Poems of Paul Lawrence Dunbar



Lawrence's mystery has many names:  the perennial question, the human predicament, the human condition. Who am I?  Where am I?  Why am I here?  Where is here?  Where did I come from?  Where am I going?

This is one of the dominant themes of the Rubaiyat, which is probably why this poem has such an impact on me.  But, then again, it is Paul Lawrence Dunbar, and this isn't the first poem of his that I have strongly reacted to and commented on here.

Paul Laurence Dunbar: In Summer

In Summer

Oh, summer has clothed the earth
        In a cloak from the loom of the sun!
And a mantle, too, of the skies' soft blue,
       And a belt where the rivers run. 

And now for the kiss of the wind,
      And the touch of the air's soft hands,
With the rest from strife and the heat of life,
      With the freedom of lakes and lands.

I envy the farmer's boy
       Who sings as he follows the plow;
While the shinning green of the young blades lean
      To the breezes that cool his brow.  

He sings to the dewy morn,
       No thought of another's ear;
But the song he sings is a chant for kings
      And the whole wide world to hear.

He sings of the joys of life,
     Of the pleasures of work and rest,
From an o'erfull heat, without aim or art;
     'Tis a song of the merriest.
     
O ye who toil in the town,
     And ye who moil in the mart,
Hear the artless song, and your faith made strong
     Shall renew your joy of  heart.

Oh, poor were the worth of the world
         If never a song were heard,--
If the sting of grief had no relief,
        And never a heart were stirred.

So. long as the streams run down,
      And as long as the robins trill,
Let us taunt old Care with a merry air,
      And sing in the face of ill.

-- Paul Laurence Dunbar --
from Summer: A Spiritual Biography of the Season


The last two stanzas suggest something more is going on here than a simple paean to the joys of summer labor.  Singing can do something other than just reflect one's joy at that particular moment:


Oh, poor were the worth of the world
         If never a song were heard,--
If the sting of grief had no relief,
        And never a heart were stirred.
  
So. long as the streams run down,
      And as long as the robins trill,
Let us taunt old Care with a merry air,
      And sing in the face of ill.


Music bypasses the brain and goes directly to your soul.   You can feel the best music in your bones. Martial music and marches and national anthems are far more effective in moving people than any lecture on patriotism.  The most rousing speeches and sermons are almost sung or chanted.  If you listen carefully you can hear the music underlying the words and that's what moves the listeners.

The Face of Another

The Face of  Another
Director: Hiroshi Teshigahara 
1966
black-and-white film
Japanese dialogue with English subtitles

This film is based on the novel of the same name by Kobo Abe, who also served as screenwriter for the film.  I haven't read the novel yet as I wanted to see the film first.  I find that reading the novel first will prejudice me against the film as I then focus on the film's correspondence to the novel, which is really only one of the criteria for judging a film.   Since Abe is the screen writer, it should be interesting to see what he does with his novel in adapting it for film.

Okuyama is a business man whose face has been horribly scarred in a laboratory accident.  He is having considerable difficulty in handling his situation.  He has decided to keep his head completely covered in bandages, which reminded me very strongly of  films of H. G. Wells' The Invisible Man.   I wonder if  Abe or the director did this deliberately.

Okuyama is seeing a psychiatrist, hoping that this might help him.  His relationship with his wife is deteriorating, as is his work on his job.  The psychiatrist suggests, rather tentatively, that there's a possible solution.  He knows of an amazing synthetic fabric that looks very much like skin.  He might be able to create a mask which Okuyama might be able to wear in public.   While the psychiatrist has considerable ethical and moral problems with this procedure, Okuyama is desperate enough to try it.  They find a man whose has a nice face, not extraordinarily handsome but a pleasant face, and pay him for the opportunity to make a mold of it.

The psychiatrist is concerned about the consequences of creating a mask for Okuyama and for society if the process proves successful and is made available to the public.  One major question is that of identity:  does our identity come from inside or outside?  Would we be a different person if we had a different face?  What would happen to society if we never knew the real faces of people, but only the masks they chose to wear?

Some might argue that we already wear a mask.  One is Paul Lawrence Dunbar whose poem I have already posted here, but  "We Wear the Mask" deserves another reading in conjunction with this film:



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 otherwise,
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!

-- Paul Laurence Dunbar --


In 1966 this film was considered SF, but recent articles regarding at least two face transplants suggest that this issue now requires some discussion.  Also, in Europe there is considerable turmoil regarding the Moslem custom of veils for women's faces.    A mask or a veil is worn to hide or conceal one's identity from others, even though, paradoxically, wearing one in public makes one stand out among others whose faces are open for all to see.  In a sense, a mask or a veil makes it obvious that one wishes to remain anonymous.

The film has some surrealistic elements that occasionally become confusing.  The psychiatrist's laboratory is a bizarre room with glass and strange diagrams and, frankly, it seems to change each time we visit it.  There are also quick changes between the major plot with Okuyama and the secondary plot of a young woman with radiation scars on one side of her face.  She covers the scars with her long hair combed forward, while her hair is combed back on the other side of her face.  She mentions Nagasaki once when she asks her brother if he remembers the sea there when they were children, perhaps a hint as to the cause of her scarred face. 

The theme of the double or the doppelganger is also strongly brought out in the film.   Okuyama himself is the most obvious example as he is wearing a mask of someone else's face.   Some conversations seem to be repetitions of previous encounters, as well as doubling depicted in the early and late scenes in the film.  After he gets the mask, Okuyama supposedly leaves town but actually remains.  He rents two suites in an apartment building, once wearing his bandages and the second wearing his mask. 

The endings of both plots are clear and unambiguous:  we know what happened.  However, the rationale for the Okuyama plot is not.  Just why did Okuyama do what he did?  The ending of the second plot is much more understandable.

I would recommend this film strongly with one warning.  It is in Japanese, so if you don't understand Japanese, you will have to rely on subtitles.  Occasionally I found myself pausing the film and backtracking because the subtitles appeared and disappeared so quickly I had trouble reading them.  Aside from this minor inconvenience, I thoroughly enjoyed the film.  I now intend to read the novel and then rent the film again.

Langston Hughes: two poems

Empty House

It was in the empty house
That I came to dwell
And in the empty house
I found an empty hell.

Why is it that an empty house
Untouched by human strife
Can hold more woe
Than the wide world holds,
More pain than a cutting knife?


Is he really talking about an empty house?  What is "an empty hell"?   How could it be empty if it was filled with woe and pain?



Minstrel Man

Because my mouth
Is wide with laughter 
And my throat
Is deep with song,
You do not think
I suffer after
I have held my pain
So long?

Because my mouth
Is wide with laughter,
You do not hear
My inner cry?
Because my feet
Are gay with dancing,
You do not know
I die?

 -- Langston Hughes --
The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes


I think "Minstrel Man"  could have been included in a previous post of mine, Congruence (Jan. 29, 2014).   On the other hand, it also shares the idea of hidden grief with another powerful poem by Paul Lawrence Dunbar, "We wear the mask."  This is the last stanza (the complete poem is posted on June 27, 2009).


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!
- Paul Laurence Dunbar -

Congruence

  Ah, the sad expression in the eyes
                     of that caged bird--
                            envying the butterfly!
                --  Basho   (1644-1694  -- 


    
                              Sympathy 
    I KNOW what the caged bird feels, alas!
        When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
    When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
    And the river flows like a stream of glass;
        When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
    And the faint perfume from its chalice steals ­
    I know what the caged bird feels!

    I know why the caged bird beats his wing
        Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
    For he must fly back to his perch and cling
    When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
        And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
    And they pulse again with a keener sting ­
    I know why he beats his wing!

    I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
        When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,­
    When he beats his bars and he would be free;
    It is not a carol of joy or glee,
        But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
    But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings ­
    I know why the caged bird sings!
                      -- Paul Lawrence Dunbar  (1872-1906)






From 17th century Japan and in late 19th and early 20th century US,  we find two poems, different in form, but very similar in spirit.  And, one must also keep in mind that the first part of  Maya Angelou's autobiography is titled I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.  In addition, I found the following quotation while reading Frederick Douglass' autobiography, which tells of his life as a slave and after he gained his freedom.  I have often wondered whether it was the inspiration for Lawrence Dunbar's poem "Sympathy."

“Slaves sing most when they are most unhappy. The songs of the slave represent the sorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by them, only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears.”
― Frederick Douglass, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass   (1815-1895)

Remember this the next time someone insists that slaves are happy because they sing so much!  

 

Paul Lawrence Dunbar, "The Mystery"

This poem by Paul Lawrence Dunbar expresses one of the basic tenets of Taoism: we know not where we come from and we know not where we go. In the West, much blood has been spilled by various religious groups because of differences in doctrine about our ultimate destination. Perhaps if they had been less dogmatic about their beliefs, fewer people would have died in vain.


The Mystery

I was not; now I am -- a few days hence
I shall not be; I fain would look before
And after, but can neither do; some Power
Or lack of power says "no" to all I would.
I stand upon a wide and sunless plain,
Nor chart nor steel to guide my steps aright.
Whene'er, overcoming fear, I date to move,
I grope without direction and by chance.
Some feign to hear a voice and feel a hand
That draws them ever upward thro' that gloom.
But I --I hear no voice and touch no hand,
Tho' oft thro' silence infinite I list,
And strain my hearing to supernal sounds;
Tho' oft thro' fearful darkness do I reach,
And stretch my hand to find that other hand.
I question of th' eternal bending skies
That seem to neighbor with the novice earth;
But they roll on, and daily shut their eyes
On me, as I one day shall do on them,
And tell me not the secret that I ask.


Another reason why this poem caught my eye is that recently I had just posted some comments about Quatrain LII from FitzGerald's The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. I thought it might be interesting to quote that quatrain. People from different cultures and times still seem to think alike.


First Edition: Quatrain LII

And that inverted bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to It for help--for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou and I.



And while I was reading that Quatrain, yet another came to mind:



First Edition: Quatrain XXXIII

Then to the rolling Heav'n I cried,
Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide
Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?
And--"A blind Understanding!" Heav'n replied.


It seems as though there are two ways of dealing with this mystery. One is to grasp desperately at one "truth" which others have claimed to know, and to struggle constantly with those who think differently. The other is to accept that we really can't know, but must go on anyway. I prefer the second way.

Paul Lawrence Dunbar: "By the Stream"

Considering the hectic pace of life today, the incredibly fast transmission of news (usually a catastrophe or something equally bad), the intolerance and hatred of so many leaders cloaked in the name of patriotism, and the raucous demands of various, competing interest groups, perhaps we should take some time out and meditate on something a bit slower and natural and relaxing--something as simple as leaving all of our electronic naggers at home and finding a tree to sit down and lean up against that happens to be (or perhaps maybe just the tree alone)


By the Stream

By the stream I dream in calm delight, and watch as in a glass,
How the clouds like crowds of snowy-hued and white-robed maidens pass,
And the water into ripples breaks and sparkles as it spreads,
Like a host of armored knights with silver helmets on their heads.
And I deem the stream an emblem fit of human life may go,
For I find a mind may sparkle much, and yet but shallows show,
And a soul may glow with myriad lights and wondrous mysteries,
When it only lies a dormant thing and mirrors what it sees.


Sometimes maybe a fantasy break would be healthier for us than a coffee break.

Paul Lawrence Dunbar: June 27, 1872--Feb. 07, 1906

A simple poem, almost childish, until the last stanza.



The Poet and His Song

A song is but a little thing,
And yet what joy it is to sing!
In hours of toil it give me zest,
And when at eve I long for rest;
When cows come home along the bars,
And in the fold I hear the bell,
As Night, the shepherd, herds his stars,
I sing my song, and all is well.

There are no ears to hear my lays,
No lips to lift a word of praise;
But still, with faith unfaltering,
I live and laugh and love and sing.
What matters yon unheeding throng?
They cannot feel my spirit's spell,
Since life is sweet and love is long,
I sing my song, and all is well.

My days are never days of ease;
I till my ground and prune my trees.
When ripened gold is all the plain
I put my sickle to the grain.
I labor hard, and toil and sweat,
While others dream within the dell;
But even while my brow is wet,
I sing my song, and all is well.

Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot,
My garden makes a desert spot;
Sometimes a blight upon the tree
Takes all my fruit away from me;
And then with throes of bitter pain
Rebellious passions rise and swell;
But--life is more than fruit or grain,
And so I sing, and all is well.




The poet/narrator is a hard-working farmer, and his songs help him through the day and through the hard times. But, the last two lines

"But--life is more than fruit or grain,
And so I sing, and all is well."


suggest something more profound than simple escapism.

Paul Lawrence Dunbar: "Differences," a poem

Paul Lawrence Dunbar: 1872--1906



DIFFERENCES

My neighbor lives on the hill,
And I in the valley dwell,
My neighbor must look down upon me,
Must I look up?--ah, well,
My neighbor lives on the hill,
And I in the valley dwell.

My neighbor reads, and prays,
And I -- I laugh, God wot,
And sing like a bird when the grass is green
In my small garden plot;
But ah, he reads and prays,
And I -- I laugh, God wot.

His face is a book of woe,
And mine is a song of glee;
A slave he is to the great "They say,"
But I -- I am bold and free;
No wonder he smacks of woe,
And I have the tang of glee.

My neighbor thinks me a fool,
"The same to yourself," says I;
"Why take your books and take your prayers,
Give me the open sky;"
My neighbor thinks me a fool,
"The same to yourself," says I.

-- Paul Lawrence Dunbar --



If I must be a fool, then I know which type of fool I'd rather be.

Paul Laurence Dunbar: June 27, 1872--Feb 9, 1906

This is the poem that gave Maya Angelou the title for her poem and the first part of her autobiography--I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. It was written by Paul Laurence Dunbar.


Sympathy

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals--
I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting--
I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,--
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from this heart's deep core,
But a plea that upward to Heaven he flings--
I know why the caged bird sings!

- Paul Laurence Dunbar -



The last stanza reminds me of something I read in Frederick Douglass' autobiography, but I'm unable to find it at present for the exact quote. Douglass writes that those who defend slavery often state that slaves really are happier being slaves and that one proof of this is that they are always singing. To the contrary, Douglass writes that the songs they sang were really prayers for freedom and release and were "not a carol of joy or glee."

In this poem, I think Dunbar speaks for all who feel trapped or enslaved.

Paul Lawrence Dunbar--"We Wear the Mask"

The following information is from the Wikipedia entry about Paul Lawrence Dunbar:

Paul Laurence Dunbar (June 27, 1872 – February 9, 1906) was a seminal American poet of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Dunbar gained national recognition for his 1896 Lyrics of a Lowly Life, one poem in the collection _Ode to Ethiopia_. In 2002, scholar Molefi Kete Asante listed Paul Laurence Dunbar on his list of 100 Greatest African Americans.

Dunbar was born in 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.

He wrote his first poem at age 6 and gave his first public recital at age 9. Dunbar's first published work came in a newspaper put out by his high school friends Wilbur and Orville Wright, who owned a printing plant. The Wright Brothers later invested in the Dayton Tattler, a newspaper aimed at the black community, edited and published by Dunbar.

This is one of the most powerful poems I have ever read. It has stayed with me for several decades now.


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 otherwise,
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!
- Paul Laurence Dunbar -



http://www.dunbarsite.org/