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The Ballad of Birmingham: Protest and Tragedy in Poetry, Schemes and Mind Maps of Poetry

The historical context and poetic analysis of two ballads, 'ballad of birmingham' by dudley randall and 'birmingham sunday' by richard fariña, written in response to the bombing of the sixteenth street baptist church in birmingham, alabama, in 1963. These poems serve as powerful forms of protest and memorialization of the tragic event and its impact on the civil rights movement.

Typology: Schemes and Mind Maps

2021/2022

Uploaded on 09/12/2022

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Poetry
Mr. Hart
The Ballad as a Form of Protest
On Sunday, September 15th, 1963, in Birmingham, Alabama, a bomb’s explosion ripped through
the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church. The church had served as a meeting place for local civil
rights activists like Martin Luther King Jr. Twenty-three people were injured, and four girls, all
aged fourteen or younger, were killed as they attended Sunday School in the church basement.
No one was prosecuted for the crime until 1977. It remains one of the key (and most sad)
moments in the country’s civil rights movement.
Ballad of Birmingham by Dudley Randall 1966
(On the Bombing of a Church in
Birmingham, Alabama, 1963)
“Mother dear, may I go downtown
Instead of out to play,
And march the streets of Birmingham
In a Freedom March today?”
“No, baby, no, you may not go,
For the dogs are fierce and wild,
And clubs and hoses, guns and jail
Aren’t good for a little child.”
“But, mother, I won’t be alone.
Other children will go with me,
And march the streets of Birmingham
To make our country free.”
“No, baby, no, you may not go,
For I fear those guns will fire.
But you may go to church instead
And sing in the children’s choir.”
She has combed and brushed her night-dark hair,
And bathed rose petal sweet,
And drawn white gloves on her small brown hands,
And white shoes on her feet.
The mother smiled to know her child
Was in the sacred place,
But that smile was the last smile
To come upon her face.
For when she heard the explosion,
Her eyes grew wet and wild.
She raced through the streets of Birmingham
Calling for her child.
She clawed through bits of glass and brick,
Then lifted out a shoe.
“O here’s the shoe my baby wore,
But, baby, where are you?”
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Poetry Mr. Hart

The Ballad as a Form of Protest

On Sunday, September 15th, 1963, in Birmingham, Alabama, a bomb’s explosion ripped through the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church. The church had served as a meeting place for local civil rights activists like Martin Luther King Jr. Twenty-three people were injured, and four girls, all aged fourteen or younger, were killed as they attended Sunday School in the church basement. No one was prosecuted for the crime until 1977. It remains one of the key (and most sad) moments in the country’s civil rights movement.

Ballad of Birmingham by Dudley Randall 1966

(On the Bombing of a Church in Birmingham, Alabama, 1963)

“Mother dear, may I go downtown Instead of out to play, And march the streets of Birmingham In a Freedom March today?”

“No, baby, no, you may not go, For the dogs are fierce and wild, And clubs and hoses, guns and jail Aren’t good for a little child.”

“But, mother, I won’t be alone. Other children will go with me, And march the streets of Birmingham To make our country free.”

“No, baby, no, you may not go, For I fear those guns will fire. But you may go to church instead And sing in the children’s choir.”

She has combed and brushed her night-dark hair, And bathed rose petal sweet, And drawn white gloves on her small brown hands, And white shoes on her feet.

The mother smiled to know her child Was in the sacred place, But that smile was the last smile To come upon her face.

For when she heard the explosion, Her eyes grew wet and wild. She raced through the streets of Birmingham Calling for her child.

She clawed through bits of glass and brick, Then lifted out a shoe. “O here’s the shoe my baby wore, But, baby, where are you?”

Birmingham Sunday by Richard Fariña 1964

Come round by my side and I'll sing you a song. I'll sing it so softly, it'll do no one wrong. On Birmingham Sunday the blood ran like wine, And the choir kept singing of Freedom.

That cold autumn morning no eyes saw the sun, And Addie Mae Collins, her number was one. In an old Baptist church there was no need to run. And the choir kept singing of Freedom.

The clouds they were dark and the autumn wind blew, And Denise McNair brought the number to two. The falcon of death was a creature they knew, And the choir kept singing of Freedom.

The church it was crowded, and no one could see That Cynthia Wesley's dark number was three. Her prayers and her feelings would shame you and me. And the choir kept singing of Freedom.

Young Carol Robertson entered the door And the number her killers had given was four. She asked for a blessing but asked for no more, And the choir kept singing of Freedom.

On Birmingham Sunday a noise shook the ground. And people all over the earth turned around. For no one recalled a more cowardly sound. And the choir kept singing of Freedom.

The men in the forest they once asked of me, How many black berries grow in the Blue Sea. I asked them right back with a tear in my eye. How many dark ships in the forest?

A Sunday has come, a Sunday has gone. And I can't do much more than to sing you a song. I'll sing it so softly, it'll do no one wrong. And the choir keeps singing of Freedom.

Questions Ballad of Birmingham/Birmingham Sunday

  1. What ironies do you see in “Ballad of Birmingham”?
  2. How does this modern poem measure up to traditional ballads?
  3. Could the song “Birmingham Sunday” stand alone as a poem? A ballad?
  4. What poetic conventions can be found in these poems?
  5. What does the author for “Birmingham Sunday” mean by the question in the 7th^ stanza?
  6. Why should the tragedy in Birmingham be remembered? What, in your lifetime will be remembered for generations to come?