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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.
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Poetry Mr. Hart
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.
(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?”
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