Sterling Brown's poetic voice: a living legacy

With a measured irony and equally measured hyperbolic humor, Brown acquaints us with a man for whom exaggeration is small compensation for all that Sam Beasley has lost or never had. Sporting Beasley is allowed to forget the insults and drabness of his inconsequential life as he, resplendent with Prince Albert coat, white spats, and cane, struts it "till the sun goes down." In a tone that is decidedly mock-epical, the speaker describes the bon vivant at a concert as he strides down the aisle to his seat in row A and majestically pulls out his opera glasses amid the laughter of the crowd. One of Brown's folk transplanted in the city, Sporting Beasley is a character based on a hero from Brown's youth named Sporting Daniels "who used to walk up and down in front of the Howard Theater in Washington, D.C., in all his sartorial excellence." In actuality, Sporting Daniels did strut into a huge auditorium about twenty minutes late, walked slowly down the aisle to give those seated ample time to admire his clothes and cane, and, once at his seat in the very front of the auditorium, pulled out opera glasses in order to see the gigantic Paul Robeson in concert (14 May 1973 interview).

Brown achieves in these portraits truth in representation because of his willingness to refrain from idealizing his subjects and his insistence on an approach that eschews sentimentality and special pleading. For example, Brown's masterful portrait of Uncle Joe may be attributed to his keen observation and his excellent ear for dialect. We hear Unc' Joe, the garrulous old Creole, in a one-sided dialogue with the narrator, expounding on educating his children and standing up to the gratuitous threats and intimidation of the whites and Cajuns in the parish. With a penchant for humor and understatement, Unc' Joe smiles at the narrator and says," 'You know, I gret big liar, me . . . / But still I kin do what I gots to do. / And dats no lie.' "When the narrator concludes "Unc' Joe, c'est drole," we agree (Poems 230).

Invariably Brown's poetry reveals an exploration of selfhood, a celebration of the strength and stoicism of Black people, and an abiding faith in the possibilities of their lives. Brown becomes the myth-maker, keeper of the images, preserver of values and definitions. As was the case in his life, Brown does not glorify or belittle race in his poetry. His quest is to explore the wellsprings of the racial strength and endurance that he so often celebrates. In "Children's Children," Brown chastises those who would deny their heritage and identity:

They have forgotten What had to be endured -

That they, babbling young ones, With their paled faces, coppered lips, And sleek hair cajoled to Caucasian straightness,

Might drown the quiet voice of beauty With sensuous stridency;

And might, on hearing those memoirs of their sires, Giggle, And nudge each other's satin clad Sleek sides. . . . (Poems 104)

Brown's message is conveyed in language that is "simple, sensuous, and impassioned" (Gabbin 38). As vivid and vibrant as a Romare Bearden collage, Brown's poetry displays strikingly imaginative, metaphoric language somehow akin to that of the unknown bards. Whether Brown is describing the beautiful fallen woman whose life has been twisted by the corruption of Rampart Street in "Cloteel" or the young healer in "Parish Doctor" who tells the parishioners that "he's the best conjuh doctor . . . / North of New Orleans" (Poems 227), we sense in Brown's characterizations his intimacy with their humanity.