The Ballad of Birmingham

                The Ballad of Birmingham is a symbol of the racial tensions in the southern United States during the 1960’s. The poem depicts a young girl asking her mother to attend a freedom march in Birmingham, Alabama. When her mother tells her that she may not attend, the little girl decides to attend a Sunday school service as of her mother’s wishes. At this Sunday school service a bomb had been planted and killed the girl. The irony of how the mother thought that going to church was more safe than going to a freedom march had implied how dangerous it was in the 1960’s for African Americans of the south, by implying how nowhere is safe, not even a church. With this connection to this time period the reader can understand the poem more fluently.  This poem had also been a way to get the message out with a different type of style than a newspaper or broadcast.

                My thoughts on this poem are that it is a nicely written poem, in the form of a folk ballad, and it has a great historical background, although I am no expert when it comes to poetry. I also think that it is a unique way of spreading the word across a large area. It reminds me of how the ancient Greeks used to tell their folk ballads and epic poems all over the country.  This poem also reminds me of how far the American culture has come with racial differences, yes there are still acts of racism or hate crimes being done, but there have been major advances towards equality.            

Now the poem:

“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 jails

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?”

                Dudley Randall (1914-2000)