Joseph S. Cotter, Jr. - The Mulatto To His Critics (1918)
Forgotten Poems #16
—: The Mulatto To His Critics :—
Ashamed of my race?
And of what race am I?
I am many in one.
Thru my veins there flows the blood
Of Red Man, Black Man, Briton, Celt and Scot,
In warring clash and tumultuous riot.
I welcome all,
But love the blood of the kindly race
That swarthes my skin, crinkles my hair.
And puts sweet music into my soul.
Joseph S. Cotter, Jr. (1894-1919)
“My son, the late Joseph S. Cotter, Jr. learned to read and write from his sister, Florence Olivia, who was two years older. Before he entered school at the age of six years he had read about thirty books— these included all the readers in the elementary schools—1st-8th grades and parts of the Bible.”
“Both were graduated from the Louisville Central High School under 16; Florence Olivia won first honor of her class and Joseph the second. After a year and a half at Fisk University, in Nashville, Florence Olivia wrote us that Joseph had tuberculosis and must leave school. He returned home and was put under a doctor. The following December, Florence Olivia returned from Fisk with tuberculosis, and one year from that day she died. It was grieving over his sister's death that discovered to Joseph his poetic talent. He died February 3rd, 1919, leaving his published poems, The Band of Gideon, and two other unpublished works—one of poems and one of one-act plays.” (Caroling Dusk, 1926)
Illustration: Aaron Douglas (Opportunity, 1925).
For Joseph S. Cotter, Jr. by Dick Whyte When the words are alive the world stops: bugs stop crawling winds stop blowing time stops moving— then the world starts up again— insistently singing— you’ll know when the words are alive
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