African American Poetry: A Digital AnthologyMain MenuFull Text Collection: Books Published by African American Poets, 1870-1928Long list of 100+ full texts books of poetry available on this "Anthology"Author Pages: Bios and Full Text CollectionsList of African American poets onAfrican American Periodical Poetry (1900-1928)A collection of African Amerian Periodical Poetry, mostly focused on 1900-1928Areas of Interest: Topics and ThemesAfrican American Poetry: Anthologies of the 1920sPoetry by African American Women (1890-1930): A Reader and GuideOpen access textbook introducing readers to Poetry by Black WomenExploring Datasets related to African American poetryAbout This Site: Mission Statement, Contributors, and Recent UpdatesAn account of the history and evolution of this site by the site editor.Further Reading / Works CitedAmardeep Singhc185e79df2fca428277052b90841c4aba30044e1
Mary Turner -- Background Information
12023-06-05T17:27:14-04:00Amardeep Singhc185e79df2fca428277052b90841c4aba30044e12131Editor's Note related to Carrie Williams Clifford, "Little Mother" (1922)plain2023-06-05T17:27:14-04:00Amardeep Singhc185e79df2fca428277052b90841c4aba30044e1Mary Turner was a married black woman with two children who was lynched by a mob in Georgia in May 1918. She was eight months pregnant; her unborn child was also killed in the attack. Mary Turner's husband was lynched the day before. She was targeted for attack after she publicly spoke out against the group that killed her husband.
Oh, tremble, Little Mother, For your dark-eyed, unborn babe, Whom in your secret heart you've named The well-loved name of "Gabe."
For Gabriel is the father's name, And the son is sure to be "Just like his father!" as she wants The whole, wide world to see!
But tremble, Little Mother, For your unborn baby's fate; The father tarries long away Why does he stay so late?
For dark the night and weird the wind, And chilled the heart with fear! What are those hideous sounds and cries Each instant drawing near?
Oh, tremble, dark-faced mother, At the dreadful word that falls From lips of pale-faced demons, As the black man pleads and calls.
For they're dragging Gabe, at a stout rope's end, And they say, "She is bound to tell!" Something she knows not a thing about, Or they'll "Give her the same as well!"
Oh, tremble, helpless mother! They're beating down the door, And you'll never feel the father's kiss, Or the stir of the baby more.
Oh, the human beasts were ruthless, And there upon the ground, Two bodies--and an unborn babe-- The ghastly morning found.