23 pages • 46-minute read
Robert HaydenA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
It would seem, given the subject matter, the poem would reflect the moral chaos and the emotional strife manifested in a lynching. On its surface, however, “Night, Death, Mississippi” looks, formally, like a traditional poem. The poem breaks into nine quatrains (stanzas with four lines each). The poem itself is neatly broken into two broad sections, separated by Roman numerals. The first centers on the drama of the Southern man listening with approval, even relish to the sounds of the killing of the Black men by the Klan; the second section focuses on the return of the man’s son, who comes back from the attack exhilarated over his participation in the Klan attack. Between the quatrains in the second part are single italicized lines that act as a kind of broad perspective on the night’s attack, giving the toxic responses of the Southern family a moral critique that reveals the immorality and viciousness of the Klan attack.
Thus, Hayden’s poem is one thing formally and something quite different thematically. Given the horror of the action that the poem suggests (no direct description of the lynching is given, the poem offering only the howls of the victims and the bloodied shirt of one of the killers), the poem’s form suggests control, design, and tidiness. The lines are trim, concise, restrained. The old man relates his relish over helping to castrate a Black man in lines that are clear and direct, “as we cut it off” (Line 16) a confession uncomplicated by emotion, matter-of-fact and concise. Formal order is, however, all too appropriate to approach the reality of lynching in the Deep South. The poem’s form and its theme are in conflict with each other, suggesting how the South itself allows, really encourages the abomination of racism and the brutality of lynchings while all the while appearing to be a culture of civilized, God-fearing, family-loving Christians.
Although the lines are sculpted to resemble conventional poetry, each line works to its own meter, some have four beats, others two, others five. The variation in meter is designed to appropriate conversational speech, which makes the meter itself proximate reflection of prose not poetry. Even the occasional narrative detailing—when the old man heads out to the porch, for instance, and laughs to hear the screams of the Black victims—the lines do not read like poetry, rather like simple narrative directions. After all, the measured percussive rhythm of poetic meter would render the thoughts and perceptions of these Southern bigots a sense of elevation, their hatred, their racism, their immorality, their hypocrisy offered in sculpted lines of careful patterning. Rather, in mimicking the hard cliché of backwoods white Southern dialect, with the errors in grammar, the clipped syntax, the simple diction, the poem compels the reader to listen not to a poet, as conventional prosody would do, but rather to these racists in their vernacular whose speech reveals exactly what they are. Hayden’s meter creates intimacy that, given the immorality of the farmer and his family, the reader would rather not feel. The conversational metrics—read aloud the poem creates the abhorrent intimacy of being right there on the porch and in the kitchen with these bigots—compel identification with these Southern white racists and in turn provides the reader with the visceral impulse to condemn these characters and the hate they espouse. That sense of outrage is given voice in the italicized lines in the second section which, unlike the hard-edged realism of the rest of the poem, are lyrical, elevated, and provide the poem its slender assertion of moral outrage.
While at the University of Michigan, under the tutelage of iconic British Modernist poet W. H. Auden, Hayden studied the strategies for using narrative poetry (and “Night, Death, Mississippi” is a story poem) to reveal rather than define character, that is to allow poetry the same daring artistic freedom with which Modernist novelists, most notably for Hayden James Joyce and William Faulkner, redefined narrative point of view by allowing characters, with all their flaws, to speak directly to the reader, to capture the language, sentence structure, and idiom of spoken English, thus creating a bond with the reader even when the character is repugnant.
Hayden never speaks directly to the reader. Rather the poem is constructed by the conversational interplay between the old man, his son, and his wife. The voices heard speak in the anything-but-poetic language of the rural South, “Be there with Boy and the rest / if I was well again” (Lines 9-10), sounds resembling the interior thoughts of an old man as he sits on the porch and ruminates over his bad luck, being unable to be there at the lynching himself. The sentences recreate the vernacular of the Deep South, its peculiar speech patterns: “he’s earned him a bottle—when he gets home” (Lines 23-24). Hayden crafts sentences to minimally call attention to themselves as lines of poetry; he coopts the hard clack and spit of conversational Southern speech; he eliminates the capitalization of the first word of each line typical of poetry; and he creates free-moving casualness of conversation through enjambment (lines that resist the feeling of elevated language by closing off lines with end-punctuations such as periods and semi-colons). Thus, lines read become voices heard. The voices compel us to get up close to these pernicious characters, close enough in fact to listen to their racist rhetoric.



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