Songs My Mother Taught Me . . . Old Man River

{This is the eighth in an undetermined number of songs my mother taught me I'm posting this month in her memory. For background, please visit the post containing the first song, Ivory Tower.}


I wish I'd paid better attention to my mother when she told me that her mother had taken the family to hear Paul Robeson in person. Since they lived on both coasts during times he appeared on stage (related production schedule and related clipping) I don't know any more than she saw him and she loved him. Old Man River stirred something deep in my mother that went beyond admiration for the powerful voice, the iconic song, the memorable play/movie. She told me his remarkable story and did so without the addition of pro-American or anti-Communist comments. We had many discussions about his life story and Robeson's life awakened something deep in me the way Old Man River did in her. In preparation for this post I find I have new stirrings of appreciation for this wondrous and complex human being. Here are highlights of his bio found at Rutger's University's Paul Robeson Cultural Center:

• He was the grandson of slaves and the son of a minister who escaped slavery, and became one of Rutgers University's most famous and accomplished alumni.

• In 1915, Robeson was awarded a four-year academic scholarship to Rutgers University. He was inducted into the Phi Beta Kappa Society and Rutgers' Cap & Skull Honor Society. He was valedictorian of his graduating class in 1919.

• He was named to the All American Football Team twice in spite of open racism and violence expressed by his teammates. In 1995, he was inducted posthumously into the College Football Hall of Fame.

• In 1923, Robeson earned a law degree from the Columbia Law School. There, he met his wife Eslanda Cordoza Goode, the first black woman to head a pathology laboratory

• He went on to such stage successes in Show Boat, Porgy and Bess and Othello, which was hailed by some critics as the play's greatest interpretation. He starred in 13 films between the 1920s and the early 1940s. . .

• He sang for peace and justice in 25 languages throughout the United States, Africa, Asia Europe, and the Soviet Union. 

• During the McCarthy Era of the 1950s, every attempt was made to silence and discredit Paul Robeson because of his political views and dedication to civil rights.

• For a generation, his memory was obscured and his achievements forgotten, but the centennial of his 1898 birth has sparked new debate about his place in our history.

I am grateful to my mother for giving emphasis to Paul Robeson's story during nights of serious discussion around the kitchen table. I grew to also admire the man and to love this special song my mother taught me. Old Man River. 

 


This video has a bit of narrative by Harry Belafonte describing how words in the song changed through the years. To hear a 1930 recording of Paul Robeson singing the original lyrics (and to see some excellent still shots of him), click here. The portions that were substituted for other lyrics soon after that earlier recording are shocking and a reminder of positive changes in civil rights in the U.S. since then.....and are a reminder that what has been won can be lost if not treasured and protected. 

Paul Robeson: A Poem

-by Andrew Vinstra 2007

Paul Robeson - African American Actor, Political Pioneer,
Cultural Activist & Basso Profundo Concert Singer


The box springs beneath me squeak as I try to drift off.
Every shallow breath I inhale catches in the frame of the rigging
droops there in tatters rags red as blood, red with blood, turned to blood
the breath runs in rivulets scattering skeletal.

The whole structure creaks beneath the weight of centuries
of waiting to wake from the nightmare.
Sleep is the ocean I never quite cross.

My breath comes in waves
that break against the hull of my ribs.
I inhale, the sail unfurls.
I am become the bone ship of my people.

My ribs are the hull holding the breath
whispering up out of history.

My skin is the sail that catches wind, holds breath, swallows whole
the hollow ocean, the empty bowl my voice is become.

My nose is the prow that points over the precipice I pitch into,
heedless. My mouth, the chasm I scream over.

My eyes are the crow's nest at the top of the mast
from whence I spied the teeth of darkness
yet somehow I'm still alive.

The bellows of my lungs expand.
My skin stretches thin and brittle,
a leaf ripe with fall, translucent as parchment
the wind catches and slowly unfurls. My ancient skin
becomes molten. It flakes off as feathers
and slowly descends.The detritus of all we have left
sifts slowly through the depths caress and waits
unbidden. The scales fall from my eyes, two bright
pennies, revealing the iris starting once more
to open. Cumulus storm clouds gather. Molten skin
like lava builds from beneath.
Below the surface bones gather as feathers.
The sea in my voice begins to rise
and the whole ocean opens.

I know now as I wake from slumber
that heaven and hell shall hear my voice
and the earth shall tremble.

.