A Civil Look at the War of Words
Jerry Wemple's book of poems on the Civil War’s racial legacy
In a country that prides itself on nurturing diversity, a racial
divide still remains between white and black Americans long after the last battle of the Civil War.
The divide is evident in cocked-eyed looks or epithets uttered under
a breath. Then there are the cases of outright prejudice like arson fires of churches, flagrant police brutality, and racial
profiling.
"You look at the history of the United States and the discrimination
and intolerance and you see the same patterns," said author Jerry Wemple. "These patterns seem to repeat themselves."
Wemple notes the accomplishments of community and political leaders
in the past decades, but believes that their words need to be more tangible. Americans need to accept each other based on
their character and help that philosophy emanate from their neighborhoods to around the world.
In The Civil War in Baltimore, Jerry Wemple explores
the sociological and psychological affects of the Civil War through narrative, lyrical poems. His new book includes works
that give insight into his personal experiences and how he perceives the nation’s racial divide.
"The Civil War is such an important part of history and the issues
that it brought to the forefront were never resolved," he said. "We have this lingering legacy of the war and various interpretations
of it."
Wemple grew up in Sunbury, a small town nestled along the Susquehanna
River in Northumberland County. In the 1960s, once you traveled off of Main Street, it was primarily country and farmland
until you went north to the quiet college town of Bloomsburg. A child of German and African descent might stick out in a place
like Sunbury.
The author doesn't describe his childhood as relentless badgering
by schoolmates, but he has encountered bigotry throughout his life. After graduation from Shikellamy High School, he spent
eight years in the United States Navy where he served as a photo interpreter then worked as a newspaper reporter after discharge.
During that time, he has met his share of rude store clerks and bartenders. Even now, Jerry sees racism in the eyes of some
of the people he passes on the streets.
His works don't strictly focus on racism, but it's a subject that's
hard for him to avoid when writing pieces about his personal experiences.
Baltimore was an appropriate place for the book to be rooted for
a couple of reasons. Jerry was intrigued by the city's history before and during the Civil War. The state of Maryland was
a northern state filled with contradictions since people from all sides of the slavery spectrum lived there: abolitionists,
slave owners, free slaves, and slaves.
"Baltimore was this type of middle ground where anything goes."
The city was also home to his family who migrated to northeastern
Pennsylvania where he was raised.
Works from The Civil War in Baltimore (Word Press, 2005),
follow the social evolution of free slaves during the 19th century to the state of African-American culture today. Wemple
intertwines poems inspired by his own life and the appalling examples of racism that have occurred in his home state.
About the Author:
Jerry Wemple’s first book-length collection, You Can See It From Here
(Lotus Press, 2000), won the Naomi Long Madgett Poetry Award. His poems and creative nonfiction have appeared in numerous
publications including Ninth Letter, 5 AM, West Branch, Connecticut Review, and The Drexel Online Journal. He
was awarded a Fellowship in Literature from the Pennsylvania Council on the Arts and the Mabel Woodrow Wilson Award.
Wemple, 45, earned a bachelor’s degree in English from Vermont College and
a master’s degree in English from the University of Massachusetts at Amherst. He has worked as a newspaper reporter
and taught classes at the University of Pitttsburgh at Johnstown before he returned to his native Bloomsburg where he is an
assistant professor of English at Bloomsburg University.
Excerpts from The Civil War in
Baltimore
The Civil War in Baltimore
She was a brown-haired, blue-eyed PA woman, from German stock. Already Three
daughters. Headed down the pike Two years before with a rail-thin Yellow-haired husband, who looked for work In the
post-war boom of Baltimore. How they got together is anyone’s guess. It’s an old story; they weren’t
the first: Temptation, risk, consequence. It’s An old game. Losing, she heads back home. Sounds like a colored
guy on the phone, The sister says. She denies, says he is Southern. He knew, at least best I can figure, He knew.
But if he ever got into a borrowed Car, wearing a pair of mended dress pants And shoes with a Sunday shine, drove North
through York, caught routes 11 and 15 by Harrisburg, followed the west shore Of the river to where its branches converge, Driving
along with the radio low -
Just enough for company, not distraction - And in that early evening, sighting The
North Star in a clear winter sky, Stopped the car on the berm At the foot of the old Bainbridge toll bridge, Got
out, walked around to get the kink Out of his calves, then leaned against The passenger door smoking a non-filter, And
considered what came next if he crossed… If he ever did, if he ever did, Damned if I know.
Frederick Douglass Learns to Read
My father was born into a hold, called Baltimore. Being of neither south
nor north, but rather west and east, He ceased to be a man (some say ceased to be), and furthermore To depend; captured,
quantified, thus chained like beast. My mother was a literate soul, sold on this bargain, This deal between gods and
God, the promise of the serpent United rather than winteren, that became the legacy of this land. And when the break
came, it lingered, still splitting every fragment. The land that is mine was built upon those brains and backs, Its
history a paradox, both unified and opposed, distorted. Less than paper, only words, hints among the artifacts,
Glimpses, shadows of shadows: all that has been reported.
And here am I, a grotesquerie too, leaning back in wonder, And here I am, a curious
curiosity, hoping to not go under.
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