Two writers sharing: Sterling A. Brown, Robert Frost, and "In Dives' Dive."

African American Review, Fall, 1997 by John Edgar Tidwell

To hide yourself in the mountaintop To hide yourself from God. (white)

Went down to the rocks to hide my face, The rocks cried out no hiding place. (Negro) (Caravan 417)

The similarity that exists between the two sets of lines lies in their "general idea, certainly not in the poetry" (Caravan 417). In these two very different sets of lyrics rests a fundamental belief that permeates Brown's folk-based metaphysic: that the "poetry" of Negro folk language revealed wit, wisdom, and a world view. Distilled in these two lines is an anthropomorphized vision of nature itself. The idea, once we leave the realm of the religious for the social, is that no place can provide refuge or escape from the encroachments or assaults made against African American humanity.

As Lovell stated this argument, the "magic" of the spirituals was not simply rescue but empowerment. It provided justice, "an irresistible force against strong earthly powers" (Lovell 340). Lovell finds no better instance of universal justice than that portrayed in "! Got a Home in That Rock":

Poor old Lazarus, poor as I, Don't you see? Don't you see? (repeat) Poor old Lazarus, poor as I, When he died had a home on high. He had a home in-a-that Rock, Don't you see? Rich man, Dives, lives so well Don't you see? Don't you see? (repeat) Rich man, Dives, lived so well, When he died he found home in hell, Had no home in that Rock, Don't you see? (qtd. in Lovell 340)(3)

Brown and Lovell agreed that, in Lovell's words, ". . . in the AfroAmerican spiritual, universal justice straightens all, clarifies all, judges all, at long last" (Lovell 340).

The Negro spiritual thus emerges as a music of political as well as religious significance. Brown understood that the "I" in "I Got a Home in That Rock" signifies not just the individual but also the community. In this way, the Rich Man-Lazarus parable represents more than a reversal of fortunes in the next world; it offers profound hope to sustain aggrieved singers/listeners in this world. "The spirituals," Brown argues, "were born of suffering" (Caravan 420). Rather than supporting a case for "You take dis worl', and give me Jesus," the spirituals derive their strength, their raison d'etre as "tragic poetry." That is, the language of the spirituals is rooted in a nearly cathartic emotional response to hardship, trial, and tribulation. In effect, the Dives-Lazarus parable teaches the listeners/singers that understanding selfishness, self-interest, and irresponsibility has consequences in this world and in the world that follows; therefore, the individual is connected to the community by love, care, and concern, and the community, in turn, is responsible to its individual members. By maintaining this sense of community, whatever befalls the group can be properly withstood.

Principally, then, the points of convergence and divergence in Brown's and Frost's use of the Dives-Lazarus story focus on the two poets' respective associations of art and the social significance of art. Among the most focused critical comparisons of these two poets, Mark Jeffreys vacillates tellingly between Brown's indebtedness to and departure from Frost and other "New American Poets." Ultimately, though, Jeffreys is most serviceable and cogent when he comments that "Brown's acknowledgment of Frost is one of kindred spirit more than kindred technique" (214). Unlike Frost, who never had his identity of being an American questioned, Brown had to argue for recognition that he was "a part of," not relegated to being "apart from," America.