Poem: Bury Me in a Free Land (w/Ella Bussie)

This Black History Month, I am joined by guest narrator Ella Bussie to read a powerful poem by France Ellen Watkins Harper, written in 1858. This poem was written before the emancipation of the slaves and speaks to the heartbreaking bravery that was shown to speak against evil. I also ask Ella a few questions about what it means to be black in America, her personal struggles, the leaps we've made as a nation, and hopes for the future.

Ella can be found here: Instagram @ellabussie and TikTok @officiallyella

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Episode music and narration by Tynan Portillo.

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Intro music by Emmett Cooke on PremiumBeat.

Chapters

• 0:00 Intro
• 0:35 Poem
• 3:10 Aftertalk with Ella
• 16:04 Farewell

Transcript

Tynan Portillo presents, featuring the works of Edgar Allan Poe and the best horror stories of the 19th century. Welcome to The Poe Show podcast. Music and narration by Tynan Portillo.

Today’s episode, Bury Me in a Free Land by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, with guest narrator Ella Bussie.

Make me a grave where'er you will,

In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill; 

Make it among earth's humblest graves,

But not in a land where men are slaves.

I could not rest if around my grave

I heard the steps of a trembling slave;

His shadow above my silent tomb

Would make it a place of fearful gloom.

I could not rest if I heard the tread

Of a coffle gang to the shambles led,

And the mother's shriek of wild despair

Rise like a curse on the trembling air.

I could not sleep if I saw the lash

Drinking her blood at each fearful gash,

And I saw her babes torn from her breast,

Like trembling doves from their parent nest.

I'd shudder and start if I heard the bay

Of bloodhounds seizing their human prey,

And I heard the captive plead in vain

As they bound afresh his galling chain.

If I saw young girls from their mother's arms

Bartered and sold for their youthful charms,

My eye would flash with a mournful flame,

My death-paled cheek grow red with shame.

I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might

Can rob no man of his dearest right;

My rest shall be calm in any grave

Where none can call his brother a slave.

I ask no monument, proud and high,

To arrest the gaze of the passers-by;

All that my yearning spirit craves,

Is bury me not in a land of slaves.

Thank you for listening to this episode of The Poe Show, and a very special thank you to Ella Bussie for being a guest on the podcast. Really powerful poem, and I modeled the music after Billie Holiday’s Strange Fruit, mixed in some blues to really support the poem. If you liked this episode then be sure to follow Ella on tiktok and Instagram, follow and subscribe to this podcast on TikTok and Instagram, feel free to support the show using the link in the description, and send a text message to the show to ask questions or request stories. And to that one listener out there, who I’m keeping nameless for their privacy, I am going to feature a story from The King in Yellow soon. Keep your ears peeled. Can you peel your ears? That sounded wrong.

Anyway, thanks for listening to this episode of The Poe Show, be sure to follow, subscribe, like and share. You’ll hear from me again on the next episode of The Poe Show.