Lolotte, who attires my hair

Lolotte, who attires my hair
Lolotte, who attires my hair is a poem about a lost love. This is a poem written by Jessie Redmon Fauset.

Jessie Redmon Fauset
Jessie Redmon Fauset. Source: . Copyright: © Copyright 2010 Corbis (see the information in the link).

About the poetess

Jessie Redmon Fauset (born as Jessie Redmona Fauset) was born on April 27 1882 in Fredericksville (New Jersey, US). We know her for her poems, essays, novels and as an educator. She studied at Cornell University (Classical Languages) and the University of Pennsylvania (French). Then she became a teacher at Dunbar High School in Washington DC. In 1919 she started as a literary editor  for The Crisis – the official magazine of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP). She left this job in 1927 and had several teaching jobs until 1944.

Between 1924 and 1933, Fauset published four novels and wrote several poems. She had been writing poetry since 1912.

Fauset died of a heart disease on April 30 1961.

About the poem

One has to remember, that the emancipation of Afro-Americans in the United States is something that is of recent history. Before that time, there wasn’t real freedom – even when slavery was abolished. This poem written by Jessie Redmon Fauset is written in the time, when emancipation and equality where things so many dreamt about.

The poem is a good example of poetry that is now known as The Harlem Renaissance. This was a period in the twenties, when Afro-American poets and artists thrived. In this period the artist took the stage, rather than settling for a role in the background. This lead to beautiful expressive poems. The one written by Fauset is a typical example of such fine poetry.

Lolotte is the cyring woman, who lost a loved one. This is beyond any race or colour. This is grief in the most deepest form.

Lolotte, who attires my hair

Lolotte, who attires my hair

Lolotte, who attires my hair,
Lost her lover. Lolotte weeps;
Trails her hand before her eyes;
Hangs her head and mopes and sighs,
Mutters of the pangs of hell.
Fills the circumambient air
With her plaints and her despair.
Looks at me:
‘May you never know, Mam’selle
Love’s harsh cruelty.’
— Jessie Redmon Fauset

By using this form you agree with the storage and handling of your data by this website.

%d bloggers like this: