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Ark of bones and other stories
A free-lance writer, active in the area of “little magazine” writing and publishing, and a member of the teaching staff of the Experiment in Higher Education at Southern Illinois University in East St. Louis, Henry Dumas had amassed a considerable body of work at the time of his death in 1968 at the age of thirty-four. These two volumes ( Ark of Bones and Other Stories and Poetry for my People ), comprise most of his work, published and unpublished. They amply show the sensitivity and skill with which he approached the themes of blackness and youth, the preoccupations of the stories, and, in the themes and techniques of the poems, demonstrate the awareness of what an African heritage can mean to an American writer.
139 pages, Hardcover
First published December 1, 1970
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630 people want to read
About the author
Henry Dumas
14 books68 followers In April of 1968, at the age of thirty-three, Henry Dumas was shot and killed by a New York Transit Authority Policeman at 125th Street Station in a case of "mistaken identity." At the time of his death, he had already finished several manuscripts of poetry and short stories.
Dumas' poetry, short fiction, and novels have been published posthumously in large part due to the efforts of Eugene Redmond, Toni Morrison, and Quincy Troupe. Poetry for My People first appeared in 1970 and was later published as Play Ebony, Play Ivory. When Play Ebony, Play Ivory appeared in 1974, Julius Lester in the New York Times Book Review called Dumas "the most original Afro-American poet of the sixties." Dumas' first collection of short fiction, Arks of Bones and Other Stories, was first published in 1974. Redmond has also helped to bring out an unfinished novel, Jonah and the Green Stone (1976), as well as the collections Rope of Wind and Other Stories (1979), Goodbye, Sweetwater (1988), and Knees of a Natural Man: The Selected Poetry of Henry Dumas (1989). Authors including James Baldwin, Gwendolyn Brooks, and Maya Angelou have celebrated his writing for its mixture of natural and supernatural phenomena, music, beauty, and revolutionary politics.
Dumas' poetry, short fiction, and novels have been published posthumously in large part due to the efforts of Eugene Redmond, Toni Morrison, and Quincy Troupe. Poetry for My People first appeared in 1970 and was later published as Play Ebony, Play Ivory. When Play Ebony, Play Ivory appeared in 1974, Julius Lester in the New York Times Book Review called Dumas "the most original Afro-American poet of the sixties." Dumas' first collection of short fiction, Arks of Bones and Other Stories, was first published in 1974. Redmond has also helped to bring out an unfinished novel, Jonah and the Green Stone (1976), as well as the collections Rope of Wind and Other Stories (1979), Goodbye, Sweetwater (1988), and Knees of a Natural Man: The Selected Poetry of Henry Dumas (1989). Authors including James Baldwin, Gwendolyn Brooks, and Maya Angelou have celebrated his writing for its mixture of natural and supernatural phenomena, music, beauty, and revolutionary politics.
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
March 26, 2014
Ark of Bones and Other Stories is a collection of nine short stories by Henry Dumas, an Arkansas native whose family moved to Harlem, New York when he was ten. These stories, some set in Arkansas and some set in Harlem, are dark and smoky, and are infused with mojo and a deep spirituality. His characters and his ghostly magic were refreshing to me in their differentness: the strong, male, African American voice was not strictly of the here and now; there was an ancientness to it, as if these stories came up from the depths of the earth and through a long line of African-rooted souls. Spirit magic swirls thorughout the stories, as in “Ark of Bones”, when the Mississippi River rises to carry the Ark – Noah’s Ark? our character wonders – to Headeye, a chosen one from Arkansas:
Only river people know how to talk to the river when it’s mad. I watched the light on the waves way upstream where the old Sippi bend, and I could tell that she was movin faster. Risin.
At the same time, in “Boll of Roses” Dumas paints beautiful, earthy scenes of his Arkansas roots:
That little brown girl bout the prettiest thing I ever seen in a cotton field.
He was off the porch, into the sun, passing the garden, when the smell of cotton… then the rose garden, and then wet dew…
Never far from the surface is the struggle of the young black man in the pre-Civil Rights South – the struggle to escape the vicious cycle of servitude, of poverty, of ignorance, and the cotton fields that kept him shackled to all three:
He felt ashamed of staying out of school just to pick cotton.
Ark of Bones and Other Stories reminds us that many Southern blacks were still stuck in the cotton fields as recently as the 1960s, missing school, missing out on education, so that they could eat. Unlike farmers’ children, whose lives look the same during harvest time, pickers do not own the land, they do not own the cotton, they cannot sell the cotton. There aren’t more hours in the day to earn more money, there are not opportunities to get ahead, to educate themselves, to move on to something better. Not until the Civil Rights movement:
“I picked cotton all my life, chopped, planted, cleared land, and I aint got nothin to show for it. You younguns oughta get out of the field and get with them rights people. They got the Lord on their side.”
These are important stories. They are vivid reminders of not just our history, but our recent history, and the effect this history has on a significant portion of the American population.
Only river people know how to talk to the river when it’s mad. I watched the light on the waves way upstream where the old Sippi bend, and I could tell that she was movin faster. Risin.
At the same time, in “Boll of Roses” Dumas paints beautiful, earthy scenes of his Arkansas roots:
That little brown girl bout the prettiest thing I ever seen in a cotton field.
He was off the porch, into the sun, passing the garden, when the smell of cotton… then the rose garden, and then wet dew…
Never far from the surface is the struggle of the young black man in the pre-Civil Rights South – the struggle to escape the vicious cycle of servitude, of poverty, of ignorance, and the cotton fields that kept him shackled to all three:
He felt ashamed of staying out of school just to pick cotton.
Ark of Bones and Other Stories reminds us that many Southern blacks were still stuck in the cotton fields as recently as the 1960s, missing school, missing out on education, so that they could eat. Unlike farmers’ children, whose lives look the same during harvest time, pickers do not own the land, they do not own the cotton, they cannot sell the cotton. There aren’t more hours in the day to earn more money, there are not opportunities to get ahead, to educate themselves, to move on to something better. Not until the Civil Rights movement:
“I picked cotton all my life, chopped, planted, cleared land, and I aint got nothin to show for it. You younguns oughta get out of the field and get with them rights people. They got the Lord on their side.”
These are important stories. They are vivid reminders of not just our history, but our recent history, and the effect this history has on a significant portion of the American population.
Want to read
March 11, 2018I read the titular story "Ark of Bones" in the collection Dark Matter: A Century of Speculative Fiction from the African Diaspora and it was amazing, definitely want to read more of this author.
March 23, 2014
Amazing read!
March 23, 2021
From A Boll of Roses:
“He could see the one-wing blue bird flying nowhere in the broken neon light and he could hear the loud shouts of beer-voiced field hands dancing because you had to shake the dust and cotton off your back at night, after the sun, under the moon...You could smell the beer and frying fish on the road—
It was the wind which told Layton to return. He had slowed his pace, feeling the chill bite into his sweater and the moon shining on something else instead of him. He stumbled once on a rock. What was he doing out in the night?
He tore himself away from the urge to fly down the road...And he wandered back to the shack, whistling with gospel music. His mother’s animated voice touched a great weight gathering up in his chest. He didn’t know. The whole night swallowed him up.
He heard an owl once during the night and after the fire in the stove was built up, and the house settled, as it seemed, back into the earth, he found himself sprawled across the bed, covered and buried in the rags, like some ancient mummy or dead man. The smell of rags angered him and he went to sleep, thinking about the smell of cotton.
He dreamed of a great streamlined train, a red streak, shaped like an arrow, zooming through the cotton patch, not following any kind of tracks but weaving and twisting in and out of the rows. It was like a giant red, black, orange, and green stinging worm. He himself was dressed in a fine silk suit, and all the world was bowing to him. He was a king, the king of something, but he didn’t have any shoes on and he had to keep his beautiful robes down and spread out to cover his bare feet. Suddenly the train sounded. Light flashed from it and the wind whistled from the horn. Layton jerked, grunted. Then sitting bolt upright, his hand slapping his neck where he thought a worm was stinging him, he leaped out of bed. The sun was gathering up itself out the window. A faint line of dust rose from the rags when he leaped up. He hadn’t changed clothes all night.”
“He could see the one-wing blue bird flying nowhere in the broken neon light and he could hear the loud shouts of beer-voiced field hands dancing because you had to shake the dust and cotton off your back at night, after the sun, under the moon...You could smell the beer and frying fish on the road—
It was the wind which told Layton to return. He had slowed his pace, feeling the chill bite into his sweater and the moon shining on something else instead of him. He stumbled once on a rock. What was he doing out in the night?
He tore himself away from the urge to fly down the road...And he wandered back to the shack, whistling with gospel music. His mother’s animated voice touched a great weight gathering up in his chest. He didn’t know. The whole night swallowed him up.
He heard an owl once during the night and after the fire in the stove was built up, and the house settled, as it seemed, back into the earth, he found himself sprawled across the bed, covered and buried in the rags, like some ancient mummy or dead man. The smell of rags angered him and he went to sleep, thinking about the smell of cotton.
He dreamed of a great streamlined train, a red streak, shaped like an arrow, zooming through the cotton patch, not following any kind of tracks but weaving and twisting in and out of the rows. It was like a giant red, black, orange, and green stinging worm. He himself was dressed in a fine silk suit, and all the world was bowing to him. He was a king, the king of something, but he didn’t have any shoes on and he had to keep his beautiful robes down and spread out to cover his bare feet. Suddenly the train sounded. Light flashed from it and the wind whistled from the horn. Layton jerked, grunted. Then sitting bolt upright, his hand slapping his neck where he thought a worm was stinging him, he leaped out of bed. The sun was gathering up itself out the window. A faint line of dust rose from the rags when he leaped up. He hadn’t changed clothes all night.”
May 10, 2020
One of the best books I’ve ever read. Each story is an experience. There’s no one like Henry Dumas. Magical. Each story has a lot to process so I couldn’t read more than one or two in one sitting. But I’ll confess I went back and re-read several stories before I finished the collection. I often find myself thinking about stories like “The Crossing” or the titular story “Ark of Bones.” The natural imagery is so powerful. This collection proves Henry Dumas as one of the greatest American writers.
July 10, 2022
Oh, man! Think of all the things Dumas never got to write ... 💔 Brilliant!
January 18, 2011
Steeped in symbolism the narration of is heavy in descriptive writing that provokes sympathy and confusion regarding the life of HeadEye our unexpected black hero. A valueable read and a page turner worthy of any contemplative day.
September 8, 2025
"I'm goin, but someday I be back. You is my witness."
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews