James Weldon Johnson’s speaker in “A Poet to His Baby Son” offers a tongue-in-cheek complaint that his baby son might be contemplating becoming, like his father, a poet.
First Stanza: “Tiny bit of humanity”
In the opening three-line stanza, the poet/speaker is having a little talk with his infant son. He calls the baby boy a “[t]iny bit of humanity” and describes him as looking like his mother but thinking like his father. The speaker is happy with the first quality but distressed over the second.
Second Stanza: “I say cursed with your father’s mind”
The speaker is so distressed over the fact that the baby has his “father’s mind” that he calls the child “cursed” with that quality, repeating that line in both the opening stanza and the second.
The speaker then begins his exposition of the reason for thinking the baby cursed. Before dropping the bombshell though, he relates that the baby can do baby things like lying “so long and so quietly on [his] back, / Playing with the dimpled big toe of [his] left foot”—a little-baby activity that the speaker finds charming.
But the poet/speaker also senses a musing quality in the baby’s stare, “looking away, / Through the ceiling of the room, and beyond.” This searching stare suggests to the poet that his baby is contemplating becoming a poet when he grows up.
Third Stanza: “Why don’t you kick and howl”
The speaker then rhetorically queries his son, suggesting that he “kick and howl” and annoy the neighbors to get them to exclaim, “That damned baby next door.” Such behavior he suggests would ensure that his son might decide to be a “go-getter” like “a banker / Or a politician.”
The poet insists that no matter what the kid does, he should “[r]id [himself] of these incipient thoughts / About being a poet.”
Fourth Stanza: “For poets no longer are makers of songs”
In the longest stanza, the speaker details his reason for dissuading his son from becoming a poet. The poet/speaker decries the modernist bent of poets. They “no longer are makers of songs, / Chanters of the gold and purple harvest, / Sayers of the glories of earth and sky.”
The modernist poets are no longer interested in exploring and dramatizing “the sweet pain of love” or “the keen joy of living.” They have ceased to dream “essential dreams,” and they do not interpret “eternal truth / Through the eternal beauty.”
Instead of all these endearing qualities that have infused and sustained poetry and poetry lovers for centuries, these new poets have become “unfortunate fellows.” They have become “[b]affled in trying to say old things in a new way / Or new things in an old language.”
The poet describes the claptrap of modernist poetry: “The talk abracadabra / In an unknown tongue.” Individualism has become an affliction instead of a article of authenticity. The modernists are fabricating a “wordy world of shadow problems.” They are like “a self-imagined Atlas” “with puny legs and arms.” They bitch and moan about their victimhood.
Fifth Stanza: “My son, this is no time nor place for a poet”
It is then for the reason spelled out in stanza four that the poet proclaims that now “is not time nor place for a poet.” He suggests to the infant that he “join the big, busy crowd / That scrambles for what it thinks it wants.” This world will always be this same old world, and this poet/speaker’s experience tells him that it is not a place for a poet.
Sixth Stanza: “Take the advice of a father who knows”
Finally, the poet/father/speaker admonishes the baby son to follow his warning because it is coming from “a father who knows”: “You cannot begin too young / Not to be a poet.”
This poem is playful, yet serious. The speaker is only musing on the possibility that his son is contemplating becoming a poet, but he uses the poem as a forum to express his dismay at the way poetry was becoming a cesspool of victimology and self-aggrandizement at the expense of truth and beauty.