Strange Fruit

I will always remember listening to this song as a kid (maybe around 5ish). My mother would tell me stories of my grandparents and great-grandparents who traveled from parts of Virgina to the coal mining towns outside of Pittsburgh. Stories about my ancestors who were once slaves and how her mother would tell of an uncle (Uncle George) who still had shackle wounds around his ankles.

She played this song for me and taught me its significance, I remember being extremely frightened when I first listened but today it stirs up many emotions and memories.

Originally written as a poem by Abel Meeropol, a Jewish high school teacher after seeing this photograph by Lawrence Beitler.


Lawrence Beitler, 1930

Later to become one of Billie Holiday's' most famous songs.
Please pay attention to Billie's facial expressions and eyes...I love this footage.




Southern trees bear strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop.



Excited for the present but always mindful of our past struggle.

Peace.