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"Unconquered and Unconquerable" Poem by Lewis H. Latimer

Publication
This is a handwritten poem titled "Unconquered and Unconquerable" by Lewis H. Latimer. The poem is written on lined paper in elegant cursive script, demonstrating Latimer's careful and deliberate penmanship. There are some ink corrections and minor smudging, indicating that this may be a working draft or a personal copy of the poem. The content of the poem speaks to resilience, perseverance, and an indomitable spirit, reflecting themes of endurance through suffering, triumph over oppression, and unwavering resolve. It suggests that, despite hardship and injustice, the speaker’s soul remains strong and unconquerable. The poem is structured in stanzas, with a refrain repeating the phrase "Unconquered and unconquerable" at the end of each section. The poetic style is bold and defiant, expressing Latimer’s strength and conviction.

Lewis H. Latimer (1848–1928) was not only an inventor and engineer but also a poet and writer. Many of his poems reflected themes of struggle, perseverance, and justice, likely drawing from his experiences as a Black inventor navigating racial barriers in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. This poem reflects the spirit of resilience and defiance in the face of oppression, possibly relating to both racial injustice and personal struggles. Latimer’s handwriting and signature are clearly visible, adding authenticity to this personal literary work.

The Lewis H. Latimer Papers (1870-1929, 1972) [QPL Subgroup]Latimer Family Papers (1870-1996 ) [QPL Full Collection]

Unconquered and Unconquerable by L. H. Latimer What tho’ I suffer through the years, Unnumbered wrongs, unnumbered fears, My soul doth still forbid me tears, Unconquered and unconquerable. What tho’ my bed of thorns be made, What tho’ my onward course be stayed: My soul soars upward undismayed, Unconquered and unconquerable. What tho’ by chains confined I lie, What tho’ by brutal hands I die: My soul will upward ever fly, Unconquered and unconquerable. I scorn the hand that does me wrong, Tho’ suffering days and years be long, My soul still chants that death’s a song, Unconquered and unconquerable.