Groundbreaking author and poet Maya Angelou passes away aged 86

by |May 29, 2014

American author and poet Maya Angelou, a trailblazing voice on race and gender best known for her groundbreaking autobiography I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, has died at age 86 in North Carolina.

She published seven autobiographies, three books of essays, and several books of poetry, and is credited with a list of plays, movies, and television shows spanning more than fifty years. She received dozens of awards and over thirty honorary doctoral degrees. Angelou is best known for her series of seven autobiographies, which focus on her childhood and early adult experiences.

The first in a seven-volume series, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings is a coming-of-age story that illustrates how strength of character and a love of literature can help overcome racism and trauma. The book begins when three-year-old Maya and her older brother are sent to Stamps, Arkansas, to live with their grandmother and ends when Maya becomes a mother at the age of 16.

Angelou transformed from a victim of racism with an inferiority complex into a self-possessed, dignified young woman capable of responding to prejudice.

Angelou summed up her approach to life by saying: “Life loves to be taken by the lapel and told, ‘I’m with you, kid. Let’s go.”

Her latest work, Mom & Me & Mom, about her mother and grandmother and what they taught her, was released last year.

US president Barack Obama called her “a brilliant writer, a fierce friend and a truly phenomenal woman”.

“With a kind word and a strong embrace, she had the ability to remind us that we are all God’s children; that we all have something to offer.”

Her poem Still I Rise remains one of the most powerful works of the twentieth century. Here it is.

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

No comments Share:
Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestmail

About the Contributor

Andrew Cattanach is a regular contributor to The Booktopia Blog. He has been shortlisted for The Age Short Story Prize and was named a finalist for the 2015 Young Bookseller of the Year Award. He enjoys reading, writing and sleeping, though finds it difficult to do them all at once.

Follow Andrew: Twitter

Comments

No comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *