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Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water 'fore I Diiie
Maya Angelou's first poetry collection is vintage Angelou, full of love and rage, warmth and vitality. Simultaneous hardcover re-issue by Random House.
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First published January 1, 1971
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About the author
Maya Angelou
260books14.2kfollowersMaya Angelou was an American memoirist, poet, and civil rights activist. She published seven autobiographies, three books of essays, several books of poetry, and is credited with a list of plays, movies, and television shows spanning over 50 years. She received dozens of awards and more than 50 honorary degrees. Angelou's series of seven autobiographies focus on her childhood and early adult experiences. The first, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969), tells of her life up to the age of 17 and brought her international recognition and acclaim.
She became a poet and writer after a string of odd jobs during her young adulthood. These included fry cook, sex worker, nightclub performer, Porgy and Bess cast member, Southern Christian Leadership Conference coordinator, and correspondent in Egypt and Ghana during the decolonization of Africa. Angelou was also an actress, writer, director, and producer of plays, movies, and public television programs. In 1982, she was named the first Reynolds Professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. Angelou was active in the Civil Rights Movement and worked with Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. Beginning in the 1990s, she made approximately 80 appearances a year on the lecture circuit, something she continued into her eighties. In 1993, Angelou recited her poem "On the Pulse of Morning" (1993) at the first inauguration of Bill Clinton, making her the first poet to make an inaugural recitation since Robert Frost at the inauguration of John F. Kennedy in 1961.
With the publication of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Angelou publicly discussed aspects of her personal life. She was respected as a spokesperson for Black people and women, and her works have been considered a defense of Black culture. Her works are widely used in schools and universities worldwide, although attempts have been made to ban her books from some U.S. libraries. Angelou's most celebrated works have been labeled as autobiographical fiction, but many critics consider them to be autobiographies. She made a deliberate attempt to challenge the common structure of the autobiography by critiquing, changing, and expanding the genre. Her books center on themes that include racism, identity, family, and travel.
She became a poet and writer after a string of odd jobs during her young adulthood. These included fry cook, sex worker, nightclub performer, Porgy and Bess cast member, Southern Christian Leadership Conference coordinator, and correspondent in Egypt and Ghana during the decolonization of Africa. Angelou was also an actress, writer, director, and producer of plays, movies, and public television programs. In 1982, she was named the first Reynolds Professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. Angelou was active in the Civil Rights Movement and worked with Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. Beginning in the 1990s, she made approximately 80 appearances a year on the lecture circuit, something she continued into her eighties. In 1993, Angelou recited her poem "On the Pulse of Morning" (1993) at the first inauguration of Bill Clinton, making her the first poet to make an inaugural recitation since Robert Frost at the inauguration of John F. Kennedy in 1961.
With the publication of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Angelou publicly discussed aspects of her personal life. She was respected as a spokesperson for Black people and women, and her works have been considered a defense of Black culture. Her works are widely used in schools and universities worldwide, although attempts have been made to ban her books from some U.S. libraries. Angelou's most celebrated works have been labeled as autobiographical fiction, but many critics consider them to be autobiographies. She made a deliberate attempt to challenge the common structure of the autobiography by critiquing, changing, and expanding the genre. Her books center on themes that include racism, identity, family, and travel.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 117 reviews
February 7, 2021
I read this book in one sitting one poem above all others gave me pause and was my favorite.
On Working White Liberals
I don’t ask the Foreign Legion
Or anyone to win my freedom
Or to fight my battles better than I can,
Though there’s one thing that I can cry for
I believe enough to die for
That is every man’s responsibility to man.
I’m afraid they’ll have to prove first
That they’ll watch the Black man move first
Then follow him with faith to kingdom come.
This rocky road is not paved for us,
So, I’ll believe in Liberal’s aid for us
When I see a white man load a Black man’s gun.
On Working White Liberals
I don’t ask the Foreign Legion
Or anyone to win my freedom
Or to fight my battles better than I can,
Though there’s one thing that I can cry for
I believe enough to die for
That is every man’s responsibility to man.
I’m afraid they’ll have to prove first
That they’ll watch the Black man move first
Then follow him with faith to kingdom come.
This rocky road is not paved for us,
So, I’ll believe in Liberal’s aid for us
When I see a white man load a Black man’s gun.
June 5, 2014
I love Maya's poetry. I have ignored her works for so long. In my book hunting days I would always see slim second hand copies of her books under the bridges in Lagos. There were in great abundance. I always bought them and never read them. After her passing I have been reading lots of her and she is so wise and accessible.
These are my favourite poems in this collection.
"When I Think About Myself"
"When I think about myself,
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big joke,
A dance that's walked
A song that's spoke
I laugh so hard I almost choke,
When I think about myself.
Sixty years in these folks' world
The child I works for calls me girl,
I say "Yes Ma'am" for working's sake
Too proud to bend,
Too poor to break,
I laugh until my stomach ache,
When I think about myself.
My folks can make me split my side,
I laughed so hard I nearly died,
The tales they tell sound just like lying,
They grow the fruit,
But eat the rind,
I laugh until I start to crying.
When I think about my folks."
________________________________________________
No Loser, No Weeper
"I hate to lose something,"
then she bent her head
"even a dime, I wish I was dead.
I can't explain it. No more to be said.
Cept I hate to lose something."
"I lost a doll once and cried for a week.
She could open her eyes, and do all but speak.
I believe she was took, by some doll-snatching-sneak
I tell you, I hate to lose something."
"A watch of mine once, got up and walked alway.
It had twelve numbers on it and for the time of day.
I'll never forget it and all I can say
Is I really hate to lose something."
"Now if I felt that way bout a watch and a toy,
What you think I feel bout my lover-boy?
I ain't threatening you madam, but he is my
evening's joy.
And I mean I really hate to lose something."
By Maya Angelou
These are my favourite poems in this collection.
"When I Think About Myself"
"When I think about myself,
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big joke,
A dance that's walked
A song that's spoke
I laugh so hard I almost choke,
When I think about myself.
Sixty years in these folks' world
The child I works for calls me girl,
I say "Yes Ma'am" for working's sake
Too proud to bend,
Too poor to break,
I laugh until my stomach ache,
When I think about myself.
My folks can make me split my side,
I laughed so hard I nearly died,
The tales they tell sound just like lying,
They grow the fruit,
But eat the rind,
I laugh until I start to crying.
When I think about my folks."
________________________________________________
No Loser, No Weeper
"I hate to lose something,"
then she bent her head
"even a dime, I wish I was dead.
I can't explain it. No more to be said.
Cept I hate to lose something."
"I lost a doll once and cried for a week.
She could open her eyes, and do all but speak.
I believe she was took, by some doll-snatching-sneak
I tell you, I hate to lose something."
"A watch of mine once, got up and walked alway.
It had twelve numbers on it and for the time of day.
I'll never forget it and all I can say
Is I really hate to lose something."
"Now if I felt that way bout a watch and a toy,
What you think I feel bout my lover-boy?
I ain't threatening you madam, but he is my
evening's joy.
And I mean I really hate to lose something."
By Maya Angelou
August 4, 2022
5/5💙 instead of stars.
May 10, 2024
She’s one of one. She’s the only one.
November 28, 2024
I'm awarding "Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water 'Fore I Diiie" 5 amazing stars! (Despite the fact that my knowledge is not up to par with all she is dishing out.)
Some poems are classic and symbolic, others are jazzy, modern, and colloquial. I tend to favor the plain, rhythmic ones. Here is a seemingly simple poem that I've memorized because it mesmerized me!
Remembering
Soft grey ghosts crawl up my sleeve
to peer into my eyes
while I within deny their threats
and answer them with lies.
Mushlike memories perform
a ritual on my lips
I lie in stolid hopelessness
and they lay my soul in strips.
Set rhythm all the way through with a driving last line taking it home. This is devastating.
No Loser, No Weeper
"I hate to lose something," then she bent her head
"even a dime, I wish I was dead.
I can't explain it. No more to be said.
Cept I hate to lose something."
"I lost a doll once and cried for a week.
She could open her eyes, and do all but speak.
I believe she was took, by some doll-snatching-sneak
I tell you, I hate to lose something."
"A watch of mine once, got up and walked away.
It had twelve numbers on it for the time of day.
I'll never forget it and all I can say
Is I really hate to lose something."
"Now if I felt that way bout a watch and a toy,
What you think I feel bout my lover-boy?
I ain't threatening you madam, but he is my evening's joy.
And I mean I really hate to lose something."
So keep yer mitts off my man!!!
PART TWO: Just Before the World Ends
These are all very hard to read, but must have been waaaay harder to live!
Riot: 60's
Excerpt from the lynching era. Truly horrific.
Watermelons, summer ripe
grey neck bones and boiling tripe
supermarket roasting like the
noon-day sun
national guard nervous with his shiny gun
goose the motor quicker
here's my nigga picka
shoot him in the belly
shoot him while he run.
Some poems are classic and symbolic, others are jazzy, modern, and colloquial. I tend to favor the plain, rhythmic ones. Here is a seemingly simple poem that I've memorized because it mesmerized me!
Remembering
Soft grey ghosts crawl up my sleeve
to peer into my eyes
while I within deny their threats
and answer them with lies.
Mushlike memories perform
a ritual on my lips
I lie in stolid hopelessness
and they lay my soul in strips.
Set rhythm all the way through with a driving last line taking it home. This is devastating.
No Loser, No Weeper
"I hate to lose something," then she bent her head
"even a dime, I wish I was dead.
I can't explain it. No more to be said.
Cept I hate to lose something."
"I lost a doll once and cried for a week.
She could open her eyes, and do all but speak.
I believe she was took, by some doll-snatching-sneak
I tell you, I hate to lose something."
"A watch of mine once, got up and walked away.
It had twelve numbers on it for the time of day.
I'll never forget it and all I can say
Is I really hate to lose something."
"Now if I felt that way bout a watch and a toy,
What you think I feel bout my lover-boy?
I ain't threatening you madam, but he is my evening's joy.
And I mean I really hate to lose something."
So keep yer mitts off my man!!!
PART TWO: Just Before the World Ends
These are all very hard to read, but must have been waaaay harder to live!
Riot: 60's
Excerpt from the lynching era. Truly horrific.
Watermelons, summer ripe
grey neck bones and boiling tripe
supermarket roasting like the
noon-day sun
national guard nervous with his shiny gun
goose the motor quicker
here's my nigga picka
shoot him in the belly
shoot him while he run.
Read
August 22, 2022I found this on a shelf presumably unread and due to be returned at the library in June 1989. Anyway this is Maya's first collection so it's up down and a lot of the poems in here are song lyrics. Litotic but Biblical. Langston Hughes seems a correlative but that's just a stylistic guess. It's the ear for it that counts
February 13, 2019
Not what I was expecting. Maybe a lot of this went over my head because I’m not of African decent, while I picked up on the victim of sexual abuse stuff loud and clear. Definitely an interesting read for somebody newly interested in poetry during Black History Month.
March 4, 2022
Maya Angelou's poems are both raw and delicate. They are simple, beautiful and straightforward without lacking metaphor.
*
*
*
'Here / in the wombed room / silk purple drapes / flash a light as subtle / as your hands before / love-making'
*
'Moans / Deep swan song / Blue farewell / of a dying dream.'
*
'This bed yawns / beneth the weight / of our absent selves'
*
'The heatless fire consuming itself. / Again. Anew. Into ever neverlessness. / My man is Amber / Changing / Always into itself'
*
*
*
'Here / in the wombed room / silk purple drapes / flash a light as subtle / as your hands before / love-making'
*
'Moans / Deep swan song / Blue farewell / of a dying dream.'
*
'This bed yawns / beneth the weight / of our absent selves'
*
'The heatless fire consuming itself. / Again. Anew. Into ever neverlessness. / My man is Amber / Changing / Always into itself'
June 28, 2014
May Angelou's "Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water 'fore I Diiie" is a collection of her abstract poetry addressing oppression of blacks and sexual exploitation.
Courageous, creative, raw, honest and searing.
My personal favorites are 'Tears,' 'When I Think About Myself,' and 'To a Freedom Fighter.'
- Andy
Courageous, creative, raw, honest and searing.
My personal favorites are 'Tears,' 'When I Think About Myself,' and 'To a Freedom Fighter.'
- Andy
Read
August 6, 2020I find myself unable to rate poetry♥️
Currently reading
April 27, 2021I don't know how to rate this collection as I'm pretty sure I'm not grasping the full depth of these poems, especially in the second part of the collection. I read an analysis of the collection which states that Angelou uses references to Black language and culture that isn't common knowledge to whites. I do feel I understood most of the gist of the poem, but I feel I missed that subtlety that feel the full impact of these poems and see them as powerful as those in And Still I Rise.
Finished on 4/27/21
Finished on 4/27/21
September 9, 2024
I don’t know shit about poetry but I’m trying to get better and I really enjoyed this book! There were some poems that my dumbass couldn’t understand, but some particular favorite’s of mine were:
When I think about myself
The thirteens (black & white)
Senses of insecurity
Alone
America
I almost remember
Woman me
Song for the old ones
Take time out
When I think about myself
The thirteens (black & white)
Senses of insecurity
Alone
America
I almost remember
Woman me
Song for the old ones
Take time out
May 21, 2023
Not what I expected, but still very well done. Angelou is perhaps one of the most famous names in poetry and I’m excited to be diving into her work. She has full control over her pen, and the words that come from it are as delightful as they are unexpected.
December 24, 2022
finished atop box hill
April 14, 2024
Wonderful collection of inspiration poems from a truly amazing woman
April 8, 2023
My first time reading Maya Angelou and I enjoyed the concise and whitty nature of the poems however there were some I couldn't understand but nonetheless I could appreciate the beauty of the words.
March 1, 2022
Slavery, cruelty, abuse, exclusion, resistance—all of it is here in catchy, assessable poems.
August 22, 2021
SO good
March 10, 2021
Beautiful 🤎
August 23, 2023
Poetry.
I do not love to read it.
I do not really need it.
I find myself defeated.
And yet, it's sorely needed.
Poetry.
(Again.)
I do not love to read it.
I do not really need it.
I find myself defeated.
And yet, it's sorely needed.
Poetry.
(Again.)
October 6, 2015
About the author
Dr Maya Angelou was one of the worlds most important writers and activists. Born 4 April 1928, she lived and chronicled an extraordinary life: rising from poverty, violence and racism, she became a renowned author, poet, playwright and civil right’s activist.
Blurb on the back
From this bestselling author comes a marvelous collection of poetry. Poems of love and regret, songs of the people and songs of the heart- all are charged with Maya Angelou’s zest for life and her rage at injustice. Lyrical, tender poems of longing, wry glances at betrayal and isolation combine with a fierce insight into ‘hate and hateful wrath� in an unforgettable picture of the hopes and concerns of one of America’s finest contemporary writer.
Good bit about the book
I could wax lyrical about this book forever but I will try and keep it short! Maya writes the kind of poems I love and fail to write myself to her perfection. Every word she rights is full of passion and meaning. She observes the world around her and her own experiences and writes them so any one can understand. You do not have to be an avid reader of poetry to appreciate and enjoy what she writes. I may not be black or American but the pain, ignorance and pure evil that was done is plain to see and feel for the reader to.
Bad bits about the book
I have nothing to put here other than it was far to short!
Rating for book
Five out of five stars. Possibly my favorite poet ever.
Dr Maya Angelou was one of the worlds most important writers and activists. Born 4 April 1928, she lived and chronicled an extraordinary life: rising from poverty, violence and racism, she became a renowned author, poet, playwright and civil right’s activist.
Blurb on the back
From this bestselling author comes a marvelous collection of poetry. Poems of love and regret, songs of the people and songs of the heart- all are charged with Maya Angelou’s zest for life and her rage at injustice. Lyrical, tender poems of longing, wry glances at betrayal and isolation combine with a fierce insight into ‘hate and hateful wrath� in an unforgettable picture of the hopes and concerns of one of America’s finest contemporary writer.
Good bit about the book
I could wax lyrical about this book forever but I will try and keep it short! Maya writes the kind of poems I love and fail to write myself to her perfection. Every word she rights is full of passion and meaning. She observes the world around her and her own experiences and writes them so any one can understand. You do not have to be an avid reader of poetry to appreciate and enjoy what she writes. I may not be black or American but the pain, ignorance and pure evil that was done is plain to see and feel for the reader to.
Bad bits about the book
I have nothing to put here other than it was far to short!
Rating for book
Five out of five stars. Possibly my favorite poet ever.
August 20, 2023
4.5 stars
Maya Angelou seems to have this unparalleled ability to write poetry that's joyful, despairing, hopeful, and mourning all at the same time. It's one of the closest depictions to life I've ever seen portrayed in poetry, and she does it all in just a handful of pages.
This collection in particular jumps around a handful of themes, from the paradoxes of love to Angelou's trip to Ghana to the trauma that comes with the weight of black history to pure feminist thought, and she does it all in a way that feels so familiar. This is about to get really personal, but every time I read Angelou's poems I get feelings akin to sitting in my great aunt's house in Tennessee, which is really the seat of my whole family. Her poems all touch a vein of painful familiarity, and I think that's what's made her such a strong and beloved poet to this day. They manage to be both comforting and confrontational, speaking in the universal black female experience while at the same time challenging the status quo, and I think this reason is why she'll always remain one of my favorite and most well-beloved poets.
Favorite poems from this collection:
� The Gamut
� The Detatched
� The Mothering Blacknes
� When I Think About Myself
� The Thirteens (Black and White)
Maya Angelou seems to have this unparalleled ability to write poetry that's joyful, despairing, hopeful, and mourning all at the same time. It's one of the closest depictions to life I've ever seen portrayed in poetry, and she does it all in just a handful of pages.
This collection in particular jumps around a handful of themes, from the paradoxes of love to Angelou's trip to Ghana to the trauma that comes with the weight of black history to pure feminist thought, and she does it all in a way that feels so familiar. This is about to get really personal, but every time I read Angelou's poems I get feelings akin to sitting in my great aunt's house in Tennessee, which is really the seat of my whole family. Her poems all touch a vein of painful familiarity, and I think that's what's made her such a strong and beloved poet to this day. They manage to be both comforting and confrontational, speaking in the universal black female experience while at the same time challenging the status quo, and I think this reason is why she'll always remain one of my favorite and most well-beloved poets.
Favorite poems from this collection:
� The Gamut
� The Detatched
� The Mothering Blacknes
� When I Think About Myself
� The Thirteens (Black and White)
August 23, 2022
As someone who was only taught classical European poetry at school and who just recently started to read poetry by himself, this one was very exciting. The poems have a strong sense of melody, but the rhythms are quite different from what I know. I still managed to get into them and I really enjoyed it. The volume contains two parts, the first one focussing mostly on personal and emotinal experiences (including some very bad ones) while the second one shifts the focus towards black experiences, the heritage of slavery and racism. It's no surprise that they are tonaly quite different, but I enjoyed both. It's like the first part lays the groundwork to get us emotionally invested and makes the second part hits the harder. It's about how the personal and the socio-political are intertwined and it's not possible to understand the one without the other. A complex and very thoughtful volume that I absolutely recommend to anyone.
August 21, 2023
When I think about myself
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big joke,
A dance that’s walked
A song that’s spoke,
I laugh so hard I almost choke
When I think about myself.
Sixty years in these folks� world
The child I works for calls me girl
I say “Yes ma’am� for working’s sake.
Too proud to bend
Too poor to break,
I laugh until my stomach ache,
When I think about myself.
My folks can make me split my side,
I laughed so hard I nearly died,
The tales they tell, sound just like lying,
They grow the fruit,
But eat the rind,
I laugh until I start to crying,
When I think about my folks.
On a bright day, next week
� Just before the bomb falls
Just before the world ends,
Just before I die
All my tears will powder
Black in dust like ashes
Black like Buddha’s belly
Black and hot and dry
Then will mercy tumble
Falling down in godheads
Falling on the children
Falling from the sky
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big joke,
A dance that’s walked
A song that’s spoke,
I laugh so hard I almost choke
When I think about myself.
Sixty years in these folks� world
The child I works for calls me girl
I say “Yes ma’am� for working’s sake.
Too proud to bend
Too poor to break,
I laugh until my stomach ache,
When I think about myself.
My folks can make me split my side,
I laughed so hard I nearly died,
The tales they tell, sound just like lying,
They grow the fruit,
But eat the rind,
I laugh until I start to crying,
When I think about my folks.
On a bright day, next week
� Just before the bomb falls
Just before the world ends,
Just before I die
All my tears will powder
Black in dust like ashes
Black like Buddha’s belly
Black and hot and dry
Then will mercy tumble
Falling down in godheads
Falling on the children
Falling from the sky
January 13, 2019
I read 'And Still I Rise' by Maya Angelou last year (and I think a couple of poems from this collection are in that too, but my memory is not what it was.)
She knows how to write. She gets you to feel. She gets you to think and she gets you to understand - if you have that compacity within you. I like to think I have. Perhaps I am over-estimating myself. But this is packed full of good poetry.
"So, I'll believe in Liberal's aid for us
When I see a white man load a black man's gun."
(from 'On Working White Liberals)
The poems that touched me most from this collection - for whatever reasons- : They Went Home; Tears; No No No No; On Working White Liberals; Here's To Adhering; Come, And Be My Baby; Alone; Communications I; Africa; America; Lord, In My Heart; Prisoner and Song For The Old Ones.
Lovely writing. I'm looking forward to reading more Angelou. Poetry and Prose.
She knows how to write. She gets you to feel. She gets you to think and she gets you to understand - if you have that compacity within you. I like to think I have. Perhaps I am over-estimating myself. But this is packed full of good poetry.
"So, I'll believe in Liberal's aid for us
When I see a white man load a black man's gun."
(from 'On Working White Liberals)
The poems that touched me most from this collection - for whatever reasons- : They Went Home; Tears; No No No No; On Working White Liberals; Here's To Adhering; Come, And Be My Baby; Alone; Communications I; Africa; America; Lord, In My Heart; Prisoner and Song For The Old Ones.
Lovely writing. I'm looking forward to reading more Angelou. Poetry and Prose.
January 5, 2014
No Loser, No Weeper
"I hate to lose something,"
then she bent her head
"even a dime, I wish I was dead.
I can't explain it. No more to be said.
Cept I hate to lose something."
"I lost a doll once and cried for a week.
She could open her eyes, and do all but speak.
I believe she was took, by some doll-snatching-sneak
I tell you, I hate to lose something."
"A watch of mine once, got up and walked alway.
It had twelve numbers on it and for the time of day.
I'll never forget it and all I can say
Is I really hate to lose something."
"Now if I felt that way bout a watch and a toy,
What you think I feel bout my lover-boy?
I ain't threatening you madam, but he is my
evening's joy.
And I mean I really hate to lose something."
By Maya Angelou
"I hate to lose something,"
then she bent her head
"even a dime, I wish I was dead.
I can't explain it. No more to be said.
Cept I hate to lose something."
"I lost a doll once and cried for a week.
She could open her eyes, and do all but speak.
I believe she was took, by some doll-snatching-sneak
I tell you, I hate to lose something."
"A watch of mine once, got up and walked alway.
It had twelve numbers on it and for the time of day.
I'll never forget it and all I can say
Is I really hate to lose something."
"Now if I felt that way bout a watch and a toy,
What you think I feel bout my lover-boy?
I ain't threatening you madam, but he is my
evening's joy.
And I mean I really hate to lose something."
By Maya Angelou
November 8, 2020
Maya Angelou is one of the most comforting, easy, lyrical voices in literature, and she does it in prose and in poetry with a beguiling simplicity. For all the grand personal sentiments of 21st century poetry, particularly poetry which addresses issues of gender, colour or class, it often lacks a sense of honesty that Angelou transports with her every word. I'm no expert on poetry, but it doesn't seem to me that she is naturally a great or complex writer; if you compare her to Seamus Heaney, Carol Anne Duffy, Derek Walcott and their like, her poems don't resonate with the same depth. Neither does she have the immense emotional punch of great poetry of the repressed (Grace Nichols, Audre Lorde, Sylvia Plath). She has something else, something hard to place, that makes her poems reach out to you and imagine with her what it's like to exist within those words. She manages the same trick in her autobiography and this ability to emote empathy is what sets her apart.
On top of that Angelou is clearly a storyteller and stories resonate in her poetry. They are full of humour as well, a wry yet open hearted humour tinged with the hurt and the hardship of her stories. She can switch between serious and mocking in an instant; her sense of humour never stops these poems from being profound. They also have a satisfying dose of mystery and ambiguity, a sense of asking you to search for the story and the meaningwhile never losing their focus and directness. Opening with "They went home", for example, Angelou ends with the single word "But..." and leaves the story of a girl who bedazzles men unfinished and untold. They beg a second read and a moment to digest without ever feeling too heavy or opaque. In "The Gamut" Angelou tells a tale of a lover's grief, opening with the evocative lines "Soft you day, be velvet soft / My true love approaches" and concluding with the opposite "My true love is leaving". Much of the inbetween is left up to the reader to piece together with the aid of Angelou's sparse yet full-bodied language.
Some personal highlights: "No Loser, No Weeper" is a threat with a punchline, a women staking her claim on a lover. It brings a smile to your face and demonstrates a feminine strength and autonomy, relegating the lover to the status of a physical possession. "How I Can Lie to You" is a fragile, short poem that lingers after you've read its 21 words - much of the trendy online Instagram poetry out there could look at Angelou's compact, meaningful constructions to see how to really capture sentiments in just a few words, without being trite, superficial or predictable. "When I Think About Myself" is one of the best in the collection. "My life has been one great big joke / A dance that's walked" with its awkward grammar belies a tenaciousness in its seemingly defeatist words. The longer religious flavoured story in "Miss Scarlett..." is another example of Angelou's ability to make ambiguous narratives very intriguing. "Riot: 60s" is even better, as the second half of the collection tells stories less personal, tackling issues of race in American society. It is a burning attack on racist institutions that unfortunately is still a hot topic today.
Part 2 is generally even better than the first, although Angelou sacrifices a little of the lyricism and the personal feel for poems that writhe with anger and aggression. "Black Ode" and "No No No" are two of the best, in particular the fury that drives the longer, second of the two. "My Guilt" is a direct address to slavery - "dead Malcolm, Marcus, Martin King / They fought too hard, they loved too well / My crime is I'm alive to tell". Poems like "Sepia Fashion Show" and "Harlem Hopscotch" delve deeper in the imagery of black American life, the later ending the collection with the brilliant, lasting line "They think I lost / I think I won." Maya Angelou, again and again, wins you over with her carefully crafted and emotional use of language. At her best, it's as powerful a possession of black American autonomy as Alice Walker or Toni Morrison. And none of these poems have lost their relevance one bit. 8
On top of that Angelou is clearly a storyteller and stories resonate in her poetry. They are full of humour as well, a wry yet open hearted humour tinged with the hurt and the hardship of her stories. She can switch between serious and mocking in an instant; her sense of humour never stops these poems from being profound. They also have a satisfying dose of mystery and ambiguity, a sense of asking you to search for the story and the meaningwhile never losing their focus and directness. Opening with "They went home", for example, Angelou ends with the single word "But..." and leaves the story of a girl who bedazzles men unfinished and untold. They beg a second read and a moment to digest without ever feeling too heavy or opaque. In "The Gamut" Angelou tells a tale of a lover's grief, opening with the evocative lines "Soft you day, be velvet soft / My true love approaches" and concluding with the opposite "My true love is leaving". Much of the inbetween is left up to the reader to piece together with the aid of Angelou's sparse yet full-bodied language.
Some personal highlights: "No Loser, No Weeper" is a threat with a punchline, a women staking her claim on a lover. It brings a smile to your face and demonstrates a feminine strength and autonomy, relegating the lover to the status of a physical possession. "How I Can Lie to You" is a fragile, short poem that lingers after you've read its 21 words - much of the trendy online Instagram poetry out there could look at Angelou's compact, meaningful constructions to see how to really capture sentiments in just a few words, without being trite, superficial or predictable. "When I Think About Myself" is one of the best in the collection. "My life has been one great big joke / A dance that's walked" with its awkward grammar belies a tenaciousness in its seemingly defeatist words. The longer religious flavoured story in "Miss Scarlett..." is another example of Angelou's ability to make ambiguous narratives very intriguing. "Riot: 60s" is even better, as the second half of the collection tells stories less personal, tackling issues of race in American society. It is a burning attack on racist institutions that unfortunately is still a hot topic today.
Part 2 is generally even better than the first, although Angelou sacrifices a little of the lyricism and the personal feel for poems that writhe with anger and aggression. "Black Ode" and "No No No" are two of the best, in particular the fury that drives the longer, second of the two. "My Guilt" is a direct address to slavery - "dead Malcolm, Marcus, Martin King / They fought too hard, they loved too well / My crime is I'm alive to tell". Poems like "Sepia Fashion Show" and "Harlem Hopscotch" delve deeper in the imagery of black American life, the later ending the collection with the brilliant, lasting line "They think I lost / I think I won." Maya Angelou, again and again, wins you over with her carefully crafted and emotional use of language. At her best, it's as powerful a possession of black American autonomy as Alice Walker or Toni Morrison. And none of these poems have lost their relevance one bit. 8
February 19, 2021
No more
the dream that you
will cease haunting me
down in fetid swamps of fear
and will turn to embrace your own
humanity
which I AM
"No No No No"
I'm concerned I'm faulting this short collection by Maya Angelou because I do not believe it possesses the "Maya Angelou" I expected to find. Rather than a wise poet with an uncanny ability to articulate the frustrations and dashed expectations of existence, I find a vitriolic, vulgar writer. Granted, in the early 70s the race pot was boiling over and African Americans, many convinced the direct, militant actions of Malcolm X provided a better means to equality than the passive activism advocated by King, were no longer holding their vitriol back. While Angelou does a good job with "Miss Scarlett, Mr. Rhett and Other Latter-Day Saints," "To a Freedom Fighter," "We Saw Beyond Our Seeming," "My Guilt," and "The Calling of Names," the mean-spiritedness of "The Thirteens (White)" and portions of "No No No No" are incredibly vulgar and crass.
The poem "No No No No" is uneven, shifting from incredible insights and word-play to incredibly insensitive portrayals of "the enemy." Granted, "the enemy" has participated in far-worse portrayals and activities, but I expected Angelou to rise to the occasion without resorting to the same sorry verbal tactics. In her more mature phase, she does--able to pinpoint how racist individuals and regimes are pathetic while showing how she is the "phenomenal woman." We're approaching that quality here, but we're not quite there.
The volume is arranged in two parts: the first part deals with issues of abuse and love and the second part deals squarely with the social frustrations of being Black in America. The dichotomy between the two baffled me. I felt that suddenly someone changed the channel from a film about lost innocence and unrequited love to news coverage of race riots. It's a jarring transition.
I will be reading , hoping to find Angelou in better form.
the dream that you
will cease haunting me
down in fetid swamps of fear
and will turn to embrace your own
humanity
which I AM
"No No No No"
I'm concerned I'm faulting this short collection by Maya Angelou because I do not believe it possesses the "Maya Angelou" I expected to find. Rather than a wise poet with an uncanny ability to articulate the frustrations and dashed expectations of existence, I find a vitriolic, vulgar writer. Granted, in the early 70s the race pot was boiling over and African Americans, many convinced the direct, militant actions of Malcolm X provided a better means to equality than the passive activism advocated by King, were no longer holding their vitriol back. While Angelou does a good job with "Miss Scarlett, Mr. Rhett and Other Latter-Day Saints," "To a Freedom Fighter," "We Saw Beyond Our Seeming," "My Guilt," and "The Calling of Names," the mean-spiritedness of "The Thirteens (White)" and portions of "No No No No" are incredibly vulgar and crass.
The poem "No No No No" is uneven, shifting from incredible insights and word-play to incredibly insensitive portrayals of "the enemy." Granted, "the enemy" has participated in far-worse portrayals and activities, but I expected Angelou to rise to the occasion without resorting to the same sorry verbal tactics. In her more mature phase, she does--able to pinpoint how racist individuals and regimes are pathetic while showing how she is the "phenomenal woman." We're approaching that quality here, but we're not quite there.
The volume is arranged in two parts: the first part deals with issues of abuse and love and the second part deals squarely with the social frustrations of being Black in America. The dichotomy between the two baffled me. I felt that suddenly someone changed the channel from a film about lost innocence and unrequited love to news coverage of race riots. It's a jarring transition.
I will be reading , hoping to find Angelou in better form.
January 23, 2022
Carefully
the leaves of autumn
sprinkle down the tinny
sound of little dyings
and skies sated
of ruddy sunsets
of roseate dawns
roil ceaselessly in
cobweb greys and turn
to black
for comfort.
Only lovers
see the fall
a signal end to endings
a gruffish gesture alerting
those who will not be alarmed
that we begin to stop
in order simply
to begin
again.
* * *
Tears
The crystal rags
Viscous tatters
of a worn-through soul
Moans
Deep swan song
Blue farewell
of a dying dream.
* * *
now thread my voice
with lies
of lightness
force within
my mirror eyes
the cold disguise
of sad and wise
decisions.
* * *
You drink a bitter draught.
I sip the tears your eyes fight to hold
A cup of lees, of henbane steeped in chaff.
Your breast is hot,
Your anger black and cold,
Through evening's rest, you dream
I hear the moans, you die a thousands' death.
When can straps flog the body
dark and lean, you feel the blow,
I hear it in your breath.
the leaves of autumn
sprinkle down the tinny
sound of little dyings
and skies sated
of ruddy sunsets
of roseate dawns
roil ceaselessly in
cobweb greys and turn
to black
for comfort.
Only lovers
see the fall
a signal end to endings
a gruffish gesture alerting
those who will not be alarmed
that we begin to stop
in order simply
to begin
again.
- Late October, pg. 7
* * *
Tears
The crystal rags
Viscous tatters
of a worn-through soul
Moans
Deep swan song
Blue farewell
of a dying dream.
- Tears, pg. 12
* * *
now thread my voice
with lies
of lightness
force within
my mirror eyes
the cold disguise
of sad and wise
decisions.
- How I Can Lie to You, pg. 21
* * *
You drink a bitter draught.
I sip the tears your eyes fight to hold
A cup of lees, of henbane steeped in chaff.
Your breast is hot,
Your anger black and cold,
Through evening's rest, you dream
I hear the moans, you die a thousands' death.
When can straps flog the body
dark and lean, you feel the blow,
I hear it in your breath.
- To a Freedom Fighter, pg. 33
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