Maya Angelou
An Informal Tribute
Maya Angelou, who died yesterday, packed several lifetimes into her eighty-six years in this world. Her eclectic roles included an early career as a singer and dancer, followed by her acclaimed accomplishments as a composer of poetry, author of a multi-volume autobiography, human rights activist, and for more than thirty years a beloved college educator. Maya Angelou was a contemporary Renaissance woman, deeply American to the core yet undeniably a citizen of the world. Her literary works stemmed from the margins of society, ultimately giving rise to a voice speaking from, for, and to the whole of humanity, or as she once prefaced a public reading, “This poem speaks to every human being on earth.”
In many respects, Maya Angelou broke ground, defying the established precedents for autobiography. The first and most famous volume, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, transformed a harrowing incident of childhood abuse and subsequent trauma into an inspiring testament to resilience. An irrepressible instinct for joy shone through her personality, evident in the endearing title of the third volume, Singin’ and Swingin’ and Gettin’ Merry Like Christmas.
Every good poem is a marriage of form and content, the latter of which employs imagery to combine thought and feeling. In many ways emotion is the primary aspect of Maya Angelou’s poetry, which first strikes the reader (or listener) in a visceral way. Maybe it’s not inappropriate that my recollection of her legacy is a “feeling.”
Until the day I die I will never forget the plight of young adult female students who at one time were in my temporary charge. Their experiences echoed those of Maya Angelou’s early life of decades ago. The young ladies were “up against it,” attempting to survive amid legions of difficulties such as pervasive poverty within an ambience of blight, drug trafficking, the lack of safety under the threat of violence-without -warning, all beneath nerve-racking noise and constant clamor, along with seemingly unresolvable chronic personal issues as early and/or unplanned motherhood, dicey relationships including the threat of physical abuse along with assaults on self-esteem, with academic failure and truancy the least of their problems. On top of everything else, die-hard vestiges of tacit prejudice and patronizing lip service further eroded their spirits. Yet at least these young women had found a substantial branch on which to cling. They weren’t big on reading, yet endowed their precious attention on the pages of Caged Bird. Their ineffectual public education system had neglected to acquaint them with literature, yet they could recite “Still I Rise” from memory as well as a tiny glimmer of pride.
Despite the nearly-universal respect Maya Angelou has received as an exemplary American, it seems to me that her works haven’t been championed by Academia with overwhelming enthusiasm. Unlike much of contemporary poetry her poems, while subtle, don’t resemble verbal encryptions meant to be puzzled out by literary scholars. Maya Angelou’s works are not so much studied as performed publicly and read aloud at ceremonial functions, including Bill Clinton’s first inaugural ceremony. Obviously, the poems had been delivered most effectively by the author herself, with her distinctive speaking voice, simultaneously soft and strong.
These works are indeed strong, as tangible as the poet’s personal courage. Maya Angelou wanted people to hear her message and thus did not shy away from being accessible and clear.
Not only that, she wasn’t afraid to rhyme.
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
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Originally Posted by Pierre Menard
