Book Review: Poems by Maya Angelou, reviewed by Leanne Dyck

 I've been doing a lot of reading but not for pleasure. And I've missed it. I felt the key to returning would be finding something undemanding. Maya Angelou took me by the hand and brought me back.

Photo by ldyck

Poems 

Maya Angelou

Bantam Books

1986

I've thoroughly enjoyed my time with Maya Angelou. She was entertaining, inspirational, and insightful. Admittedly, some of her writing required a second reading, and some escaped me. But others will remain with me long after this book is closed. 

Still I Rise

 You can 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 back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill 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

Bring the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise

Such power... Such pride... 

What does this poem say to me as a Caucasian... as a woman... as a neurodivergent? 

I know my time with Maya Angelou has changed me. I close this book with regret, wishing I could have stayed longer.

Other genres that have kept me reading...

short story collections such as...

How to Pronounce Knife by Souvankham Thammavongsa

graphic novels such as...

Ducks by Kate Beaton

novellas such as...

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Middle Grade fiction such as...

The Dollhouse: a ghost story by Charis Cotter

Young Adult fiction such as...

When Everything Feels Like the Movies by Raziel Reid

More... 

How to get back to reading consistently again 

by Akanksha Narang

How to Make Reading a Habit

by James Clear

photo by Byron Dyck

January on this blog

Sunday, January 19

Studying Poetry (a poem)

I was introduced to poetry, as many of you were, in grade school. Later, I matriculated and a professor furthered my studying on the subject. Those two experiences were remarkably different. How? Well...

Sunday, January 26

Making Giant Snowballs (children's story)

Making Giant Snowballs encourages children to show acceptance and kindness--especially to people who are different from themselves.

An Age (short memoir) by Leanne Dyck

How do you feel about growing older? Are there too many candles on your birthday cake? I wrote this for you...

"Twilight" by ldyck

An Age

25, 40, 50, 70. Everybody has their number. The hill that is too difficult to climb. The cake with too many candles.

Mine was 50, and I felt every year. And what did I have to show for the years? ...not much.

I felt like crawling under my bed and disappearing, but...

I could have felt sorry for myself, but what would that have accomplished? 50 was more than just a number. It demanded to be acknowledged. Could I... Could I celebrate it?

I needed help. I made a list of friends who handled their age well and told them I was turning 50. I told them I was becoming a 'wise woman' and invited them to join me at the community labyrinth. "Birthday presents aren't necessary. Please bring a word I can carry with me through the next part of my life."

The day was sun-filled. At the entrance to the labyrinth, I handed them a copy of my poem...

Mother, May I

Mother Mary

Mother Goddess

Mother Gaia

Mother, may you

Create me, hold me, transform me

From child to mother to elder

Blessed Mother

Mother Creator

Mother Nurturer

Mother, may I

Create, hold, transform

From child to mother to elder

The divine love

The power of three

We chanted as we walked.

When we reached the middle of the labyrinth, I thanked them for coming and invited them to share their words. They gave me wisdom and magic and believe and truth and...

And a simple celebration with trusted friends helped me conquer my number—helped me see that I am blessed.

Photo by Crystal Favel

On Reaching Forty

Maya Angelou

Other acquainted years

sidle

with modest

decorum

across the scrim of toughened

tears and to a stage

planked with laughter boards

and waxed with rueful loss

But forty

with the authorized

brazenness of a uniformed

cop stomps

non-knocking

into the script

bumps a funky grind on the 

shabby curtain of youth

and delays the action

Unless you have the inborn

wisdom

and grace

and are clever enough 

to die at

thirty-nine.

Every year...

on the 11th month

on the 11th day

on the 11th hour

I will remember them.

As I meditated on Remembrance Day this year, I solemnly pledged to seek peace within myself and the world.

On this blog in November...

Sunday, November 17

Not Forgotten

A tribute for adults about a Mayne Island friend.

Sunday, November 24

Carrots

A children's story about Mariam Horse and her bountiful garden.

Sharing my author journey...

Be cautious...

Before submitting my work, I conduct thorough research on