By Maya Angelou
Those new poems are robust, particular and as regularly, filled with lifting rhythms of affection and remembering.
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Extra info for And Still I Rise
Here’s where it gets rough. Where I should step off the porch and go inside myself, move in closer, a little, to the scene I’ve set myself up to watch. Still there is an ocean inside of the man sitting next to us. 33 In the ocean is a world of things eating each other one of us says and how is it the show you’re watching is not the show you sit down for. Now another passerby has stopped to admire the yellow Porsche the man sitting next to us parked in front of Osburns Ice Cream, then came up to sit on the porch and watch.
The country that practices torture has moved on. 36 What so ever you When you are old and when you are removed from those people who knew you back when and set down among strangers you have no past. You are an old man with his chin in his fists. You are an old man with his chin gracious when. You are yet another old man waiting in some line or other, gracious when you let the woman in back of you go first because there is no hurry whatsoever you are in. It is not graciousness that moves you to the back of the line you look around you even now you see is growing.
Nor does it waste. I feel I should like it better. Perhaps with affection it would grow on me. Attachment is curious, I should like to get under it. I take it onto my lap, laying, first, a pillow there and my fingers on it. This I call the passing of pleasure. Only I feel the presence of something. Human, a trespass. 19 On religion, war, nature, and the horse John’s unabstracted death for me. Or to put it another way, the idea took possession of him. These things happen. A stone bench happened so I sat down on it.
And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou