Monday, January 20, 2014

Poem for a Monday

This one's an obvious choice for Martin Luther King Day, but it speaks to all of us who have encountered those who attempt to undermine our confidence or sense of self.

My advisor in college, the poet Robert Pack, told us that we didn't really know a poem until we knew it by heart.  I guess that means I only know a few poems, plus bits and pieces of dozens.  However, the opening lines to "Still I Rise" are among the few I'm able to summon from memory on an as-needed basis.  You can find it in countless anthologies, but I reach for it in my volume of "Poems That Could Save Your Life."

Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou

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
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

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