Maya+Angelou

· Date of Birth v April 4th, 1928 v Real name is Marguerite Johnson · Geographic Region of Influence v Greatly inspired and influenced by her mother v She was very close to her mother, gave her strength · Family Information v Gave birth to son, Guy Johnson, at age 16 v Married Tosh Angelou at age 22 v Divorced only a few years later v Has older brother named Bailey · Education/Career v Attended high school v Won scholarship in dance and drama to California Labor School v Had to work as waitress, cook and nightclub singer to support her son v Did not finish college · Authors/Poets of Influence v Shakespeare v Edgar Allen Poe v Paul Lawrence Dunbar · Unique Characteristics of Works v Volume is expanded v Special Narration · Influence/Focus of Works v Author Hilton Als insisted that “The Caged Bird” was an important contribution to the increase of Black feminist writings v Feminists loved her · Most Famous Works v “A Song Flung Up To Heaven” (2002) v “Gather Together In My Name” (1974) v “Phenonmenal Woman” (1995)

 Maya Angleou’s Poems: __ Song for the Old Ones __ My Fathers sit on benches their flesh counts every plank the slats leave dents of darkness deep in their withered flanks. They nod like broken candles all waxed and burnt profound they say "It's understanding that makes the world go round." There in those pleated faces I see the auction block the chains and slavery's coffles the whip and lash and stock. My Fathers speak in voices that shred my fact and sound they say "It's our submission that makes the world go round." They used the finest cunning their naked wits and wiles the lowly Uncle Tomming and Aunt Jemima's smiles. They've laughed to shield their crying then shuffled through their dreams and stepped 'n' fetched a country to write the blues with screams. I understand their meaning it could and did derive from living on the edge of death [|They kept my race alive.].

__ Still I Rise __ 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 back yard. 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 Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear 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.

__ Recovery __ A Last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now, reft of that confusion, am lifted up and [|speeding toward the light].