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Informationen zum Autor Maya Angelou was raised in Stamps, Arkansas. In addition to her bestselling autobiographies, including I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings and The Heart of a Woman, she wrote numerous volumes of poetry, among them Phenomenal Woman, And Still I Rise, On the Pulse of Morning, and Mother . Maya Angelou died in 2014. Klappentext In her first book of poetry since Why Don't You Sing? Maya Angelou, bestselling author of the classic autobiography I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, writes with lyric, passionate intensity that reaches out to touch the heart and mind. This memorable collection of poems exhibits Maya Angelou's unique gift for capturing the triumph and pain of being black and every man and woman's struggle to be free. Filled with bittersweet intimacies and ferocious courage, these poems are gems-many-faceted, bright with wisdom, radiant with life.WORKER’S SONG Big ships shudder down to the sea because of me Railroads run on a twinness track ’cause of my back Whoppa, Whoppa Whoppa, Whoppa Cars stretch to a super length ’cause of my strength Planes fly high over seas and lands ’cause of my hands Whoppa, Whoppa Whoppa, Whoppa I wake start the factory humming I work late keep the whole world running and I got something … something coming … coming.… Whoppa Whoppa Whoppa HUMAN FAMILY I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived as true profundity, and others claim they really live the real reality. The variety of our skin tones can confuse, bemuse, delight, brown and pink and beige and purple, tan and blue and white. I’ve sailed upon the seven seas and stopped in every land, I’ve seen the wonders of the world, not yet one common man. I know ten thousand women called Jane and Mary Jane, but I’ve not seen any two who really were the same. Mirror twins are different although their features jibe, and lovers think quite different thoughts while lying side by side. We love and lose in China, we weep on England’s moors, and laugh and moan in Guinea, and thrive on Spanish shores. We seek success in Finland, are born and die in Maine. In minor ways we differ, in major we’re the same. I note the obvious differences between each sort and type, but we are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike. We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike. We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike. MAN BIGOT The man who is a bigot is the worst thing God has got, except his match, his woman, who really is Ms. Begot. OLD FOLKS LAUGH They have spent their content of simpering, holding their lips this and that way, winding the lines between their brows. Old folks allow their bellies to jiggle like slow tamborines. The hollers rise up and spill over any way they want. When old folks laugh, they free the world. They turn slowly, slyly knowing the best and worst of remembering. Saliva glistens in the corners of their mouths, their heads wobble on brittle necks, but their laps are filled with memories.” When old folks laugh, they consider the promise of dear painless death, and generously forgive life for happening to them. IS LOVE Midwives and winding sheets know birthing is hard and dying is mean and living’s a trial in between. Why do we journey, muttering
