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The Complete Poetry, by Maya Angelou
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About the Author
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.
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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
They Went Home They went home and told their wives, that never once in all their lives, had they known a girl like me, But … They went home. They said my house was licking clean, no word I spoke was ever mean, I had an air of mystery, But … They went home. My praises were on all men’s lips, they liked my smile, my wit, my hips, they’d spend one night, or two or three. But … The Gamut Soft you day, be velvet soft, My true love approaches, Look you bright, you dusty sun, Array your golden coaches. Soft you wind, be soft as silk, My true love is speaking. Hold you birds, your silver throats, His golden voice I’m seeking. Come you death, in haste, do come, My shroud of black be weaving, Quiet my heart, be deathly quiet, My true love is leaving. A Zorro Man Here in the wombed room silk purple drapes flash a light as subtle as your hands before love-making Here in the covered lens I catch a clitoral image of your general inhabitation long and like a late dawn in winter Here this clean mirror traps me unwilling in a gone time when I was love and you were booted and brave and trembling for me. To a Man My man is Black Golden Amber Changing. Warm mouths of Brandy Fine Cautious sunlight on a patterned rug Coughing laughter, rocked on a whorl of French tobacco Graceful turns on woolen stilts Secretive? A cat’s eye. Southern. Plump and tender with navy-bean sullenness And did I say “Tender”? The gentleness A big cat stalks through stubborn bush And did I mention “Amber”? The heatless fire consuming itself. Again. Anew. Into ever neverlessness. My man is Amber Changing Always into itself New. Now New. Still itself. Still. Late October Carefully the leaves of autumn sprinkle down the tinny sound of little dyings and skies sated of ruddy sunsets of roseate dawns roil ceaselessly in cobweb greys and turn to black for comfort. Only lovers see the fall a signal end to endings a gruffish gesture alerting those who will not be alarmed that we begin to stop in order simply to begin again. No Loser, No Weeper “I hate to lose something,” then she bent her head, “even a dime, I wish I was dead. I can’t explain it. No more to be said. ’Cept I hate to lose something. “I lost a doll once and cried for a week. She could open her eyes, and do all but speak. I believe she was took, by some doll-snatching sneak. I tell you, I hate to lose something. “A watch of mine once, got up and walked away. It had twelve numbers on it and for the time of day. I’ll never forget it and all I can say Is I really hate to lose something. “Now if I felt that way ’bout a watch and a toy, What you think I feel ’bout my lover-boy? I ain’t threatening you, madam, but he is my evening’s joy. And I mean I really hate to lose something.” When You Come to Me When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an attic, Gatherings of days too few, Baubles of stolen kisses, Trinkets of borrowed loves, Trunks of secret words, I CRY. Remembering Soft grey ghosts crawl up my sleeve to peer into my eyes while I within deny their threats and answer them with lies. Mushlike memories perform a ritual on my lips I lie in stolid hopelessness and they lay my soul in strips. In a Time In a time of secret wooing Today prepares tomorrow’s ruin Left knows not what right is doing My heart is torn asunder. In a time of furtive sighs Sweet hellos and sad goodbyes Half-truths told and entire lies My conscience echoes thunder. In a time when kingdoms come Joy is brief as summer’s fun Happiness its race has run Then pain stalks in to plunder. Tears Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters of a worn-through soul. Moans Deep swan song Blue farewell of a dying dream. The Detached We die, Welcoming Bluebeards to our darkening closets, Stranglers to our outstretched necks, Stranglers, who neither care nor care to know that DEATH IS INTERNAL. We pray, Savoring sweet the teethed lies, Bellying the grounds before alien gods, Gods, who neither know nor wish to know that HELL IS INTERNAL. We love, Rubbing the nakednesses with gloved hands, Inverting our mouths in tongued kisses, Kisses that neither touch nor care to touch if LOVE IS INTERNAL. To a Husband Your voice at times a fist Tight in your throat Jabs ceaselessly at phantoms In the room, Your hand a carved and Skimming boat Goes down the Nile To point out Pharaoh’s tomb. You’re Africa to me At brightest dawn. The Congo’s green and Copper’s brackish hue, A continent to build With Black Man’s brawn. I sit at home and see it all Through you.
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Product details
Hardcover: 336 pages
Publisher: Random House; 1st Edition edition (March 31, 2015)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 9780812997873
ISBN-13: 978-0812997873
ASIN: 0812997875
Product Dimensions:
6.6 x 1 x 9.6 inches
Shipping Weight: 12 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
Average Customer Review:
4.7 out of 5 stars
96 customer reviews
Amazon Best Sellers Rank:
#17,941 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
This posthumous collection gathers together 180 poems of Maya Angelou. A collection of collections, it amasses six of Angelou’s collections as well as four stand-alone poems, and is said to represent the entirety of Angelou’s published and publically-released poetry. (Actually, it’s said be all of her poetry, but I suspect even a poetic genius like Angelou had notebooks of fragments and pieces with which she never made peace.) Her famed collections: “Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water ‘Fore I Diiie,†“Oh Pray My Wings Are Gonna Fit Me Well,†“And Still I Rise,†“Shaker, Why Don’t You Sing,†and “I Shall Not Be Moved†are presented as released.Angelou’s poetry tends toward the playful and melodious even when its topics are angry or distressing. She favors short pieces that have rhyme and rhythm that please the ear—at least in those early collections for which she is most recognized. Reading the poetry chronologically, I noticed a shift toward a little bit longer free verse poetry—though always with attention to the issue of sound (if not to creating song-like sound.) As this was my first reading of this collection, some of this perception of shifting length and style may be an illusion created by the fact that the freestanding pieces are toward the end, and they tend to have been released for special occasions that called for longer runtimes. But maybe she felt that poems of dissent and social commentary ultimately called for a more discordant quality. Delivering a jeremiad with pop tune catchiness can feel as though it undermines the message—though it also makes a commentary about the nature of being underdog.I don’t want to suggest that Angelou’s work doesn’t capture the happy and hopeful as well as the daunting, because it is. But poets deal in emotion, and that means confronting dark topics such as slavery, racism, domestic violence, etc. Her use of dialect language breathes authenticity into her poems and builds the emotional weight of them, which often supports the song-like quality. And there is plenty of precedent in music for delivering hard material in a melodious package.I’d recommend this collection to poetry readers. It’s powerful and poignant, and makes a beautiful sound.
"Take the blinders from your vision,take the padding from your ears,and confess you’ve heard me crying,and admit you’ve seen my tears.Hear the tempo so compelling,hear the blood throb in my veins.Yes, my drums are beating nightly,and the rhythms never change."
I enjoy this collection constantly.It is nothing short of amazing. To have a book of poetry by Maya at my disposal is a life pleasure.
The book content is great--but Amazon just threw it into a box and the dust cover was torn when I received it and also the quality of the paper looks like a "second" or reject. Would not order again due to quality of the product
Amazing poetry, and all in one place. The reason for four instead of five stars is not related to the writing. What I would like to be included with each poem is the date and, if known, the occasion of the writing. The poems are put in sections but one has no way of knowing the time frame, therefore the time in Maya Angelou's life that she wrote them.Highly recommended.
Maya Angelou, in the Complete Poetry (which is simply a collection of her separately published books of poems), is confident and self-possessed. She explores her femininity, her spirituality, and African American history usually with allegories that relate in more ways than one to her personal experiences.
The content is wonderful. The quality of this hardcover book is not very good.
My daughter loves poetry. I got her this book for Xmas because she had it on her Xmas list and on the cart. She loves it, can't put it down. She also like that it has been sign by Magela Angelo.
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