by Maya Angelou
When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe briefly.
our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.
Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us,
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.
A BLACK WOMAN
SPEAKS TO
BLACK MANHOOD
READ BY THE POET AT THE MILLION MAN MARCH IN WASHINGTON, D.C., ON OCTOBER 16, 1995
Our souls look back
In wondrous surprise
At how we have made it
So far from where we started
Fathers, brothers, uncles
Nephews, sons, and friends
Look over your shoulders
And at our history
The night was long
The wounds were deep
The pit has been dark
Its walls were steep
I was dragged by braids
On a sandy beach
I was pulled near you
But beyond your reach
You were bound and gagged
When you heard me cry
Your spirit was wounded
With each wrenching try
For you thrusted and pulled
Trying to break free
So that neither of us
Would know slavery
You forgot the strength
Of the rope and the chain
You only remember
Your manhood shame
You couldn’t help yourself
And you couldn’t help me
You’ve carried that fact
Down our history
We have survived
Those centuries of hate
And we do not deny
Their bruising weight
Please my many million men
Let us lay that image aside
See how our people today
Walk in strength and in pride
Celebrate, stand up, clap hands for ourselves
and those who went before
Stand up, clap hands, let us welcome kind
words back into our vocabulary
Stand up, clap hands, let us welcome
courtesies back into our bedrooms
Stand up, clap hands, let us invite generosity
back into our kitchens
Clap hands, let faith find a place in our souls
Clap hands, let hope live in our hearts
We have survived
And even thrived with
Passion
Compassion
Humor
and style
The night was long
The wounds were deep
The pit was dark
Its walls were steep
Clap hands, celebrate
We deserve it
Jubilate!
AMAZING PEACE
READ BY THE POET AT THE LIGHTING OF THE NATIONAL CHRISTMAS TREE, WASHINGTON, D.C., DECEMBER 1, 2005
Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes
And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses.
Floodwaters await in our avenues.
Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow
to avalanche
Over unprotected villages.
The sky slips low and gray and threatening.
We question ourselves. What have we done to
so affront nature?
We interrogate and worry God.
Are you there? Are you there, really?
Does the covenant you made with us still
hold?
Into this climate of fear and apprehension,
Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in
the bright air.
The world is encouraged to come away from
rancor,
Come the way of friendship.
It is the Glad Season.
Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps
quietly in the corner.
Floodwaters recede into memory.
Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us
As we make our way to higher ground.
Hope is born again in the faces of children.
It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they
walk into their sunsets.
Hope spreads around the earth, brightening
all things,
Even hate, which crouches breeding in dark
corridors.
In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.
At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.
We listen carefully as it gathers strength.
We hear a sweetness.
The word is Peace.
It is loud now.
Louder than the explosion of bombs.
We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by
its presence.
It is that for which we have hungered.
Not just the absence of war. But true Peace.
A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.
Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.
We clap hands and welcome the Peace of
Christmas.
We beckon this good season to wait awhile
with us.
We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and
Muslim, say come.
Peace.
Come and fill us and our world with your
majesty.
We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and
the Confucian,
Implore you to stay awhile with us
So we may learn by your shimmering light
How to look beyond complexion and see
community.
It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.
On this platform of peace, we can create a
language
To translate ourselves to ourselves and to
each other.
At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of
Jesus Christ
Into the great religions of the world.
We jubilate the precious advent of trust.
We shout with glorious tongues the coming of
hope.
All the earth’s tribes loosen their voices
To celebrate the promise of Peace.
We, Angels and Mortals, Believers and
Nonbelievers,
Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at our world and speak the
word aloud.
Peace. We look at each other, then into
ourselves,
And we say without shyness or apology or
hesitation:
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Peace, My Brother.
Peace, My Sister.
Peace, My Soul.
MOTHER
A Cradle to Hold Me
It is true
I was created in you.
It is also true
That you were created for me.
I owned your voice.
It was shaped and tuned to soothe me.
Your arms were molded
Into a cradle to hold me, to rock me.
The scent of your body was the air
Perfumed for me to breathe.
Mother,
During those early, dearest days
I did not dream that you had
A larger life which included me,
Among your other concerns,
For I had a life
Which was only you.
Time passed steadily and drew us apart.
I was unwilling.
I feared if I let you go
You would leave me eternally.
You smiled at my fears, saying
I could not stay in your lap forever
That one day you would have to stand
And where would I be?
You smiled again.
I did not.
Without warning you left me,
But you returned immediately.
You left again and returned,
I admit, quickly.
But relief did not rest with me easily.
You left again, but again returned.
You left again, but again returned.
Each time you reentered my world
You brought assurance.
Slowly I gained confidence.
You thought you knew me,
But I did know you,
You thought you were watching me,
But I did hold you securely in my sight,
Recording every movement,
Memorizing your smiles, tracing your frowns.
In your absence
I rehearsed you,
The way you had of singing
On a breeze,
While a sob lay
At the root of your song.
The way you posed your head
So that the light could caress your face
When you put your fingers on my hand
And your hand on my arm,
I was blessed with a sense of health,
Of strength and very good fortune.
You were always
The heart of happiness to me,
Bringing nougats of glee,
Sweets of open laughter.
I loved you even during the years
When you knew nothing
And I knew everything, I loved you still.
Condescendingly of course,
From my high perch
Of teenage wisdom.
I spoke sharply to you, often
Because you were slow to understand.
I grew older and
Was stunned to find
How much knowledge you had gleaned.
And so quickly.
Mother, I have learned enough now
To know I have learned nearly nothing.
On this day
When mothers are being honored,
Let me thank you
That my selfishness, ignorance, and mockery
Did not bring you to
Discard me like a broken doll
Which had lost its favor.
I thank you that
You still find something in me
To cherish, to admire, and to love.
I thank you, Mother.
I love you.
IN AND OUT
OF TIME
For Jessica and Colin Johnson
Stephanie and Guy Johnson
The sun has come out
The mists have gone
We see in the distance
Our long way home
I was yours to love
You were always mine
We have belonged together
In and out of time
When the first stone looked
Up at the blazing sun
And the first tree struggled
From the forest floor
I loved you more
You were the rhythm on the head
Of the conga drum
And the brush of palm
On my nut brown skin
And I loved you then
We worked the cane
And cotton fields
We trod together
The city streets
Wearied by labor
Bruised by cruelty
Strutting and sassy
To our inner beat
And all the while
Lord, how I love your smile
You’ve freed your braids
Gave your hair to the breeze
It hummed like a hive
Of busy bees
I reached into the mass
For the honeycomb there
God, how I loved your hair
You saw me bludgeoned
By circumstance
Injured by hate
And lost to chance
Legs that could be broken
But knees that would not bend
Oh, you loved me then
I raked the Heavens’ belly
With torrid screams
I fought to turn
Nightmares into dreams
My protests were loud
And brash and bold
My, how you loved my soul
The sun has come out
The mists have gone
We see in the distance
Our long way home
I was yours to love
And you were always mine
We have belonged together
In and out of time
BEN LEAR’S
BAR MITZVAH
AN ODE TO BEN LEAR
ON THE OCCASION OF HIS BAR MITZVAH
To you
in your walled city of childhood,
the years have inched by slowly, tortoise—like
crawling,
yet to your family and family of friends
the time has hurried, without halting,
without leaving enough seasons in which
to know you, to teach you, to love you.
You have been noted studying the Torah,
probing the words of ancient prophets
reading,
To many
you have come too suddenly to the new
region of manhood.
To your parents,
in whose immense realm of love
you have been clasped and claimed,
you are still the tender-tough boy,
yet in your face, they see already the promise
of the man you are becoming.
To them
you are too eager to step into the new land,
too ready to share the responsibility
with the citizens of your new country.
Some of your beloveds are longing to hold you back in the safe arms
of childhood,
where errant behavior could meet with soft
admonishment,
where most injuries could be made better by
a mother’s kiss,
but even now you are leaning away toward
the horizon
with one foot raised to step forward.
None can stop you, none can stay you.
Please know,
prayers lay in the road where you will plant
your feet.
Please know
that aspirations of your family are high at
your back, and surround you entirely.
Please know
that great hopes of your devoted shower
you with
ardent wishes for your being and for your
future.
Your beloveds
know that you are entering a nation
between seeking after justice
and lusting for revenge.
They know also
that you will meet those who would be kind
if only they had the courage, and
those who would do evil
if only they had the opportunity.
You will be bathed in the morning dew of
truth
and you will drink down the brackish water of
false witness.
Be wary, my nephew, but fear only God,
for you have a limitless resource of powerful
love
to evoke and call forth
and I,
prompt with all your primed and loving
family,
await your summons.
VIGIL
For Luther Vandross and Barry White
We are born in pain, then relief comes.
We are lost in the dark, then day breaks.
We are confused, confounded, and fearful,
Then faith takes our hand.
We stumble and fumble and fall,
Then, we rise.
Into each of our meanest nights, you
have arrived,
Oh, Lord,
Creator,
To lead us away from our ignorance
And into knowing.
Now, we gather at your altar,
Rich and poor, young and
Achingly old,
We are the housed and the homeless,
We are the lucky,
And the lazy.
As if at the foot
Of an ancient baobab tree,
In this moment
We gather to stand, kneel, sit, squat, and
crumple here,
Knowing that, when the medical geniuses
Have done their best,
When the Nobel Prize Winners
Have used their most powerful energy,
We have You.
Creator,
We bring to You
Our brothers, sons, fathers, uncles,
Nephews, cousins, beloved, and friends.
We place the body of Luther Vandross
And the body of Barry
White Here before You.
They are among the best we have
And You are all we have.
