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Three African American Poets of Historical Note

 

 

Maya Angelou

 

Maya AngelouMaya Angelou was born Marguerite Johnson in St. Louis, Missouri, on April 4, 1928. She grew up in St. Louis and Stamps, Arkansas. She is an author, poet, historian, songwriter, playwright, dancer, stage and screen producer, director, performer, singer, and civil rights activist. She is best known for her autobiographical books: All God's Children Need Traveling Shoes (1986), The Heart of a Woman (1981), Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas (1976), Gather Together in My Name (1974), and I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969), which was nominated for the National Book Award.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Phenomenal Woman

 

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size

But when I start to tell them,

They think I'm telling lies.

I say,

It's in the reach of my arms

The span of my hips,

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

 

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.

I say,

It's the fire in my eyes,

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing in my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

 

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can't touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them

They say they still can't see.

I say,

It's in the arch of my back,

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I'm a woman

 

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

 

Now you understand

Just why my head's not bowed.

I don't shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It's in the click of my heels,

The bend of my hair,

the palm of my hand,

The need of my care,

'Cause I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

 

 

 

 

Amiri Baraka

 

"God has been replaced, as he has all over the West, with respectability and air conditioning."

 

                                                                                                -Amiri Baraka

 

Amiri Baraka (born LeRoi Jones) is a poet, writer, political activist and teacher. He was born in 1934, in Newark, New Jersey. He graduated from Howard University in 1953, and published his first major book of poetry, Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note, in 1961. He founded Totem Press in 1958, which first published works by Kerouac, Ginsberg and other lesser-known writers of the time period.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ka ‘Ba

 

A closed window looks down

on a dirty courtyard, and black people

call across or scream or walk across

defying physics in the stream of their will

 

Our world is full of sound

Our world is more lovely than anyone's

tho we suffer, and kill each other

and sometimes fail to walk the air

 

We are beautiful people

with african imaginations

full of masks and dances and swelling chants

 

with african eyes, and noses, and arms,

though we sprawl in grey chains in a place

full of winters, when what we want is sun.

 

We have been captured,

brothers. And we labor

to make our getaway, into

the ancient image, into a new

 

correspondence with ourselves

and our black family. We read magic

now we need the spells, to rise up

return, destroy, and create. What will be

 

the sacred words?

 

 

 

 

Paul Laurence Dunbar

 

Paul Laurence Dunbar, born in Dayton, Ohio, on June 27, 1872, was the first African-American poet and novelist to attain international recognition. Dunbar was known for his use of dialect, but was also an accomplished poet and novelist in standard English. At age seventeen he published his own newspaper, the Dayton Tattler, an African-American newspaper printed by his high school classmate and friend, Orville Wright. His first book of poems, Oak and Ivy, was published in 1893. The book contained Dunbar's first dialect poem, "A Banjo Song." Dunbar published numerous books of poetry, novels and music during his career. He died in Dayton on February 9, 1906.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Ante-Bellum Sermon

 

We is gathahed hyeah, my brothas,

In dis howlin’wildaness,

Fu’ to speak some words of comfo’t

To each othah in distress.

An’ we chooses fu’ouah sujic

Dis – we’ll ‘splain it by an’ by;

An de Lawd said, ‘Moses, Moses,’

An’ de man said, ‘Hyeah am I.’”

 

Now ole Pher’oh down in Egypt,

Was de wuss man evah bo’n,

An’ he had de Hebrew chillun

Down dah wukin’ in his co’n;

Twell de Lawd got tiahed o’ his follin’,

An’ sez he: “I’ll him know–

Look hyeah, Moses, go tell Pher’oh

Fu’ to let dem chillun go.”

 

‘An’ ef he refuse to do it,

I will make him rue de houah,

Fu’ I’ll empty down on Egypt

All de vials of my powah.”

Yes, he did – an’ Pher’oh’s ahmy

Was n’t wuth a ha’f a dime;

Fu’ de Lawd will he’p his chillun,

You kin trust him evah time.

 

An’ yo’ enemies may ‘sail you

In de back an’ in de front;

But de Lawd is all aroun’ you,

Fu’ to ba’ de battle’s brunt.

Dey kin fo’ge yo’ chains an’ shackles

F’om de mountains to de sea;

But de Lawd will sen’ some Moses

Fu’ to set his chillun free.

 

An’ de lan’ shall hyeah his thundah,

Lak a blasf’om Gab’el’s ho’n,

Fu’ de Lawd of hosts is mighty

When he girds his ahmor on.

But fu’ feah some one mistakes me,

I will pause right hyeah to say,

Dat I’m still a-preachin’ ancient,

I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout to-day.

 

But I tell you, fellah christuns,

Things’ll happen mighty strange;

Now, de Lawd done dis fu’ Isrul,

An’ his ways don’t nevah change,

An’ de love he showed to Isrul

Was n’t all on Isrul spent;

Now don’t run an’ tell yomastahs

Dat I’s preachin’ discontent.

 

“Cause I is n’t; I’se a-judgin

Bible people by deir ac’s;

I’se a-givin’ you de Scriptuah,

I’se a-handin’ you de fac’s.

Cose ole Pher’oh b’lieved in slav’ry,

But de Lawd he let him see,

Dat de people he put bref in,-

Evah mothah’s son was free.

 

An’ dahs othahs thinks lak Pher’oh,

But dey calls de Scriptuah liar,

Fu’ de Bible says “a servant

Is a-worthy of his hire.

An’you cain’t git roun’ nor thoo dat,

An’ you cain’t git ovah it,

Fu’ whatevah place you git in,

Dis hyeah Bible too’ll fit.

 

So you see de Lawd’s intention,

Evah sence de worl’ began,

Was dat His almighty freedom

Should belong to evah man,

But I think it would be bettah,

Ef I’d pause agin to say,

Dat I’m talkin’ ‘bout ouah freedom

In a Bibleistic way.

 

But de Moses is a-comin’,

An’ he’s cominsuah and fas’.

We kin hyeah his feet a-trompin’,

We kin hyeah his trumpit blas’.

But I want to wa’n you people,

Don’t you git too figity;

An’ don’t you git to braggin

‘Bout dese things, you wait an’ see.

 

But when Moses wif his powah

Comes an’ sets us chillun free,

We will praise de gracious Mastah

Dat has gin us liberty;

An’ we’ll shout ouah halleluyahs,

On dat mighty reck’nin day,

When we’se reco’nised ez citiz’–

Huh uh! Chillun, let us pray!       

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Chickasaw Plum  -  Volume V - Number 2 - February 2008

 

 

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