Louis in 1928, but in the 1950s came up with “Maya Angelou,” which is a portmanteau of sorts, by combining her childhood nickname and a riff on her then-husband’s surname.

In fact, Angelou’s name is more of a stage name than a pen name Angelou was born Marguerite Annie Johnson in St. Angelou’s jobs included: cook, waitress, sex-worker, dancer, actor, playwright, editor at an English-language newspaper in Egypt, Calypso singer, and cast member of the opera Porgy and Bess. And Google is celebrating Angelou’s birthday with a Doodle.īut while Maya Angelou best known today for her writing - as the author of more than 30 books and the recipient of more than 50 honorary degrees - she had many different careers before becoming a writer, and all before the age of 40, as TIME pointed out in her 2014 obituary. National Poetry Month in April coincides with what would have been the 90th birthday of the poet Maya Angelou, who died May 28, 2014, at the age of 86. Here, on the pulse of this new day You may have the grace to look up and out And into your sister’s eyes, and into Your brother’s face, your country And say simply Very simply With hope- Good morning.It’s only fitting that the first week of U.S. No less to you now than the mastodon then. Here, on the pulse of this fine day You may have the courage To look up and out and upon me, the Rock, the River, the Tree, your country. The horizon leans forward, Offering you space to place new steps of change. Do not be wedded forever To fear, yoked eternally To brutishness. Lift up your hearts Each new hour holds new chances For a new beginning. Sculpt it into The image of your most public self. Women, children, men, Take it into the palms of your hands, Mold it into the shape of your most Private need. Lift up your eyes upon This day breaking for you. History, despite its wrenching pain Cannot be unlived, but if faced With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need For this bright morning dawning for you. I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree I am yours-your passages have been paid. I am that Tree planted by the River, Which will not be moved. You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede, the German, the Eskimo, the Scot, You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought, Sold, stolen, arriving on the nightmare Praying for a dream. You, who gave me my first name, you, Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then Forced on bloody feet, Left me to the employment of Other seekers-desperate for gain, Starving for gold. Plant yourself beside the River.Įach of you, descendant of some passed On traveller, has been paid for. They hear the first and last of every Tree Speak to humankind today. So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew The African, the Native American, the Sioux, The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheik, The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher, The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher. There is a true yearning to respond to The singing River and the wise Rock. Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your Brow and when you yet knew you still Knew nothing. Come, Clad in peace, and I will sing the songs The Creator gave to me when I and the Tree and the rock were one. Yet today I call you to my riverside, If you will study war no more. Your armed struggles for profit Have left collars of waste upon My shore, currents of debris upon my breast. It says, Come, rest here by my side.Įach of you, a bordered country, Delicate and strangely made proud, Yet thrusting perpetually under siege. The Rock cries out to us today, you may stand upon me, But do not hide your face.Īcross the wall of the world, A River sings a beautiful song. Your mouths spilling wordsĪrmed for slaughter. You, created only a little lower than The angels, have crouched too long in The bruising darkness Have lain too long Face down in ignorance. I will give you no hiding place down here. A Rock, A River, A Tree Hosts to species long since departed, Marked the mastodon, The dinosaur, who left dried tokens Of their sojourn here On our planet floor, Any broad alarm of their hastening doom Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.īut today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully, Come, you may stand upon my Back and face your distant destiny, But seek no haven in my shadow.

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