Welcome to the May 2014 Poem of the Month
As you have likely heard, Maya Angelou, the great African-American poet, passed away this week at the age of 86.
I was privileged to hear Maya Angelou deliver what she called “my first public poem”, On the Pulse of the Morning, at President Clinton’s Inauguration on January 20, 1993 while I was a student at George Washington University in Washington, DC.
I recall that it was cold, but clear day, and there was an electricity in the air as thousands of people gathered on the mall to witness the historic occasion of the Presidential Inauguration. When Maya Angelou delivered her poem, I was surprised by the immense silence as these thousands of people listened, captivated her strikingly clear, strong voice. The crowd remained silent for several second after she delivered her final stanza:
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 was also remarkable (though I didn’t learn this until later) for the fact that with her public recitation, she became only the second poet in history to read a poem at a presidential inauguration. Robert Frost was the first, at the 1961 inauguration of John F. Kennedy.
Her audio recording of the poem won the 1994 Grammy Award in the “Best Spoken Word” category.
I have previously selected an excerpt of On The Pulse of the Morning for the October 2004 Poem of the Month, and this month add Caged Bird.
Enjoy your freedom Maya, and thank you for your song.
Maya Angelou
(1928 – 2014)
Caged Bird
The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom
