Still I Rise: A Poem for Thursday
So much of Maya Angelou’s poetry is simultaneously defiant and uplifting. “Still I Rise” is one of my favorites, recognizing the difficult, at times terrible past African Americans suffered only to draw strength from it so as to confront a sometimes difficult and terrible present with courage, beauty, and, yes, sassiness. Martin Luther once said that evil cannot tolerate being laughed at. Maya Angelou, I think, embodies that and invites us to join her in confronting fear and oppression with a holy laughter. (Below the text of the poem is a video of her both introducing and reciting it. Notice that it’s not word-for-word but a living, breathing thing. Enjoy!)
“Still I Rise”
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
I love this forthright and beautiful verse both written and read beautifuly by a wonderful poet. Thank you for this gift, Maya Angelou.
Am I overstating things if I say this poem is a powerful description of Pentecost? Is Maya Angelou describing the power of Christ’s spirit rising up in us even when circumstances would have us believe we are foolish and unrealistic? I believe so. When hope rises, we are empowered to rise with it. I’m going to make this my daily morning prayer. I have a feeling I’ll be less inclined to despair about our world and more inclined to hope for what is possible in impossible situations. We are set on fire in the midst of so much anger, hate, bigotry, greed and deception. We rise. We rise. We rise.