Maya Angelou

In 2004, I had the fortunate opportunity to see Maya Angelou make a presentation and read some of her poetry on campus at GVSU. She is a phenomenonal speaker and gifted storyteller. I have always enjoyed her writing and it was a nice experience to see her live, something I'll never forget. She is one of America's greatest Poets!

I recently checked out what I believe is her latest book, Celebrations, from the library. It's a collection of some of her more notable poems, including one that she wrote for Mother's Day 2006. I found that poem very touching and would like to share it here. Here's to all the mothers out there, and especially to my own. (I love you Mom!) Enjoy!

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 flavor.

I thank you that
You still find something in me
To cherish, to admire, and to love.

I thank you, Mother.
I love you.

Angelou, Maya. Celebrations: Rituals of Peace and Prayer. "Mother: A Cradle to Hold Me." Random House: New York, 2006. Pgs. 71-77.

The Birds

I have to admit that since graduating, I have felt just a little burnt out. I've been passing the days playing the game of "catch-up," trying to get all those little things done that I hadn't had time to do before. And while there have been lots of things I wanted to write about and post on my blog, I just haven't been able to get around to doing it. One of the topics I wanted to write about was my zebra finches (new to my household) and the adorable racket they make all day long. Thanks to LDS, I thought that a poem was the best way to express how they make me feel. And what better poet to do this than Edgar Allan Poe? I thought I would parodize his famous poem "The Bells" to that purpose, but since I'm so tired and all, I've figured out an easier way...here goes!

The Birds

I
Hear the sledges with the birds-
Silver birds!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the birds, birds, birds, birds,
Birds, birds, birds-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the birds.

II
Hear the mellow wedding birds,
Golden birds!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And an in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the birds, birds, birds,
Of the birds, birds, birds, birds,
Birds, birds, birds-
To the rhyming and the chiming of the birds!

III
Hear the loud alarum birds-
Brazen birds!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,
Now–now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the birds, birds, birds!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows:
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the birds-
Of the birds-
Of the birds, birds, birds, birds,
Birds, birds, birds-
In the clamor and the clangor of the birds!

IV
Hear the tolling of the birds-
Iron Birds!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people–ah, the people-
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All Alone
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the birds!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the birds!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the birds-
Of the birds:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the birds-
Of the birds, birds, birds-
To the sobbing of the birds;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the birds-
Of the birds, birds, birds:
To the tolling of the birds,
Of the birds, birds, birds, birds,-
Birds, birds, birds-
To the moaning and the groaning of the birds.

THE END