Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou Read Free Book Online

O UR G RANDMOTHERS
    She lay, skin down on the moist dirt,
    the canebrake rustling
    with the whispers of leaves, and
    loud longing of hounds and
    the ransack of hunters crackling the near
branches.
    She muttered, lifting her head a nod toward
freedom,
    I shall not, I shall not be moved.
    She gathered her babies,
    their tears slick as oil on black faces,
    their young eyes canvassing mornings of madness.
    Momma, is Master going to sell you
    from us tomorrow?
    Yes.
    Unless you keep walking more
    and talking less.
    Yes.
    Unless the keeper of our lives
    releases me from all commandments.
    Yes.
    And your lives,
    never mine to live,
    will be executed upon the killing floor of
innocents.
    Unless you match my heart and words,
    saying with me,
    I shall not be moved.
    In Virginia tobacco fields,
    leaning into the curve
    of Steinway
    pianos, along Arkansas roads,
    in the red hills of Georgia,
    into the palms of her chained hands, she
    cried against calamity,
    You have tried to destroy me
    and though I perish daily,
    I shall not be moved.
    Her universe, often
    summarized into one black body
    falling finally from the tree to her feet,
    made her cry each time in a new voice.
    All my past hastens to defeat,
    and strangers claim the glory of my love,
    Iniquity has bound me to his bed,
    yet, I must not be moved.
    She heard the names,
    swirling ribbons in the wind of history:
    nigger, nigger bitch, heifer,
    mammy, property, creature, ape, baboon,
    whore, hot tail, thing, it.
    She said, But my description cannot
    fit your tongue, for
    I have a certain way of being in this world,
    and I shall not, I shall not be moved.
    No angel stretched protecting wings
    above the heads of her children,
    fluttering and urging the winds of reason
    into the confusion of their lives.
    They sprouted like young weeds,
    but she could not shield their growth
    from the grinding blades of ignorance, nor
    shape them into symbolic topiaries.
    She sent them away,
    underground, overland, in coaches and
    shoeless.
    When you learn, teach.
    When you get, give.
    As for me,
    I shall not be moved.
    She stood in midocean, seeking dry land.
    She searched God’s face.
    Assured,
    she placed her fire of service
    on the altar, and though
    clothed in the finery of faith,
    when she appeared at the temple door,
    no sign welcomed
    Black Grandmother. Enter here.
    Into the crashing sound,
    into wickedness, she cried,
    No one, no, nor no one million
    ones dare deny me God. I go forth
    alone, and stand as ten thousand.
    The Divine upon my right
    impels me to pull forever
    at the latch on Freedom’s gate.
    The Holy Spirit upon my left leads my
    feet without ceasing into the camp of the
    righteous and into the tents of the free.
    These momma faces, lemon-yellow, plum-
purple,
    honey-brown, have grimaced and twisted
    down a pyramid of years.
    She is Sheba and Sojourner,
    Harriet and Zora,
    Mary Bethune and Angela,
    Annie to Zenobia.
    She stands
    before the abortion clinic,
    confounded by the lack of choices.
    In the Welfare line,
    reduced to the pity of handouts.
    Ordained in the pulpit, shielded
    by the mysteries.
    In the operating room,
    husbanding life.
    In the choir loft,
    holding God in her throat.
    On lonely street corners,
    hawking her body.
    In the classroom, loving the
    children to understanding.
    Centered on the world’s stage,
    she sings to her loves and beloveds,
    to her foes and detractors:
    However I am perceived and deceived,
    however my ignorance and conceits,
    lay aside your fears that I will be undone,
    for I shall not be moved.

I dedicate this book

to the memory of my mother
,
Vivian Baxter
,
the most phenomenal
.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
    M AYA A NGELOU has written five volumes of autobiography, beginning with
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
. She has also published five collections of poetry:
And Still I Rise; Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water ’fore I Diiie; Oh Pray My Wings Are Gonna Fit Me Well; Shaker, Why Don’t You Sing?;
and
I Shall Not Be Moved;
as well as
On the Pulse