Angelou - Phenomenal Woman

Copyright 1978, 1983, 1990, 1994 by Maya Angelou All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Random House, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Phenomenal Woman and Still I Rise were originally published in And Still I Rise (Random House, Inc., 1978). Weekend Glory was originally published in Shaker, Why Dont You Sing? (Random House, Inc., 1983). Our Grandmothers was originally published in I Shall Not Be Moved (Random House, Inc, 1990). cm.
eISBN: 978-0-307-80762-5
I. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-307-80762-5
I.

WomenPoetry. I. Title.
PS3551.N464P48 1995
811.54dc20 94-27042 v3.1 I dedicate this book
to the memory of my mother,
Vivian Baxter,
the most phenomenal.

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. Im not cute or built to suit a fashion models size But when I start to tell them, They think Im telling lies. I say, Its in the reach of my arms, The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips.

Im a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, Thats me. I walk into a room Just as cool as you please, And to a man, The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees. Then they swarm around me, A hive of honey bees. I say, Its the fire in my eyes, And the flash of my teeth, The swing in my waist, And the joy in my feet. Im a woman Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman, Thats me. Men themselves have wondered What they see in me. They try so much But they cant touch My inner mystery. When I try to show them, They say they still cant see. I say, Its in the arch of my back, The sun of my smile, The ride of my breasts, The grace of my style. Im a woman Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman, Thats me. Now you understand Just why my heads not bowed. I dont shout or jump about Or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing, It ought to make you proud. I say, Its in the click of my heels, The bend of my hair, The palm of my hand, The need for my care. Cause Im a woman Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman, Thats me.

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, Ill rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? Cause I walk like Ive 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 Ill 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? Dont you take it awful hard Cause I laugh like Ive got gold mines Diggin in my own backyard.

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, Ill rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like Ive got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of historys shame I rise Up from a past thats rooted in pain I rise Im 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 thats 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.

Some dichty folks dont know the facts, posin and preenin and puttin on acts, stretchin their necks and strainin their backs. They move into condos up over the ranks, pawn their souls to the local banks.

Buyin big cars they cant afford, ridin around town actin bored.
If they want to learn how to live life right, they ought to study me on Saturday night. My job at the plant aint the biggest bet, but I pay my bills and stay out of debt. I get my hair done for my own selfs sake, so I dont have to pick and I dont have to rake. Take the church money out and head cross town to my friend girls house where we plan our round. We meet our men and go to a joint where the music is blues and to the point. Folks write about me.

They just cant see how I work all week at the factory. Then get spruced up and laugh and dance And turn away from worry with sassy glance. They accuse me of livin from day to day, but who are they kiddin? So are they. My life aint heaven but it sure aint hell. Im not on top but I call it swell if Im able to work and get paid right and have the luck to be Black on a Saturday night.

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. Yes. 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 Gods 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.