6.0458 Rs: Angelou's Inaugural Poem (5/185)

Elaine Brennan (EDITORS@BROWNVM.BITNET)
Wed, 27 Jan 1993 13:44:59 EST

Humanist Discussion Group, Vol. 6, No. 0458. Wednesday, 27 Jan 1993.


(1) Date: Tue, 26 Jan 93 19:48:45 CST (8 lines)
From: Norman Hinton <hinton@eagle.sangamon.edu>
Subject: Re: 6.0455 Inauguration poem

(2) Date: Tue, 26 Jan 1993 17:59:39 -0800 (PST) (10 lines)
From: "Joseph B. Monda" <monda@seattleu.edu>
Subject: Re: 6.0455 Text Qs: Angelou

(3) Date: Tue, 26 Jan 93 21:59 PST (22 lines)
From: KESSLER <IME9JFK@UCLAMVS.BITNET>
Subject: Re: 6.0455 Text Qs: Angelou

(4) Date: Wed, 27 Jan 93 00:09 PST (132 lines)
From: Jack Kolb <IKW4GWI@MVS.OAC.UCLA.EDU>
Subject: Re: 6.0455 Text Qs: Angelou

(5) Date: Wed, 27 Jan 93 10:13:34 -0500 (13 lines)
From: gxs11@po.CWRU.Edu (Gary Stonum)
Subject: Re: Inauguaration poem

(1) --------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: Tue, 26 Jan 93 19:48:45 CST
From: Norman Hinton <hinton@eagle.sangamon.edu>
Subject: Re: 6.0455 Inauguration poem

The St. Louis Post-Dispatch pubished the entire text of Angelou's poem the
day after the inauguration, and I bet the NY Times did as well...of course,
you are denying royalties to the author when you use such sources for
classroom distribution !
(2) --------------------------------------------------------------23----
Date: Tue, 26 Jan 1993 17:59:39 -0800 (PST)
From: "Joseph B. Monda" <monda@seattleu.edu>
Subject: Re: 6.0455 Text Qs: Angelou; Estonian Bible; Macpherson (3/53)

Angelou's pem was printed in the New York Times January 21
Joe Monda
Seattle University



(3) --------------------------------------------------------------128---
Date: Tue, 26 Jan 93 21:59 PST
From: KESSLER <IME9JFK@UCLAMVS.BITNET>
Subject: Re: 6.0455 Text Qs: Angelou; Estonian Bible; Macpherson (3/53)

In the first place, the text of that "poem,: was printed in full in the
NY Times, as well as the LA Times. But it is a very bad piece of work,
and full of elementary errors of diction and thought; it is prose and
bad prose, not poetry, and if considered poetry, then it is a melange of
bad Whitman imitation conflated with third hand Sandburg, which is weak
stuff too. As thought and logic, it is really 5th rate derivation from
much better poets; as propaganda, it is silly, as text, it should not
be taught except for mawkish sentimentality and mushy sensibility.
M.A. is from Arkansaw, and that seems to have been sufficient reason to
have it happen. Pity. The word Inauguration should be spelled that
way, even in Georgia. Sorry, but I was terribly ashamed of the affair
myself. As one wag in Washington put the events of last week, it was
Shlock-around-the-Clock. As another put it, Elvis lives! Ah well, at
least we have astrophysics t o comfort us, as to standards of
civilization. Kessler/ at UCLA. Go ahead, protest. But, still, if
the term "sinking in verse" means anything, from the 18th century, that
was a good example of nonsense.

(4) --------------------------------------------------------------215---
Date: Wed, 27 Jan 93 00:09 PST
From: Jack Kolb <IKW4GWI@MVS.OAC.UCLA.EDU>
Subject: Re: 6.0455 Text Qs: Angelou; Estonian Bible; Macpherson (3/53)

Here's a copy (apparently correct) of Maya Angelou's poem which I picked up
off the GEnie system. Since it was downcopied (from Prodigy?), I suppose it's
in the public domain, but I wouldn't count on it.

Sub: MAYA ANGELOU'S INAUGURAL POEM

Here is the text of the inaugural poem written by Maya
Angelou delivered at Bill Clinton's swearing-in:

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.
I will give you no more hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.
Your mouths spilling words

Armed for slaughter.
The Rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.

Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more. Come,
Clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the stone were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your
Brow and when you yet knew you still
Knew nothing.
The River sings and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.

Today, the first and last of every Tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the River.
Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River.
Each of you, descendant of some passed
On traveller, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name, you
Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of
Other seekers--desperate for gain,

Starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot ...
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am the Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.
I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
I am yours--your Passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.

Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes, into
Your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.


(5) --------------------------------------------------------------25----
Date: Wed, 27 Jan 93 10:13:34 -0500
From: gxs11@po.CWRU.Edu (Gary Stonum)
Subject: Re: Inauguaration poem



Several slightly different versions of Maya Angelou's poem (and
discussion about which is right!) are available in the rec.arts.books
section of Usenet.

Gary Lee Stonum
English Department
Case Western Reserve University