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A review by iambuko
And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou
dark
emotional
sad
fast-paced
4.0
A fast read? I'm not yet sure how to read poems (・–・;)ゞ Maybe I should have started with "poetry books for beginners" hehe.
Anyways, I feel like most of these poems are written in the literal sense, but I feel like I need to do read up on other people's interpretations to check if I were able to receive the message. I think to appreciate this book more, I need to learn more about the author and her environment when she wrote these poems.
Overall, I'm amazed how some of the short poems can paint a vivid story and evoke strong emotions. I feel like I want to read more poems in the future. ( ◜‿◝ )♡
An excerpt - a shocking and sad story captured in a few seconds of reading.
-To Beat the Child Was Bad Enough -
A young body, light
As winter sunshine, a new
Seed’s bursting promise,
Hung from a string of silence
Above its future.
(The chance of choice was never known.)
Hunger, new hands, strange voices,
Its cry came natural, tearing.
Water boiled in innocence, gaily
In a cheap pot.
The child exchanged its
Curiosity for terror.
The skin Withdrew, the flesh submitted.
Now, cries make shards
Of broken air, beyond an unremembered
Hunger and the peace of strange hands.
A young body floats. Silently.
--
Anyways, I feel like most of these poems are written in the literal sense, but I feel like I need to do read up on other people's interpretations to check if I were able to receive the message. I think to appreciate this book more, I need to learn more about the author and her environment when she wrote these poems.
Overall, I'm amazed how some of the short poems can paint a vivid story and evoke strong emotions. I feel like I want to read more poems in the future. ( ◜‿◝ )♡
An excerpt - a shocking and sad story captured in a few seconds of reading.
-To Beat the Child Was Bad Enough -
A young body, light
As winter sunshine, a new
Seed’s bursting promise,
Hung from a string of silence
Above its future.
(The chance of choice was never known.)
Hunger, new hands, strange voices,
Its cry came natural, tearing.
Water boiled in innocence, gaily
In a cheap pot.
The child exchanged its
Curiosity for terror.
The skin Withdrew, the flesh submitted.
Now, cries make shards
Of broken air, beyond an unremembered
Hunger and the peace of strange hands.
A young body floats. Silently.
--