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4.24 AVERAGE
4.24 AVERAGE
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
fast-paced
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
sad
fast-paced
Beautiful work. The first Maya Angelou work I’ve had the courage to approach since becoming an adult (I’m 26!) because I had not come to terms with my sexual shame when I read one of her poems as a middle schooler, and I felt I would never be able to read her work without wincing at my own pain. But this collection eased my pain, it did not deepen it.
challenging
emotional
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
emotional
inspiring
reflective
fast-paced
challenging
emotional
reflective
sad
Rating Angelou below a 5-star feels wrong—and, to say it again, all ratings are subjective to a large degree. I am not a poetic scholar, and Angelou's contribution to the 20th century canon can't be overstated. However, I think she shines best as a prose writer, not as a poet.
As a collection, I Shall Not Be Moved features three broad categories of poems: the folk song, the abstract symbol, and the almost-punny clever soundbyte. Of these, I personally dislike the third category in general: in 2024, poems like this feel like tweets (that aren't very memorable). I think Angelou is strongest when she writes in a cadence that feels like a folktale (or song) and when she writes in mythic abstraction.
The collection opens strong with "Worker's Song," a piece about the futility of a black man's labor in a world he built with his sweat but does not (is not permitted to) profit from. Her meter wavers between a few different rhythms, but, overall, it's a powerful start. Another folk-esque piece, "Coleridge Jackson," is a haunting success, telling one man's tale (Coleridge) in a way that makes it clear this is many men's tale. I think the titular work, "Our Grandmothers," also falls into this folk category, although to a less successful degree. The best part of "Our Grandmothers" is the first half, where Angelou keeps us at a murky (yet detailed) distance while we watch an enslaved woman repeat, over and over, "I shall not be moved." As we drift down the genealogy, Angelou begins to break her meter and starts inserting phrases and images that feel stale.
This is an overall weakness of the collection: Angelou too often says the obvious, and she doesn't leave much to the perception of her reader. Obvious poems instantly feel like cheap poems, whether or not they deserve to be read as such. This isn't helped by her tendency to adopt and abandon rhyme, often in the same poem. Rhyme already turns off modern audiences, but when it's done well (and paired with consistent meter), it can still feel alive and purposeful. When rhyme and meter are inconsistent, it instantly gives the impression of an unintentional, unthoughtful work.
In addition to the folk songs, other pieces in the collection work because they maintain a visceral abstractness. In "Known to Eve and Me," Angelou gives us some gorgeous lines that feel both mythic and specific:
"His tan and golden self,
coiled in a threadbare carapace,
beckoned to my sympathy."
She ends "Is Love," an otherwise too-pithy and too-obvious piece, in a similarly gorgeous way:
"Why do we journey, muttering
like rumors among the stars?"
There are these kinds of shining moments scattered throughout I Shall Not Be Moved, and, ultimately, I am grateful to have encountered them. I'm going to seek out more of Angelou, although it will likely be her prose. I hope I can continue to learn from her and be changed. As Angelou ends the collection with the final lines of "Alley, Baldwin, Floyd, Killens, and Mayfield," I believe the same words can now be said about her and her legacy:
"They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed."
As a collection, I Shall Not Be Moved features three broad categories of poems: the folk song, the abstract symbol, and the almost-punny clever soundbyte. Of these, I personally dislike the third category in general: in 2024, poems like this feel like tweets (that aren't very memorable). I think Angelou is strongest when she writes in a cadence that feels like a folktale (or song) and when she writes in mythic abstraction.
The collection opens strong with "Worker's Song," a piece about the futility of a black man's labor in a world he built with his sweat but does not (is not permitted to) profit from. Her meter wavers between a few different rhythms, but, overall, it's a powerful start. Another folk-esque piece, "Coleridge Jackson," is a haunting success, telling one man's tale (Coleridge) in a way that makes it clear this is many men's tale. I think the titular work, "Our Grandmothers," also falls into this folk category, although to a less successful degree. The best part of "Our Grandmothers" is the first half, where Angelou keeps us at a murky (yet detailed) distance while we watch an enslaved woman repeat, over and over, "I shall not be moved." As we drift down the genealogy, Angelou begins to break her meter and starts inserting phrases and images that feel stale.
This is an overall weakness of the collection: Angelou too often says the obvious, and she doesn't leave much to the perception of her reader. Obvious poems instantly feel like cheap poems, whether or not they deserve to be read as such. This isn't helped by her tendency to adopt and abandon rhyme, often in the same poem. Rhyme already turns off modern audiences, but when it's done well (and paired with consistent meter), it can still feel alive and purposeful. When rhyme and meter are inconsistent, it instantly gives the impression of an unintentional, unthoughtful work.
In addition to the folk songs, other pieces in the collection work because they maintain a visceral abstractness. In "Known to Eve and Me," Angelou gives us some gorgeous lines that feel both mythic and specific:
"His tan and golden self,
coiled in a threadbare carapace,
beckoned to my sympathy."
She ends "Is Love," an otherwise too-pithy and too-obvious piece, in a similarly gorgeous way:
"Why do we journey, muttering
like rumors among the stars?"
There are these kinds of shining moments scattered throughout I Shall Not Be Moved, and, ultimately, I am grateful to have encountered them. I'm going to seek out more of Angelou, although it will likely be her prose. I hope I can continue to learn from her and be changed. As Angelou ends the collection with the final lines of "Alley, Baldwin, Floyd, Killens, and Mayfield," I believe the same words can now be said about her and her legacy:
"They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed."
dark
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
fast-paced