{"product_id":"the-complete-poetry-isbn-9780812997873","title":"The Complete Poetry","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe beauty and spirit of Maya Angelou’s words live on in this complete collection of poetry\u003cb\u003e, including her inaugural poem “On the Pulse of Morning”\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThroughout her illustrious career in letters, Maya Angelou gifted, healed, and inspired the world with her words. Now the beauty and spirit of those words live on in this new and complete collection of poetry that reflects and honors the writer’s remarkable life.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Every poetic phrase, every poignant verse can be found within the pages of this sure-to-be-treasured volume—from her reflections on African American life and hardship in the compilation \u003ci\u003eJust Give Me a Cool Drink of Water ’fore I Diiie \u003c\/i\u003e(“Though there’s one thing that I cry for \/ I believe enough to die for \/ That is every man’s responsibility to man”) to her revolutionary celebrations of womanhood in the poem “Still I Rise”\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e(“Out of the huts of history’s shame \/ I rise \/ Up from a past that’s rooted in pain \/ I rise”) to her “On the Pulse of Morning”\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003etribute at President William Jefferson Clinton’s inauguration (“Lift up your eyes upon \/ The day breaking for you. \/ Give birth again \/ To the dream.”).\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eMaya Angelou: The Complete Poetry\u003c\/i\u003e also features her final long-form poems, including “A Brave and Startling Truth,” “Amazing Peace,” “His Day Is Done,” and the honest and endearing \u003ci\u003eMother:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I feared if I let you go\u003cbr\u003e You would leave me eternally.\u003cbr\u003e You smiled at my fears, saying\u003cbr\u003e I could not stay in your lap forever”\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis collection also includes the never-before-published poem “Amazement Awaits,” commissioned for the 2008 Olympic Games:\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “We are here at the portal of the world we had wished for\u003cbr\u003e At the lintel of the world we most need.\u003cbr\u003e We are here roaring and singing.\u003cbr\u003e We prove that we can not only make peace, we can bring it with us.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Timeless and prescient, this definitive compendium will warm the hearts of Maya Angelou’s most ardent admirers as it introduces new readers to the legendary poet, activist, and teacher—a phenomenal woman for the ages.\u003cb\u003eMaya Angelou\u003c\/b\u003e was raised in Stamps, Arkansas. In addition to her bestselling autobiographies, including \u003ci\u003eI Know Why the Caged Bird Sings\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Heart of a Woman\u003c\/i\u003e, she wrote numerous volumes of poetry, among them \u003ci\u003ePhenomenal Woman, And Still I Rise, On the Pulse of Morning,\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eMother\u003c\/i\u003e. Maya Angelou died in 2014.They Went Home\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e They went home and told their wives,\u003cbr\u003e                that never once in all their lives,\u003cbr\u003e                had they known a girl like me,\u003cbr\u003e But … They went home.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e They said my house was licking clean,\u003cbr\u003e                no word I spoke was ever mean,\u003cbr\u003e                I had an air of mystery,\u003cbr\u003e But … They went home.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e My praises were on all men’s lips,\u003cbr\u003e                they liked my smile, my wit, my hips,\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e they’d spend one night, or two or three.\u003cbr\u003e But …\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The Gamut\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Soft you day, be velvet soft,\u003cbr\u003e                My true love approaches,\u003cbr\u003e Look you bright, you dusty sun,\u003cbr\u003e                Array your golden coaches.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Soft you wind, be soft as silk,\u003cbr\u003e My true love is speaking.\u003cbr\u003e                Hold you birds, your silver throats,\u003cbr\u003e His golden voice I’m seeking.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Come you death, in haste, do come,\u003cbr\u003e                My shroud of black be weaving,\u003cbr\u003e Quiet my heart, be deathly quiet,\u003cbr\u003e                My true love is leaving.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e A Zorro Man\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Here\u003cbr\u003e in the wombed room\u003cbr\u003e silk purple drapes\u003cbr\u003e flash a light as subtle\u003cbr\u003e as your hands before\u003cbr\u003e love-making\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Here\u003cbr\u003e in the covered lens\u003cbr\u003e I catch a\u003cbr\u003e clitoral image of\u003cbr\u003e your general inhabitation\u003cbr\u003e long and like a\u003cbr\u003e late dawn in winter\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Here\u003cbr\u003e this clean mirror\u003cbr\u003e traps me unwilling\u003cbr\u003e in a gone time\u003cbr\u003e when I was love\u003cbr\u003e and you were booted and brave\u003cbr\u003e and trembling for me.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e To a Man\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e My man is\u003cbr\u003e Black Golden Amber\u003cbr\u003e Changing.\u003cbr\u003e Warm mouths of Brandy Fine\u003cbr\u003e Cautious sunlight on a patterned rug\u003cbr\u003e Coughing laughter, rocked on a whorl of French tobacco\u003cbr\u003e Graceful turns on woolen stilts\u003cbr\u003e Secretive?\u003cbr\u003e A cat’s eye.\u003cbr\u003e Southern. Plump and tender with navy-bean sullenness\u003cbr\u003e And did I say “Tender”?\u003cbr\u003e The gentleness\u003cbr\u003e A big cat stalks through stubborn bush\u003cbr\u003e And did I mention “Amber”?\u003cbr\u003e The heatless fire consuming itself.\u003cbr\u003e Again. Anew. Into ever neverlessness.\u003cbr\u003e My man is Amber\u003cbr\u003e Changing\u003cbr\u003e Always into itself\u003cbr\u003e New. Now New.\u003cbr\u003e Still itself.\u003cbr\u003e Still.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Late October\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Carefully\u003cbr\u003e the leaves of autumn\u003cbr\u003e sprinkle down the tinny\u003cbr\u003e sound of little dyings\u003cbr\u003e and skies sated\u003cbr\u003e of ruddy sunsets\u003cbr\u003e of roseate dawns\u003cbr\u003e roil ceaselessly in\u003cbr\u003e cobweb greys and turn\u003cbr\u003e to black\u003cbr\u003e for comfort.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Only lovers\u003cbr\u003e see the fall\u003cbr\u003e a signal end to endings\u003cbr\u003e a gruffish gesture alerting\u003cbr\u003e those who will not be alarmed\u003cbr\u003e that we begin to stop\u003cbr\u003e in order simply\u003cbr\u003e to begin\u003cbr\u003e again.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e No Loser, No Weeper\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “I hate to lose something,”\u003cbr\u003e                then she bent her head,\u003cbr\u003e “even a dime, I wish I was dead.\u003cbr\u003e I can’t explain it. No more to be said.\u003cbr\u003e ’Cept I hate to lose something.\u003cbr\u003e “I lost a doll once and cried for a week.\u003cbr\u003e She could open her eyes, and do all but speak.\u003cbr\u003e I believe she was took, by some doll-snatching sneak.\u003cbr\u003e I tell you, I hate to lose something.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A watch of mine once, got up and walked away.\u003cbr\u003e It had twelve numbers on it and for the time of day.\u003cbr\u003e I’ll never forget it and all I can say\u003cbr\u003e Is I really hate to lose something.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Now if I felt that way ’bout a watch and a toy,\u003cbr\u003e What you think I feel ’bout my lover-boy?\u003cbr\u003e I ain’t threatening you, madam, but he is my evening’s joy.\u003cbr\u003e And I mean I really hate to lose something.”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e When You Come to Me\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e                When you come to me, unbidden,\u003cbr\u003e Beckoning me\u003cbr\u003e                To long-ago rooms,\u003cbr\u003e Where memories lie.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  Offering me, as to a child, an attic,\u003cbr\u003e Gatherings of days too few,\u003cbr\u003e                Baubles of stolen kisses,\u003cbr\u003e Trinkets of borrowed loves,\u003cbr\u003e                Trunks of secret words,\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  I CRY.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Remembering\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Soft grey ghosts crawl up my sleeve\u003cbr\u003e to peer into my eyes\u003cbr\u003e while I within deny their threats\u003cbr\u003e and answer them with lies.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Mushlike memories perform\u003cbr\u003e a ritual on my lips\u003cbr\u003e I lie in stolid hopelessness\u003cbr\u003e and they lay my soul in strips.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e In a Time\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e In a time of secret wooing\u003cbr\u003e Today prepares tomorrow’s ruin\u003cbr\u003e Left knows not what right is doing\u003cbr\u003e My heart is torn asunder.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e In a time of furtive sighs\u003cbr\u003e Sweet hellos and sad goodbyes\u003cbr\u003e Half-truths told and entire lies\u003cbr\u003e My conscience echoes thunder.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e In a time when kingdoms come\u003cbr\u003e Joy is brief as summer’s fun\u003cbr\u003e Happiness its race has run\u003cbr\u003e Then pain stalks in to plunder.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Tears\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Tears\u003cbr\u003e The crystal rags\u003cbr\u003e Viscous tatters\u003cbr\u003e of a worn-through soul.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Moans\u003cbr\u003e Deep swan song\u003cbr\u003e Blue farewell\u003cbr\u003e of a dying dream.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The Detached\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e We die,\u003cbr\u003e Welcoming Bluebeards to our darkening closets,\u003cbr\u003e Stranglers to our outstretched necks,\u003cbr\u003e                          Stranglers, who neither care nor\u003cbr\u003e                          care to know that\u003cbr\u003e                          DEATH IS INTERNAL.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e We pray,\u003cbr\u003e Savoring sweet the teethed lies,\u003cbr\u003e Bellying the grounds before alien gods,\u003cbr\u003e                          Gods, who neither know nor\u003cbr\u003e                          wish to know that\u003cbr\u003e                          HELL IS INTERNAL.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e We love,\u003cbr\u003e Rubbing the nakednesses with gloved hands,\u003cbr\u003e Inverting our mouths in tongued kisses,\u003cbr\u003e                          Kisses that neither touch nor\u003cbr\u003e                          care to touch if\u003cbr\u003e                          LOVE IS INTERNAL.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e To a Husband\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Your voice at times a fist\u003cbr\u003e                Tight in your throat\u003cbr\u003e Jabs ceaselessly at phantoms\u003cbr\u003e                In the room,\u003cbr\u003e Your hand a carved and\u003cbr\u003e                Skimming boat\u003cbr\u003e Goes down the Nile\u003cbr\u003e                To point out Pharaoh’s tomb.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e You’re Africa to me\u003cbr\u003e                At brightest dawn.\u003cbr\u003e The Congo’s green and\u003cbr\u003e                Copper’s brackish hue,\u003cbr\u003e A continent to build\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e With Black Man’s brawn.\u003cbr\u003e I sit at home and see it all\u003cbr\u003e                Through you.","brand":"Random House","offers":[{"title":"Default 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