Welcome to Book Readers Heaven! Find Books, Reviews, Short Stories, Authors, Publicity, a little poetry, music to complement...and other stuff including politics, about life... "Books, Cats: Life is Sweet..."
This is a true story of God using others to confirm my (or your) thoughts... I hope you will take the time to listen to the entire video by Maya Angelou who will be sharing God's Wisdom to you... For me, it was a confirmation of something I had been thinking about for the last week or so. Specifically, did I really want to read and talk about the book commonly known as Project 2025? (Announced on May 21st)
One of my goals has been to provide information that may not be easily available; however, after announcing that I was going to share and talk about this book, and, in fact, selectd the first chapter, Department of Justice, that I wanted to spotlight--and frankly, was having a hard time getting it sized large enough to allow easy reading, I was also skimming some of the words... And saw how it had been written... I was thinking that it would be like a dissertation--you know, a long essay written on each department... It was not...
I realized that if I even began to talk about what I had read, I would be responding to what had been written. I became concerned... in essence, justifying my own opinions... Did I really want to do that? After all, we were all seeing the reality of these "Executive Orders" that were being routinely developed, signed, and put in to action... And the subsequent millions of people protesting... and being hurt by firing, hunger, confusion of university students, and more...
So, this morning, I remembered an old silly cheerleading phrase from highschool, that was so catchy that I remembered it and have used it just for fun...
Regurgitate, Regurgitate,
Throw up all the food you eat
F I G H T!
Actually, I had felt queasy just thinking about reading the recommendations that supposedly became mandates for our president... So you can see why I thought of the little song...LOL In other words, I had no stomach (pun) for reading this book when I'd seen in the first 100 days what had been done to respond to that supposed mandate...
I had already written the first part of the heading on this post... and then adding after I listened to Maya, "Choosing to Keep My Response Silence..." Yes, I believe that today, when I went out to see if an old cheerleading skit was on a video, LOL, instead I saw Maya's message to keep my mouth shut... Isn't this so cool?! God knew that I would get all wound up in a quandry trying to speak against such things as ignoring the rule of law... I just couldn't do it...
And, now I know that God did not want me talking!
That there were some big things that only He could handle...
Oh, I know that I'll continue on a smaller level to speak out, but fighting against those rich guys who think they know what is best for our country and are forcing it down our throats so badly that we "might" throw up, was not to be my fight alone... it's being handled by...
Many times, I get upset, confused by all that is happening, but then God sends a wiser woman to tell me to keep my mouth shut this time... WOW!
How Cool Is That!
So, if you want to read that book which I now know will make your stomach queasy and worried, and, therefore, God told me, "I Got This One..." I want to have no part in sharing those words... you can still download it yourself, but I just refuse to make you sick at your stomach... And now I know I don't need to.
God Bless America!
This wonderful singer became my hero when he spoke out!
I love this in the minor key
Now that's what I call finding a way to share YOUR story!
We all have a chance to speak out, Me,
I Speak Jesus
You can Too
We all have a part in God's Plan!
ALL OF US! Including All Readers from other Lands!
Listen
Softenly and Tenderly
Jesus is Calling
Come Home...
Gabby
You know, God really does have a sense of humor
Hope you enjoy this very true tale... with a little jollification...
The corners of Hem’s mouth dipped down as he turned to Jane. “Do all the guests write love poetry?”
“No. They write all kinds of poems. A few are working on novels written entirely in verse, some are songwriters, and others write free-verse poems about everything and anything. Most of them are interested in writing short poems for greeting cards.” She smiled at her sons. “You might not know it, but you’ve created poetry. Think of how many verses you’ve come up with about Broken Arm Bend. And that jingle you’re working on for your jam business? That rhymes too. Songwriting is a close cousin to poetry.”
“Maybe that’s why I like hip-hop. Remember that song I played for you the last time we slept over?” Fitz directed his question at Aunt Octavia. To Jane’s utter astonishment, Aunt Octavia replied, “The one from A Tribe Called Quest? I most certainly do. Such clever wordplay.”
“Was I there?” asked Uncle Aloysius. “I don’t remember.” Seeing his confused expression, Aunt Octavia patted his hand and told him that he’d probably been in his study. “I ran into two of the poets in the garden. We had a nice chat about nature and Whitman. I showed them one of his poems and told them we’d named our spa after him. We spoke all the way—” After a pause, he said, “I don’t remember where I was headed, but it doesn’t matter.”
Jane and Aunt Octavia exchanged worried glances. Uncle Aloysius had been more forgetful as of late. He’d even gone fishing without his beloved hat. Her uncle was never without his fishing hat, much to Aunt Octavia’s consternation, and when Jane drove down to the lake to return it to him, he touched the top of his head, clearly confounded to find that he wasn’t already wearing it.
After the poets are gone, I should talk to Aunt Octavia about this. Doc Lydgate could pop over—just to be sure Uncle Aloysius is okay. Hem gulped down the rest of his cider and swiped his napkin across his mouth. “Can we go back to the kitchens? Mrs. Hubbard needs more cucumbers for the dinner service.” As soon as Jane excused the twins, they leapt from the terrace with the nimbleness of two jungle cats and trotted down the path leading to the kitchens.
Once they were out of sight, she turned back to Aunt Octavia and said, “I have news.” “Oh?” “Tobias was working the deli counter at the Pickled Pig this morning,” Jane said, referring to the village grocery store. “I’ve never seen a man slice salami with such gusto, but he has every reason to be happy.”
Aunt Octavia leaned forward in her chair. “Does this have anything to do with his children’s book?”
“In a way. His book launch is scheduled for the second Friday in September, but it doesn’t look like he’ll be able to have it at Run for Cover.”
“Why ever not? What better place for a book launch than a bookstore?” Jane grinned. “Because people have been calling Eloise for days, asking to buy tickets for the event.”
“I didn’t realize we needed a ticket to attend Mr. Hogg’s book launch. Such things should be free to the public. We wouldn’t want to discourage future readers,” Aunt Octavia grumbled. “Neither does Eloise. She’d never dream of selling tickets, but apparently, Tobias has become a legitimate celebrity. No, not Tobias. Pig Newton is the celebrity. Hundreds of thousands of people follow him on social media. And now, thanks to the publicity, The Near-Sighted Pig has had so many preorders that it’s already hit several bestseller lists.
“I wonder if he’ll retire from the grocery business,” Aunt Octavia mused.
“You can ask him at his book launch, seeing as it’ll be taking place in Shakespeare’s Theater. The Storyton Players are going to perform a puppet show, Mrs. Hubbard will whip up a few hundred pig cookies, and Eloise will handle the book sales.” Aunt Octavia glanced around. “I love it when we host creative types. At the moment, Storyton Hall is full of poets. I see them scribbling away in the reading rooms and the Henry James Library. I see them in the Anne of Green Gables Gazebo, the dining rooms, and the lobby. I don’t think we’ve ever had such an industrious group of guests before. I can practically feel their energy. It’s electric!...
~~~
Wow! When needing to escape from political game playing, here's the perfect book for you to choose! Murder on the Poet's Walk is a stroll into Storyton, a fictional town where you can visit or stay in Storyton Hall where everything is named after some tale from literature! And where even the food is created to complement the theme! I loved it all, especially since it is also a cozy mystery where the guardian of the Hall is the amateur detective, along with most of her senior staff! And has the blessing of the local police in helping to solve crimes, especially when they happen to occur in the vicinity of Storyton and its surroundings! Even the town business owners use book or poetry-related names! I love it, not only because of the theme delight, but because it included a mystery where I had guessed not even one right clue about whodunit!
Scheduled at the Hall was a contest for poets, the prize would be the chance to create poetry for a new card company for all daily possibilities, called Current Mood Card Company. The selected individual would have to be able to create poetry for any given event or circumstance and provide complementary art work...
Many of the writers came for the fun of entering a contest; however, there were a number of those who were seriously looking to get the job...It wasn't surprising that a number of students who were majoring in literature would be interested. But it was surprising that one of those students was found dead!
Gretchen had been a recluse and hadn't participated much in all of the added fun events. Still when she was found sitting in a boat in the nearby lake, it was not only shocking for a visitor to die during a conference, but it was clear that she had purposely been posed... And that the pose clearly represented a historical poetry character. The Lady of Shalott...
I decided to use both the speaking and musical rendition of the poem... I loved the music, but the words were more clearly shared in the speaking... Hope you enjoy them both, as I did!
During the investigation, readers have the opportunity to explore not only the many rooms and grounds available, but even to discover that there were secret passages within the Hall. Each of the characters from town add a definite charm to the story as they are so supportive of Jane, the Inn Guardian as well as their book club leader. Sigh, I wish there was a book club somewhere near me!
Part of the immediate family is Jane's aunt and uncle, who were the preceding guardians, as well as several men who both handle routine jobs such as a librarian as well as extra security... So, why is extra security needed?
Shhhh, don't tell anybody, but the Hall is a secret depository for many ancient books, manuscripts and more and are guarded at all times. Some of these have begun to be sold, but there still remain things like early drafts of poetry by famous Americans... Readers get to sit in with a book club meeting where each of the members chose a favorite poem to share... Here's a couple of those selections!
And while they were discussing their poems and books to be considered for the future, and began to leave, Jane immediately started to help clean up, and spied a loose piece of paper, with writing...and a sketch of a Victorian funeral hearse.
Below the image were a few lines of poetry.
There is a silence where no sound may be,
In the cold grave—under the deep deep sea.
And on the back
Tell no one, or I’ll silence you forever.
Dread filled Jane--not again she thought... For this wasn't the first time that somebody had been found dead at the Hall. Indeed they even had a code to announce it to staff. And when she showed it to a staff member, quickly learned that the lines were from a poem called "Silence" by Thomas Hood. Surely it had been accidentally dropped in the lobby...but was it dropped from who received it, or who had written it--because it clearly was a threat! And they stood there reciting the words about Lady Shalott...
And the Sheriff hadn't even arrived yet!
Gretchen West was a medical librarian and as they began to gather personal information about her, they learned that she might have been considered as the top contender for the prize--the job... So naturally, they started looking toward the poetry submissions from the remainder of the contestants and learned that there were two other students who had been in class together were also attending... And while the poets were writing, another body was found, this time floating in a construction ditch that had filled from the heavy rain. But flowers had been tossed around the body that was facing down... Ophelia? Could it be?
On the calm black water where the stars are sleeping White Ophelia floats like a great lily; Floats very slowly, lying in her long veils… - In the far-off woods you can hear them sound the mort.
For more than a thousand years sad Ophelia Has passed, a white phantom, down the long black river. For more than a thousand years her sweet madness Has murmured its ballad to the evening breeze.
The wind kisses her breasts and unfolds in a wreath Her great veils rising and falling with the waters; The shivering willows weep on her shoulder, The rushes lean over her wide, dreaming brow.
The ruffled water-lilies are sighing around her ; At times she rouses, in a slumbering alder, Some nest from which escapes a small rustle of wings; - A mysterious anthem falls from the golden stars.
II
O pale Ophelia! beautiful as snow! Yes child, you died, carried off by a river! - It was the winds descending from the great mountains of Norway That spoke to you in low voices of better freedom.
It was a breath of wind, that, twisting your great hair, Brought strange rumors to your dreaming mind; It was your heart listening to the song of Nature In the groans of the tree and the sighs of the nights;
It was the voice of mad seas, the great roar, That shattered your child's heart, too human and too soft; It was a handsome pale knight, a poor madman Who one April morning sate mute at your knees!
Heaven! Love! Freedom! What a dream, oh poor crazed Girl! You melted to him as snow does to a fire; Your great visions strangled your words - And fearful Infinity terrified your blue eye!
III
- And the poet says that by starlight You come seeking, in the night, the flowers that you picked And that he has seen on the water, lying in her long veils White Ophelia floating, like a great lily.
~~~
And it was only by an accidental confrontation by Jane that the identity of the killer was finally exposed!
Obviously, there are many to be interviewed, with an entire group of poets vying for the same prize, but the staging didn't seem to be a part of a run against another for envy or jealousy... Surely, something special had been planned...but...Why?
Well, this book is part of a series. I now have the entire series because of just how fantastic this writer has made it for we who are avid readers. She knows what we want to have happen and goes about creating the atmosphere of tension, confusion, and frustration that keeps us guessing, but with no real ability to even hazard close guesses... My kind of book of course! OK, there is a cat on the cover and even appears in the book...but was so minor I wouldn't have mentioned it, if the black cat had not been on the cover...which, I admit was the reason I took a second look...LOL But, my love of all things books was the key for this wholehearted recommendation!
And when you see something on the next book, you can bet I needed to get away from seeing so many lies in political ads on TV and just needed to fall deep into an excellent mystery! Or I could wait until after election and binge on the entire series, which sounds like FUN! So, check it out--be prepared!
In the book Speak, by Laurie Halse Anderson, Maya Angelou was mentioned quite a number of times by the main character. She had been given a picture that was just taken down from the school library--because this wonderful author was no longer welcome there. Melinda thinks the school board must be scared of Angelou--why else would her books no longer be available in the library...nor her picture, that even has some beautiful words, and not be able to be viewed by students...???
Melinda hangs her new picture in an old closet that seems not to be used by anybody, and she starts scrubbing, bringing in a blanket, and, talking to Maya, telling her that she might bring some books in to read while she's there, thinking that, maybe, she would find some peace in the midst of the day, especially when she could no longer stand having everybody stare at her or shun her... Or, worse, expect her to talk to them! She had vowed she would not speak after IT had happened... It was easier to just hide away from anybody...
In her book The Heart of a Woman, Maya Angelou wrote, “If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally transform one million realities.”
“Life is going to give you just what you put in it. Put your whole heart in everything you do, and pray, then you can wait.”
posted 8-21-22 in celebration of her life
and had even referenced her works from time to time, but when the author of Speak spoke about the solitary fantasy, I could not help but think about how a young 13-year-old girl who had just been raped would find herself finding comfort in fantasy, as opposed to her reality, for surely she was in solitary, even if self-imposed, upon facing the new reality of her no longer being a virgin--and NOT by her own decision... I knew Maya would understand...
It didn't take me long to decide that I, too, wanted to spend some time with Angelou, and a memoir could be exactly what I wanted to read... I'm very glad I did! Indeed, she is a woman to be reckoned with and a possible role model for many girls and women around the world... if she were allowed to be...
Maya Angelou would be one of those writers who would be banned by white nationalists, simply because of her race... For those us who have read some of her words, we cannot help but learn from her--of pain, of love, of life... She has so much to tell... to all people, no matter what color you are! Thus, when she is confronted by those she has just met that they seemed to be talking about whites so much, she thought to herself:
In the ensuing years in California the jokes came scarcer and the jobs grew meaner. Anger was always present whenever the subject of whites entered our conversations. We discussed the treatment of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., the murder of Emmett Till in Mississippi, the large humiliations and the petty snubs we all knew were meant to maim our spirits. I had heard white folks ridiculed, cursed and envied, but I had never heard them dominate the entire intimate conversation of a black family.
In the Killenses’ home, if entertainment was mentioned, someone would point out that Harry Belafonte, a close family friend, was working with a South African singer, Miriam Makeba, and South Africa was really no different from South Philly. If the West Indies or religion or fashion entered the conversation, in minutes we were persistently examining the nature of racial oppression, racial progress and racial integration. I fretted at the unrelenting diatribe, not because I disagreed but because I didn’t think whites interesting enough to consume all my thoughts, nor powerful enough to control all my movements...
You know, folks, over the years I've lived, I've had many occasions to talk to, see, and watch those who are Black. I remember a personal experience that made me realize that I may be different from other white people--maybe--you'll have to decide for yourself. Many, many years ago, I was attending a basketball game on campus. I sat with an acquaintance at that time--I must admit after the experience, I chose not to become more involved with her, although I had many opportunities.
Working on campus, I looked around to see who I knew, picking out both men and women, of different races, with whom I'd had contact. One of the men turned just as I was looking at him and waved to me--I returned the greeting with a warm smile. The woman sitting beside me asked if I knew him and I said, yes, he was a professor on campus. She then began a discussion about interacting with men of a different race. As usual, I was honest and open, at least at first when I am with somebody and responded that, yes, I thought he was attractive (which he was). Somehow she got around to dating and a relationship. All I can remember was that, I responded, that, for me, I would first think about any children from such a relationship. At that time, mixed races was "frowned upon," to be polite, and I said that I wouldn't want to have children have to face such prejudice...
Well, before the month was over thereafter, I had a favorite aunt ask me if I was dating Black men. I said no, of course, since I wasn't dating anybody in those days. LOL... I asked why she was asking and she told me that she'd been told that I was or would be willing to date men of a different race...and then shared who had told her--of course, it was the woman with whom I had briefly chatted at the game... Well, I learned, that day, that I could not trust that acquaintance--who would remain merely an acquaintance...
However, since I was on campus, I would watch as Blacks would congregate in a far corner of the student union, so of course wondered about "separation..." Yet, I worked with both Black men and women and, indeed, had a good friend in high school, as well as had become friends with those with whom I worked.
One thing I saw was that Black people support each other more than, in my opinion, white people. As I grew older, I can recall one writer with whom I worked that, when I needed personal help, it was to him I turned, asking for prayer. At that time, I thought he would say, of course, I will... like all those white people who quickly write, sending prayers...and then go on to another post to comment. But this Black elder, stopped right there, and, online, he started to write/pray for me! His words were appropriate to the situation, his words were sincere in expressing concern for me...and I knew He was a man of God because he spoke to God like he was on a first name basis...* Anyway, over time, I have felt that people of the Black race, are far more family-oriented than most white people I knew... And I realized that, perhaps, it was because of how white people have traditionally treated those of the Black race... It must be much
harder, I think, to be a Black parent, knowing that, even in today's world, that they must teach their child(ren) about prejudice, bias, and potential violence against them just because of their race... I have come to respect the Black race, just because of all of those I have met that, indeed, deserved to be respected...
As a young single mother, Maya traveled often, each time, her son would, sometimes, unwillingly quickly prepare to go somewhere and start over, for a short time. From her words, he seems to have been a very special boy (who died at the age of 77, as also an author and poet.) and was there for her during those years when she strived to be able to make enough money to provide for shelter and food. And sometimes, those friends had to remind her of what was really happening in America:
“Girl, don’t you believe it. Georgia is Down South. California is Up South. If you’re black in this country, you’re on a plantation. You have to deal with masters. There might be some argument over whether they are vicious masters, but be assured that they all think they are masters … And if they think that, then you’d better believe they think you are the slave. Maybe a smart slave, a pretty slave, a good slave, but a slave just the same.”
Even though this book and her others was written some time ago, you can and will find her words just about anywhere that shares about just how important one single person can become in America... So much so that I find, that it is more important to me to, now, celebrate her life, and share that she died at the age of 86, and just how sad, yet, defiant, she would be as today many white nationalists are striving to erase her and so many others from our history... I say to you, who claim to be Christian, that what you are doing by trying to erase the Black Culture, will NOT succeed! We will celebrate those words that have been shared and are still being shared even after her death on places like Facebook, because we want to remember her face, her words...and her gigantic love of life! And so much wisdom that there is NO way it can be stifled!
“I do not trust people who don't love themselves and yet tell me, 'I love you.' There is an African saying which is: Be careful when a naked person offers you a shirt.”
“You can only become truly accomplished at something you love. Don’t make money your goal. Instead pursue the things you love doing and then do them so well that people can’t take their eyes off of you.”
Be sure that you always share wise words and not stifle those just because somebody else hates! God loves ALL He created!
Right Now! Celebrate The Words of Maya Angelou!
MAY EACH WHO READS THIS RISE UP AGAINST HATE AND SHARE WORDS OF WISDOM AND OF GOD'S LOVE!
*By the way, I feel the same way about Joe Biden. I "know" he is a good man of God, because he speaks like one...his words come naturally to his tongue, and his acts toward all men and women are truly there to be seen as he continues to strive to help
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.
Poem by Maya Angelou
Maya Angelou, born Marguerite Annie Johnson, was an Pulitzer Prize-winning African American poet. She was born in St. Louis, Missouri, on April 8 1928 and died in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, on May 28, 2014. Angelou was also a dancer, an actress and a singer.
Her most prominent works include I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, which documents her childhood, and The Heart of a Woman. She won multiple awards and honorary degrees throughout her life. She was awarded the Quill Award for Poetry in 2006 for the poem'Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem'. Angelou was given the Presidential Medal of Freedom - the highest civilian award in the United States - three years before her death. She won the NAACP Award for Outstanding Literary Work(Poetry) in 2007 as well as the BET Honors Award for Literary Arts in 2012.
Angelou was educated at the San Francisco Labor School, where she won a scholarship to study dance and drama, but left at the age of 14 to become a cable car conductor - she was the first African-American woman to do the job.
She gave birth when she was just 16 years old to her only child, Guy. To make money, she worked as a prostitute - something she wrote about in her work. In the 1950's, she worked as a professional dancer in San Francisco where she was convinced to use the stage name "Maya Angelou". After this, she worked at the Arab Observer in Egypt - where she was the sole female worker - before spending time teaching and writing in Ghana.
While her career is mostly remembered for her various writings, Angelou also spent time working as an actress, a film-maker and a producer. She starred in 'Roots' in 1977 and had a part in 'The Richard Pryor Special?'. In 1998 she directed Down in the Delta, a film starring Alfre Woodard and Al Freeman, Jr.
At the 1993 Presidential Inauguration, Angelou recited a poem from her And Still I Rise volume. She was the first African-American woman to perform at an inauguration.
Angelou is hailed as one of the most significant authors of her time, and is seen as a torch-bearer for African-American women. She received worldwide acclaim upon publishing I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings in 1969 - a volume where she discusses how she is kept from freedom. However, her work has also been criticized for being controversial - for raising issues such as pornography - and some have even been removed from libraries.
Angelou was well-known for her civil rights activism and worked with both Malcolm X - who she first met in Ghana - and Martin Luther King. She aided X in building the Organization of Afro-American Unity until he was assassinated in 1964. King was killed four years later on her 40th birthday. Despite their deaths, Angelou continued to work in civil rights.The freedom with which Angelou wrote owes a lot to her legacy. She was considered influential for freely writing about her personal experiences - her seven autobiographiesopenly documented her life. Before her works, black women were often marginalized and unable to properly showcase their lives. Angelou's story of succeeding from poverty and struggle has left her revered both in her field and in society as a whole.
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