I wanted to read something by an African-American author for Black History month and what is readily available here (in genres that don’t make me want to run screaming) were three mystery authors, including Al Roker and Blair Underwood, neither of which write things I enjoy. Then it occurred to me, I hadn’t reread Maya Angelou in ages so I grabbed this book of the shelf.
The book I divided into several parts but in my eyes, it’s really two parts: the struggles and pain of relationship and loneliness and racial inequality. It’s worth nothing that this was written in the early 1970’s.
While I haven’t the right background (or age bracket) to truly relate to the racism issues, I think anyone who finds the idea abhorrent will find something in these poems that speaks to them. There are a few about Africa itself that are particularly poignant.
I can easily relate to the troubles with relationships and loneliness. There are several poems in that vein that can leave you aching.
Ms Angelou has long been considered a master of her field and rightfully so. Any of her poetry books are worth picking up. The title of this one alone is worth it.
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