and they might have gone on growing
and they might now breathe above
everything I speak of sowing
(everything I try to love).
L.M. Montgomery,
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Maya Angelou born Marguerite Annie Johnson; April 4, 1928 – May 28, 2014) was an American poet, memoirist, and civil rights activist. She published seven autobiographies, three books of essays, several books of poetry, and was credited with a list of plays, movies, and television shows spanning over 50 years. She received dozens of awards and more than 50 honorary degrees. Angelou is best known for her series of seven autobiographies, which focus on her childhood and early adult experiences. The first, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969), tells of her life up to the age of 17 and brought her international recognition and acclaim. (Read more)
Vincent Van Gogh
Schlage keinen Nagel in die Wand
Wirf den Rock auf den Stuhl.
Warum vorsorgen für vier Tage?
Du kehrst morgen zurück.
Lass den kleinen Baum ohne Wasser.
Wozu noch einen Baum pflanzen?
Bevor er so hoch wie eine Stufe ist
Gehst du fort von hier.
Zieh die Mütze ins Gesicht, wenn Leute vorbeigehn!
Wozu in fremden Grammatiken blättern?
Die Nachricht, die dich heimruft
Ist in bekannter Sprache geschrieben.
So wie der Kalk vom Gebälk blättert
(Tue nichts dagegen!)
Wird der Zaun der Gewalt zermorschen
Der an der Grenze aufgerichtet ist
Gegen die Gerechtigkeit.
Sieh den Nagel in der Wand, den du eingeschlagen hast:
Wann, glaubst du, wirst du zurückkehren?
Willst du wissen, was du im Innersten glaubst?
Tag um Tag
Arbeitest du an der Befreiung
Sitzend in der Kammer schreibst du.
Willst du wissen, was du von deiner Arbeit hältst?
Sieh den kleinen Kastanienbaum im Eck des Hofes
Zu dem du die Kanne voll Wasser schlepptest!
Don’t drive a nail into the wall,
Throw your coat on a chair!
Why bother about four days?
Tomorrow you’ll go back
Let the little tree go unwatered!
Why plant a tree at all?
Before it’s as high as a stair tread
You’ll be happily leaving this place.
Pull your cap over your eyes when you pass people!
Why turn the pages of a strange grammar?
The news that calls your home
Is written I a familiar language.
As the calcimine peels from the roofbeam
(do nothing to stop it)
So the fence of force will crumble
That has been reared up on the border
Against justice.
See the nail in the wall, the nail you hammered into it!
When do you think you’ll be going back?
Do you want to know what you really believe in your heart?
Day after day
You work for the liberation,
Sitting in your room writing.
Do you want to know what you really think of your work?
Look at the little chestnut tree in the corner of the courtyard
That you carry your canful of water to.
L
Nochrisis 