I shall not be moved

Review by Booklist Review

"Big ships shudder / down to the sea / because of me / Railroads run / on a twinnness track / 'cause of my back." In Angelou's exquisitely simple worksong, both wit and longing seem to be rooted in physical action. Like Paul Robeson's singing, like Langston Hughes' "Florida Road Workers," rhythm and sense are one. The other poems in this collection don't come up to "Worker's Song"--some are too polemical--but in the best of them, the sensuous detail livens the abstraction ("Old folks / allow their bellies to jiggle like slow / tamborines . . . / When old folks laugh, they free the world"). There's no false sentiment ("Preacher, don't send me / when I die / to some big ghetto in the sky"); Angelou's paradise has no "grits and tripe"; but "the music is jazz / and the season is fall." The dying fall of many lines combined with the strong beat reinforces the feeling of struggle and uncertainty: "Why do we journey, muttering / like rumors among the stars?" --Hazel Rochman

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Angelou's poems embrace opposite poles: the laughter of old folks who ``generously forgive life for happening to them,'' and the ``helpless hope'' on the faces of starving children. Though she can be directly political, as in a stinging letter to ``These Yet to Be United States,'' more often, a political dimension emerges naturally from ordinary lives observed with keen irony (``Even minimal people can't survive on minimal wage''). Angelou's themes include loss of love and youth, human oneness in diversity, the strength of blacks in the face of racism and adversity. The book's title is also the refrain of ``Our Grandmothers,'' a moving history poem about the struggles of black women. Some of these lyrics are free-form, while others use conventional rhyme and meter to good effect. Angelou ( I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings ) writes with poise and grace. Author tour. (May) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

Angelou speaks eloquently of black life, unfolding a significant history in poems that are highly controlled and yet powerful: ``She lay, skin down on the moist dirt,/ the canebrake rustling/ with the whispers of leaves, and/ loud longing of hounds and/ the ransack of hunters crackling the near branches.'' Here, the language is precise and filled with imagery. Like Gwendolyn Brooks, Angelou's poems are sparsely written while still revealing painful truths to the reader: ``She stands/ before the abortion clinic,/ confounded by the lack of choices./ In the Welfare line,/ reduced to the pity of handouts.'' An important new collection from one of the most distinctive writers at work today.-- Lenard D. Moore, Writer-in-Residence, Wake Cty. Arts Council, N . C . (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by School Library Journal Review

Angelou's fifth book of poetry conveys the complexity, richness, exuberance, and tragedy of the black experience in language that is personal, pithy, and immediate. ``I shall not be moved'' is the haunting refrain from the poem ``Our Grandmothers, '' a pledge of moral courage referring to the most heartfelt stand from which one will not budge. It is a majestic poem about the immense pain of history and the moral stamina needed to remain true to oneself. In other poems, Angelou's style varies from the lighthearted fun of ``Seven Women's Blessed Assurance,'' to the clever wordplay of ``Man Bigot,'' to the inspiring pathos of ``Ailey, Baldwin, Floyd, and Killens.'' Funny, reflective, illuminating, and honest, the poems in this slim volume possess the drama of the storyteller and the imagery and soul of the poet. --Jacqueline Gropman, Fairfax County Public Library, VA (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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WORKER'S SONG   Big ships shudder down to the sea    because of me Railroads run on a twinness track     'cause of my back     Whoppa, Whoppa     Whoppa, Whoppa   Cars stretch to a super length     'cause of my strength Planes fly high over seas and lands      'cause of my hands      Whoppa, Whoppa      Whoppa, Whoppa   I wake start the factory humming I work late keep the whole world running and I got something ... something coming ... coming....      Whoppa      Whoppa      Whoppa   HUMAN FAMILY   I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy.   Some declare their lives are lived as true profundity, and others claim they really live the real reality.   The variety of our skin tones can confuse, bemuse, delight, brown and pink and beige and purple, tan and blue and white.   I've sailed upon the seven seas and stopped in every land, I've seen the wonders of the world, not yet one common man.   I know ten thousand women called Jane and Mary Jane, but I've not seen any two who really were the same.   Mirror twins are different although their features jibe, and lovers think quite different thoughts while lying side by side.   We love and lose in China, we weep on England's moors, and laugh and moan in Guinea, and thrive on Spanish shores.   We seek success in Finland, are born and die in Maine. In minor ways we differ, in major we're the same.   I note the obvious differences between each sort and type, but we are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.   We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.   We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.     MAN BIGOT   The man who is a bigot is the worst thing God has got, except his match, his woman, who really is Ms. Begot.     OLD FOLKS LAUGH   They have spent their content of simpering, holding their lips this and that way, winding the lines between their brows. Old folks allow their bellies to jiggle like slow tamborines. The hollers rise up and spill over any way they want. When old folks laugh, they free the world. They turn slowly, slyly knowing the best and worst of remembering. Saliva glistens in the corners of their mouths, their heads wobble on brittle necks, but their laps are filled with memories." When old folks laugh, they consider the promise of dear painless death, and generously forgive life for happening to them.     IS LOVE   Midwives and winding sheets know birthing is hard and dying is mean and living's a trial in between.   Why do we journey, muttering like rumors among the stars? Is a dimension lost? Is it love?   Excerpted from I Shall Not Be Moved: Poems by Maya Angelou All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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