Home > Children > Children's Nonfiction > I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

List Price: $17.00

Save 30.0%

You Pay: $11.90

Want this eBook?Our eBook Library Software is required to purchase and download eBooks. Download it here.

Tell a Friend

Overview

Here is a book as joyous and painful, and as mysterious and memorable, as childhood itself. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings captures the longing of lonely children, the brute insult of bigotry, and the wonder of words that can make the world right. Maya Angelou's first memoir, published in 1969 is a modern American classic beloved worldwide.

Sent by their mother to their devout, self-sufficient grandmother in a small Southern town, Maya and her brother, Bailey, endure the ache of abandonment and the prejudice of the local "powhitetrash." When she journeys at eight to her mother's side in St. Louis, she is attacked by a man many times her age. Years later, in San Francisco, she learns about love for herself-and has to live with the consequences for a lifetime. The kindness of others, Maya's own strong spirit, and the ideas of great authors ("I met and fell in love with William Shakespeare") will allow her to be free instead of imprisoned.

Poetic and powerful-now in a beautiful keepsake edition-I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings will touch hearts and change minds as long as people read.

Editorial Reviews

Editorial Reviews for this product are not available at this time.

Author Information

Bio of Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou 1928 - Maya Angelou was born Marguerite Johnson on April 4, 1928 in Saint Louis, Missouri. She attended public school in Stamps, Arkansas and San Francisco, California. She is perhaps best known for her semi-autobiographical work "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings", and for the tireless effort she puts forth to make the world aware. In her youth, Angelou traveled the world, eventually marrying a South African freedom fighter and settling in Cairo, where she edited The Arab Observer, the only English language weekly newspaper in the Middle East. They later moved to Ghana where she was Features Editor of The African Review and taught at the University of Ghana. In the 60's, Dr, Martin Luther King requested that Angelou return to the US to become the northern coordinator of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. She was later appointed to the Bicentennial Commission by President Ford and to the National Commission on the Observance of International Women's Year by President Carter. "Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water 'Fore I Die" was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize in 1971. Ten years later, in 1981, Angelou was appointed to the lifetime position of Reynolds Professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University. Angelou became only the second poet in United States history to write and recite an original poem at a Presidential Inauguration; in 1993 she read "On the Pulse of Morning" at President Clinton's Inauguration Ceremony. In 1995, Angelou received an amazing amount of honors. Her semi-autobiographical tale, "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings", which was originally published in 1970, became the longest running nonfiction best seller by an African American on the New York Times Bestsellers List. That same year, "A Brave and Startling Truth" was recited at the 50th Anniversary celebration of the United Nations, and "From a Black Woman to a Black Man" was recited at the Million Man March in Washington D. C.. Angelou is best known, however, for the five books of her autobiography, beginning with "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings" (1970), which she adapted for television, through "All God's Children Need Traveling Shoes" (1986). Angelou's collection of essays entitled "Wouldn't Take Nothing for My Journey Now" was published in 1993. She has assumed the roles of poet, educator, historian, author, actress, playwright, civil rights activist, producer and director. Angelou had also appeared in the movie "Roots" and was nominated for Best Supporting Actress in 1977 for her role in the movie. She also had a role in the movie, "How to Make an American Quilt" and wrote and produced "Afro-Americans in the Arts", a PBS special for which she received a Golden Eagle Award. She is the author of 11 best selling books.

Customer Reviews

There are no customer reviews available at this time. To add your review, Register or Sign In to your account using our free eBook Library Software.

Additional Info

Imprint

Random House Trade Paperbacks

Filesize

1.89 MB

Number of Pages

304

eBook ISBN

9781588369253

Excerpt from: I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

Prologue "What you looking at me for? I didn't come to stay . . ." I hadn't so much forgot as I couldn't bring myself to remember. Other things were more important. "What you looking at me for? I didn't come to stay . . ." Whether I could remember the rest of the poem or not was immaterial. The truth of the statement was like a wadded-up handkerchief, sopping wet in my fists, and the sooner they accepted it the quicker I could let my hands open and the air would cool my palms. "What you looking at me for . . . ?" The children's section of the Colored Methodist Episcopal Church was wiggling and giggling over my well-known forgetfulness. The dress I wore was lavender taffeta, and each time I breathed it rustled, and now that I was sucking in air to breathe out shame it sounded like crepe paper on the back of hearses. As I'd watched Momma put ruffles on the hem and cute little tucks around the waist, I knew that once I put it on I'd look like a movie star. (It was silk and that made up for the awful color.) I was going to look like one of the sweet little white girls who were everybody's dream of what was right with the world. Hanging softly over the black Singer sewing machine, it looked like magic, and when people saw me wearing it they were going to run up to me and say, "Marguerite [sometimes it was 'dear Marguerite'], forgive us, please, we didn't know who you were," and I would answer generously, "No, you couldn't have known. Of course I forgive you." Just thinking about it made me go around with angel's dust sprinkled over my face for days. But Easter's early morning sun had shown the dress to be a plain ugly cut-down from a white woman's once-was-purple throwaway. It was old-lady-long too, but it didn't hide my skinny legs, which had been greased with Blue Seal Vaseline and powdered with the Arkansas red clay. The age-faded color made my skin look dirty like mud, and everyone in church was looking at my skinny legs. Wouldn't they be surprised when one day I woke out of my black ugly dream, and my real hair, which was long and blond, would take the place of the kinky mass that Momma wouldn't let me straighten? My light-blue eyes were going to hypnotize them, after all the things they said about "my daddy must of been a Chinaman" (I thought they meant made out of china, like a cup) because my eyes were so small and squinty. Then they would understand why I had never picked up a Southern accent, or spoke the common slang, and why I had to be forced to eat pigs' tails and snouts. Because I was really white and because a cruel fairy stepmother, who was understandably jealous of my beauty, had turned me into a too-big Negro girl, with nappy black hair, broad feet and a space between her teeth that would hold a number-two pencil. "What you looking ..." The minister's wife leaned toward me, her long yellow face full of sorry. She whispered, "I just come to tell you, it's Easter Day." I repeated, jamming the words together, "Ijustcometotellyouit'sEasterDay," as low as possible. The giggles hung in the air like melting clouds that were waiting to rain on me. I held up two fingers, close to my chest, which meant that I had to go to the toilet, and tiptoed toward the rear of the church. Dimly, somewhere over my head, I heard ladies saying, "Lord bless the child," and "Praise God." My head was up and my eyes were open, but I didn't see anything. Halfway down the aisle, the church exploded with "Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" and I tripped over a foot stuck out from the children's pew. I stumbled and started to say something, or maybe to scream, but a green persimmon, or it could have been a lemon, caught me between the legs and squeezed. I tasted the sour on my tongue and felt it in the back of my mouth. Then befor