Sunday Times 2
Maya Angelou: a titan who lived as though there were no tomorrow
The first time I interviewed Maya Angelou, in 2002, I got hammered. What was supposed to have been a 45-minute interview in a hotel room near Los Angeles had turned into a 16-hour day, much of it spent in her stretch limo, during which we’d been to lunch, and she had performed. On the way back from Pasadena she asked her assistant, Lydia Stuckey, to get out the whisky.
“Do you want ice and stuff?” Stuckey asked.
Oprah Winfrey (R) laughs with poet Maya Angelou during the taping of "Oprah's Surprise Spectacular" in Chicago in this May 17, 2011 file photo. U.S. author and poet Maya Angelou has died at age 86 in North Carolina, local media reported on May 28, 2014, citing her agent and a local official. REUTERS/John Gress
“I want some ice, but mostly I want stuff,” said Angelou with a smile, and invited me to join her.
Then came a traffic jam. The car came to a crawl. But the whisky kept flowing. So did the conversation. We talked about South Africa, writing, growing old, staying young, our mothers, growing up poor and living abroad. We laughed a lot too: at ourselves, each other and general human folly. She reserved particular ridicule for my hotel, which she thought was pretentious. (She was right). Her laugh was no small thing. She threw her head back and filled the car with it – and it was a big car. Episodically, when words alone would not suffice, she would break, without warning, into verse – sometimes her own, sometimes others’.
When I asked her how she dealt with people’s response to old age, she recited the final verse of her poem, On Aging:
I’m the same person I was back then
A little less hair, a little less chin,
A lot less lungs and much less wind.
But ain’t I lucky I can still breathe in.
And then the laughing would start again. As her car pulled away after dropping me off at the hotel, she put her head out of the window, waved, and shouted like a teenage girl: “That’s swanky!” She was 74 and high on life. I honestly couldn’t tell if she was drunk or not. There’d been plenty of serious talk throughout the day. But she’d also been singing and laughing since the morning. Anyone who knows her work and her life story – which is a huge part of her work – knows that this is a huge part of her currency. Those maxims that people learn on their death bed – that you only have one life, that it is brief and frail, and if you don’t take ownership of it nobody else will – were the tenets by which she lived.
She had an extraordinarily full life. By the time she reached 40 she had been a professional dancer, prostitute, madam, lecturer, activist, singer and editor. She had worked with Martin Luther King and Malcolm X, lived in Ghana and Egypt, toured Europe with a dance troupe and settled in pretty much every region of the United States. And then she wrote about it, the whole time crafting a path as a poet, epigrammist and performer. “My life has been long,” she wrote in one her last books. “And believing that life loves the liver of it, I have dared to try many things, sometimes trembling, but daring still.”
In a subsequent interview I described her as the “Desiderata in human form” and “a professional hopemonger”. She lived as though there were no tomorrow. And now that there really is no tomorrow, for her, we are left to contemplate – for us as well as her – where daring can get you.
But with her passing, America has not just lost a talented Renaissance woman and gifted raconteur. It has lost a connection to its recent past that had helped it make sense of its present. At a time when so many Americans seek to travel ‘colour blind’, and free from the baggage of the nation’s racial history, here she stood, tall, straight and true: a black woman from the south intimately connected to the transformative people and politics who helped shape much of America’s racial landscape.
A woman determined to give voice to both frustration and a militancy without being so consumed by either that she could not connect with those who did not instinctively relate to it. A woman who, in her own words, was determined to go through life with “passion, compassion, humour and some style”, and would use all those attributes and more to remind America of where this frustration and militancy was coming from.
She described the 9/11 attacks as a “hate crime”, and said: “Living in a state of terror was new to many white people in America, but black people have been living in a state of terror in this country for more than 400 years.”
When I asked her whether Bill Clinton’s presidency had satisfied the hopefulness of the poem she had delivered at his inauguration, she said: “No. But fortunately there is that about hope: it is never satisfied. It is met, sometimes, but never satisfied. If it was satisfied, you’d be hopeless.”
By the time of our second interview, seven years later, her health had deteriorated considerably. She was using a walker rather than a cane; could come down the stairs unassisted but went up in a lift. She was suffering from chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, which left her with a plastic tube attached to her nose for much of the day to give her oxygen. One of her lungs had collapsed. “I smoked for 40 years, so I’m paying those dues,” she says.
But if her body was failing, her mind was in rude health. “Well, I’m dealing with my 81-itis,” she said. “And I expect that next year it will be 82-itis. I don’t have as far to go as I had to come. But I’m not making any arrangements, and I plan to keep working as long as I can … I’m fine as wine in the summertime.”
- Courtesy Guardian, UK
| Life and times of author, poet, rights activistBy Colleen Jenkins and Bill Trott
American author and poet Maya Angelou, whose groundbreaking memoir “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings” earned her international acclaim with its unflinching account of rape and racism in the segregated South, died on Wednesday atage 86. The prolific African-American writer, known for her lyrical prose and regal speaking voice, died quietly at her home in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, Angelou’s family said in a statement. No cause of death was given. Angelou, who was also a civil rights activist, playwright, actress, singer, dancer and professor during her varied career, penned more than 30 books and won numerous awards, including the country’s highest civilian honour, the Presidential Medal of Freedom, from President Barack Obama in 2011. Her latest work, “Mom & Me & Mom,” about her mother and grandmother and what they taught her, was released last year. In her last tweet on May 23, Angelou said, “Listen to yourself and in that quietude you might hear the voice of God.” Literary and entertainment figures, politicians and fans mourned her passing on Wednesday. Obama said his sister, Maya, was named for the author, whom he called “a brilliant writer, a fierce friend and a truly phenomenal woman.” Angelou, who was 6 feet tall, was born Marguerite Johnson in St. Louis, Missouri, on April 4, 1928. She spent part of her childhood in Stamps, Arkansas with her grandmother after her parents divorced. At age 7, Angelou was raped by her mother’s boyfriend, who was later beaten to death in an assault that some believed was carried out by Angelou’s uncles. The trauma of the rape and her assailant’s death left Angelou mute for six years. Working as a calypso singer and dancer, she changed her name to Maya Angelou — based on a childhood nickname and the last name of her first of at least three husbands, Tosh Angelos. In the late 1950s she moved to New York and joined the Harlem Writers Guild before going to Africa, where she worked for newspapers in Cairo and Accra, Ghana. In subsequent years she mixed writing with singing and working on projects with civil rights leaders Martin Luther KingJr. and Malcolm X. For years she did not celebrate her birthday because it coincided with the anniversary of King’s assassination. Angelou also directed, wrote and acted in movies, plays and television programmes and was a songwriter, educator and popular lecturer. Her acting credits included a role in the ground-breaking television mini-series “Roots” and she wrote the script and score for the movie “Georgia, Georgia.” She was a Grammy winner for three spoken-word albums. In addition to “Mom & Me & Mom,” Angelou’s other autobiographical works included “Gather Together in My Name,”"Singin’ and Swingin’ and Gettin’ Merry Like Christmas,” “A Song Flung Up to Heaven,” “Wouldn’t Take Nothing for My Journey Now,” “The Heart of a Woman” and “All God’s Children Need Traveling Shoes.” |