Still I Rise O
Transcript of Still I Rise O
ORLANDO ARTS MAGAZINE SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 2016
6
Cindy Bowman LaFronzEditorOrlando Arts Magazine
Gardens • Singing Tower • Café Historic Mansion • Preserve • Trails
www.boktowergardens.org1151 Tower Blvd., Lake Wales, Florida
GRAND OPENING SEP. 10!GRAND OPENING SEP. 10!GRAND OPENING SEP. 10!
HAMMOCK HOLLOW CHILDREN’S GARDENHAMMOCK HOLLOW CHILDREN’S GARDENHAMMOCK HOLLOW CHILDREN’S GARDENHAMMOCK HOLLOW CHILDREN’S GARDENHAMMOCK HOLLOW CHILDREN’S GARDENHAMMOCK HOLLOW CHILDREN’S GARDEN
ALL NEW 2.7-ACRE
OCT 15-16 Rootstock Plant & Garden Festival
NOV 25 - JAN 8 Christmas at Bok Tower Gardens
Still I Rise
On June 12, our community changed course. We experi-enced a tragedy that until now happens in other places. Although the Pulse tragedy gripped our city for months,
our community came together in all ways possible. We were one. When the network trucks left and nationally we became another statistic, we remained vigilant in our desire to heal. Unfortunately, flags at half-mast have become the norm. Members of the art community were lost. And all were grieved for and celebrated. Angel wings were made and used to protect mourners, and as a pow-erful reminder of our unity. During a memorial concert at the Dr. Phil-lips Center for the Performing Arts, arts organizations came together to honor those affected. One of the most moving performances to me was local actor Freddy Ruiz’s recitation of Maya Angelou’s poem “Still I Rise.” It illuminated what I was thinking. We dedicate this issue of the magazine to those vic-tims who were lost and to our entire community for its strength. Let us remember to embrace and celebrate our differences with intentional dialogue everyday and not only during a crisis. We are Orlando Strong.
fromthe editorL E T T E R B O X
You may write me down in historyWith your bitter, twisted lies,You may trod me in the very dirtBut still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?Why are you beset with gloom?’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wellsPumping 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 minesDiggin’ in my own backyard.
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 surpriseThat I dance like I’ve got diamondsAt the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shameI riseUp from a past that’s rooted in painI rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.Leaving behind nights of terror and fearI rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clearI 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, 1928–2014
PHEL
AN
M. E
BEN
HA
CK
P. 6-7 Editor-Masthead.indd 6 8/15/16 1:52 PM