Not many people know this but Phenomenal Woman is so much more than just one poem. It is in fact the titular poem in a curated collection of four of Dr. Maya Angelou’s poems - a collection that’s notably themed around celebrating women.
Who is Maya Angelou?
Dr. Maya Angelou was an American poet, memoirist, performer, and civil rights activist. She remains one of the most influential literary voices of the 20th century.
Maya Angelou was born Marguerite Annie Johnson and lived from 1928–2014. She’s best known for writing about Black life, womanhood, trauma, resilience, and dignity with a lyrical yet powerfully direct voice grounded in lived experience.
Phenomenal Woman
The Maya Angelou Poetry Collection
Maya Angelou’s Phenomenal Woman poetry collection was first published in 1995, 19 years before her death from natural causes on May 18 2014, at the age of 86, in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.
The poems in this collection are Phenomenal Woman, Still I Rise, Weekend Glory, and Our Grandmothers. All four had previously been published in earlier volumes of Dr. Angelou’s writing.
Phenomenal Woman
Phenomenal Woman is a celebration of womanhood lived free from the constraints of traditional beauty standards.
The poem has become an anthem for rebels and rule breakers in a patriarchal society.
It is the beat to which Black Women (and Dark Skin Black Women especially) have been swinging their waists towards a life of intentional and all-encompassing self love, since it was first published in 1978 (in Maya’s third volume of poetry And Still I Rise).
As a stand alone phrase Phenomenal Woman is one of the highest compliments we can pay a woman, not least when directed at ourselves.
The What Charlie TOTE PHENOMENAL WOMAN Tote Bag
What Charlie TOTE is a collection of eco-friendly 100% cotton heavy duty black tote bags, emblasoned with empowering, viral and trending pop culture words, phrases and slogans.
The PHENOMENAL WOMAN tote bag is the second addition to the collection and this International Women’s Day merchandise x Maya Angelou merchandise launched January 2026 in preparation for International Women’s Day 2026. It is also a respectful nod to the late, great Dr. Maya Angelou - a major inspiration for all forms of What Charlie writing, from tote bags to copywriting at What Charlie WROTE.
Phenomenal Woman Full Text
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair, the palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Still I Rise
Still I Rise was first published in 1978, as the titular poem in Maya’s Angelou’s 22-poem collection, And Still I Rise (hence the common confusion around whether or not the poem title begins with ‘And’).
The timing is important. Because in 1978 the civil rights movement had recorded major legislative wins, the Black Power movement and second-wave feminism were both gaining traction - and Maya Angelou’s star was rising.
The result is a shift in tone from aaking to be heard to a real sense of confidence in her own voice and its worthiness. The themes in Still I Rise have evolved from documenting harm to transcending it - posing questions about thriving after surviving and responding with the concept of Black Joy as political resistance.
Still I Rise Full Text
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But 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 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 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 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.
Weekend Glory
Not to be confused with Langston Hughes’ Weekend Glory, the third poem in Maya Angelou’s Phenomenal Woman collection celebrates the release at the end of a long work week, through the lens of working-class Black people.
Here, Maya’s words depict our pride in ordinary life, our culture of communal joy, and our awakening to rest as resistance.
Weekend Glory Full Text
Some clichty folks
don't know the facts,
posin' and preenin'
and puttin' on acts,
stretchin' their backs.
They move into condos
up over the ranks,
pawn their souls
to the local banks.
Buying big cars
they can't afford,
ridin' around town
actin' bored.
If they want to learn how to live life right
they ought to study me on Saturday night.
My job at the plant
ain't the biggest bet,
but I pay my bills
and stay out of debt.
I get my hair done
for my own self's sake,
so I don't have to pick
and I don't have to rake.
Take the church money out
and head cross town
to my friend girl's house
where we plan our round.
We meet our men and go to a joint
where the music is blue
and to the point.
Folks write about me.
They just can't see
how I work all week
at the factory.
Then get spruced up
and laugh and dance
And turn away from worry
with sassy glance.
They accuse me of livin'
from day to day,
but who are they kiddin'?
So are they.
My life ain't heaven
but it sure ain't hell.
I'm not on top
but I call it swell
if I'm able to work
and get paid right
and have the luck to be Black
on a Saturday night.
Our Grandmothers
This is the final Maya Angelou poem in the Phenomenal Woman collection and it was first published in her 1990 collection, I Shall Not Be Moved (a recurring and final line of this poem).
Here Dr. Angelou speaks for all descendants by recognising that our present lives and our ability to take up space is very much thanks to the strength and sacrifices of the Black Women who came before us.
The poem is an acknowledgment of the power and empowerment that has been handed down to us by ‘Our Grandmothers’.
My favourite part of this poem is Maya’s use of we over I, a subtle but impactful device I love using in my own copywriting.
By centering grandmothers she reminds every reader that our memories, trauma, resilience and voices are shared. That no woman stands alone.
Our Grandmothers Full Text
She lay, skin down in 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.
She muttered, lifting her head a nod toward
freedom,
I shall not, I shall not be moved.
She gathered her babies,
their tears slick as oil on black faces,
their young eyes canvassing mornings of madness.
Momma, is Master going to sell you
from us tomorrow?
Yes.
Unless you keep walking more
and talking less.
Yes.
Unless the keeper of our lives
releases me from all commandments.
Yes.
And your lives,
never mine to live,
will be executed upon the killing floor of
innocents.
Unless you match my heart and words,
saying with me,
I shall not be moved.
In Virginia tobacco fields,
leaning into the curve
of Steinway
pianos, along Arkansas roads,
in the red hills of Georgia,
into the palms of her chained hands, she
cried against calamity,
You have tried to destroy me
and though I perish daily,
I shall not be moved.
Her universe, often
summarized into one black body
falling finally from the tree to her feet,
made her cry each time into a new voice.
All my past hastens to defeat,
and strangers claim the glory of my love,
Iniquity has bound me to his bed.
yet, I must not be moved.
She heard the names,
swirling ribbons in the wind of history:
nigger, nigger bitch, heifer,
mammy, property, creature, ape, baboon,
whore, hot tail, thing, it.
She said, But my description cannot
fit your tongue, for
I have a certain way of being in this world,
and I shall not, I shall not be moved.
No angel stretched protecting wings
above the heads of her children,
fluttering and urging the winds of reason
into the confusions of their lives.
The sprouted like young weeds,
but she could not shield their growth
from the grinding blades of ignorance, nor
shape them into symbolic topiaries.
She sent them away,
underground, overland, in coaches and
shoeless.
When you learn, teach.
When you get, give.
As for me,
I shall not be moved.
She stood in midocean, seeking dry land.
She searched God's face.
Assured,
she placed her fire of service
on the altar, and though
clothed in the finery of faith,
when she appeared at the temple door,
no sign welcomed
Black Grandmother, Enter here.
Into the crashing sound,
into wickedness, she cried,
No one, no, nor no one million
ones dare deny me God, I go forth
along, and stand as ten thousand.
The Divine upon my right
impels me to pull forever
at the latch on Freedom's gate.
The Holy Spirit upon my left leads my
feet without ceasing into the camp of the
righteous and into the tents of the free.
These momma faces, lemon-yellow, plum-purple,
honey-brown, have grimaced and twisted
down a pyramid for years.
She is Sheba the Sojourner,
Harriet and Zora,
Mary Bethune and Angela,
Annie to Zenobia.
She stands
before the abortion clinic,
confounded by the lack of choices.
In the Welfare line,
reduced to the pity of handouts.
Ordained in the pulpit, shielded
by the mysteries.
In the operating room,
husbanding life.
In the choir loft,
holding God in her throat.
On lonely street corners,
hawking her body.
In the classroom, loving the
children to understanding.
Centered on the world's stage,
she sings to her loves and beloveds,
to her foes and detractors:
However I am perceived and deceived,
however my ignorance and conceits,
lay aside your fears that I will be undone,
for I shall not be moved.
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