angelou

Oh, Black known and unknown poets, how often have your auctioned pains sustained us? Who will compute the lonely nights made less lonely by your songs, or the empty pots made less tragic by your tales?

If we were a people much given to revealing secrets, we might raise monuments and sacrifice to the memories of our poets, but slavery cured us of that weakness. It may be enough, however, to have it said that we survive in exact relationship to the dedication of our poets (include preachers, musicians, and blues singers).

(Maya Angelou, "Graduation," originally in I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, reprinted in 50 Essays: A Portable Anthology, edited by Samuel Cohen, pp. 9-21)