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.


[Ho sempre trovato buffo che il capolavoro di Ben Harper fosse una canzone in cui non suona la chitarra. Nemmeno le parole sono sue, ma di una poetessa che è un personaggio abbastanza incredibile, Maya Angelou. In altri casi quando una cosa mi piace molto provo a tradurla; qui oltre alla famosa questione dell'appropriazione culturale c'è proprio lo scoglio di quel verbo, rise, che in inglese suona spontaneo sia che si tratti di polvere scossa da uno straccio sia di un popolo che si ribella. Qualsiasi equivalente italiano mi suona falso o letterario, un bel problema: ma non il problema di cui si parla qui].