The designers at Out of Print do more than put iconic television characters on thin t-shirts (Inspector Gadget, anyone?). These designers, instead, display iconic book covers that have been out of print for years. With new selections often adding to the mix, Out of Print has recovered famous book covers that haven't been seen since the book's first distribution.
An even more compelling aspect of Out of Print is their noble mission. One might ask, "Hey, why would anyone make such a big deal about literature mixing with fashion?". Much like the popular footwear company, Tom's, Out of Print is on a mission to bring something back to children who are less fortunate. With the money that the designers make from these shirts, they go out and buy vast amounts of books to ship to Africa for underprivileged children. Their mission is one of preserving education and the value of learning. I encourage all to browse the website and pick out a shirt displaying a memorable read of yours.
Next, I would like to highlight one every one's absolute favorite poets, Maya Angelou. Angelou is a loved American poet and author because of her heartfelt story and history. An active member of the Harlem Writers Guild in the late 1950's, Angelou was very passionate about Civil Rights. Her highly venerated biographical fiction classic, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, details Angelou's role in the struggle for equality back when the world was still ruled by white supremacy.
Of course, most people know Angelou as the extremely popular poet that she is. Angelou has countless collections of poems, and essays attributed to her. Most English nerds have gotten to a point where they will basically read anything Angelou publishes, be it passionate poems like "Phenomenal Woman" or, hell, I would read her commentary on a table tennis match. Her voice has inspired millions, and continues to bring out the poet in all of us.
So with that, I will leave you with one of my favorite poems
My Guilt
By Maya Angelou
My guilt is "slavery's chains," too long
the clang of iron falls down the years.
This brother's sold, this sister's gone,
is bitter wax, lining my ears.
My guilt made music with the tears.
My crime is "heroes, dead and gone,"
dead Vesey, Turner, Gabriel,
dead Malcolm, Marcus, Martin King.
They fought too hard, they loved too well.
My crime is I'm alive to tell.
My sin is "hanging from a tree,"
I do not scream, it makes me proud.
I take to dying like a man.
I do it to impress the crowd.
My sin lies in not screaming loud.
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