The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni Read online

  2002–03 Giovanni publishes Quilting the Black-Eyed Pea: Poems and Not Quite Poems (2002). Caedmon records and releases The Nikki Giovanni Poetry Collection (2002). Receives honorary doctorates from Pace University (2002) and West Virginia University (2003). Featured in Foundations of Courage…A Cry to Freedom! on BET. Appears in A&E television’s Witness: James Baldwin. Wins NAACP Image Award for Quilting the Black-Eyed Pea (2003). Judge for the Robert F. Kennedy Book Awards (2002). Serves on Multimedia Advisory Panel for the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts (2002–). Receives the first Rosa Parks Woman of Courage Award (2002). Inducted into Phi Beta Kappa, Delta of Tennessee Chapter, Fisk University (2003). Performs a tribute to Gwendolyn Brooks with Elizabeth Alexander, Ruby Dee, and Yusef Komunyakaa (2003). Contributes to a Smithsonian special exhibition, In the Spirit of Martin: The Living Legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

  Black Feeling Black Talk

  1968

  Detroit Conference of Unity and Art

  (For HRB)

  We went there to confer

  On the possibility of

  Blackness

  And the inevitability of

  Revolution

  We talked about

  Black leaders

  And Black Love

  We talked about

  Women

  And Black men

  No doubt many important

  Resolutions

  Were passed

  As we climbed Malcolm’s ladder

  But the most

  Valid of them

  All was that

  Rap chose me

  On Hearing “The Girl with the Flaxen Hair”

  He has a girl who has flaxen hair

  My woman has hair of gray

  I have a woman who wakes up at dawn

  His girl can sleep through the day

  His girl has hands soothed with perfumes sweet

  She has lips soft and pink

  My woman’s lips burn in midday sun

  My woman’s hands—black like ink

  He can make music to please his girl

  Night comes I’m tired and beat

  He can make notes, make her heart beat fast

  Night comes I want off my feet

  Maybe if I don’t pick cotton so fast

  Maybe I’d sing pretty too

  Sing to my woman with hair of gray

  Croon softly, Baby it’s you.

  You Came, Too

  I came to the crowd seeking friends

  I came to the crowd seeking love

  I came to the crowd for understanding

  I found you

  I came to the crowd to weep

  I came to the crowd to laugh

  You dried my tears

  You shared my happiness

  I went from the crowd seeking you

  I went from the crowd seeking me

  I went from the crowd forever

  You came, too

  Poem

  (For TW)

  For three hours (too short for me)

  I sat in your home and enjoyed

  Your own special brand of Southern

  Hospitality

  And we talked

  I had come to learn more about you

  To hear a human voice without the Top Ten in the background

  You offered me cheese and Horowitz and

  It was relaxing

  You gave me a small coke

  And some large talk about being Black

  And an individual

  You had tried to fight the fight I’m fighting

  And you understood my feelings while you

  Picked my brains and kicked my soul

  It was a pleasant evening

  When He rises and Black is king

  I won’t forget you

  Poem

  (For BMC No. 1)

  I stood still and was a mushroom on the forest green

  With all the moiles conferring as to my edibility

  It stormed and there was no leaf to cover me

  I was water-logged (having absorbed all that I could)

  I dreamed I was drowning

  That no sun from Venice would dry my tears

  But a silly green cricket with a pink umbrella said

  Hello Tell me about it

  And we talked our way through the storm

  Perhaps we could have found an inn

  Or at least a rainbow somewhere over

  But they always said

  Only one Only one more

  And Christmas being so near

  We over identified

  Though I worship nothing (save myself)

  You were my savior—so be it

  And it was

  Perhaps not never more or ever after

  But after all—once you were mine

  Our Detroit Conference

  (For Don L. Lee)

  We met in

  The Digest

  Though I had

  Never Known You

  Tall and Black

  But mostly in

  The Viet Cong

  Image

  You didn’t smile

  Until we had traded

  Green stamps

  for Brownie Points

  Poem

  (For Dudley Randall)

  So I met this man

  Who was a publisher

  When he was young

  Who is a poet now

  Gentle and loving and

  Very patient

  With a Revolutionary

  Black woman

  Who drags him

  to meetings

  But never quite

  Gets around to

  saying

  I love you

  Poem

  (For BMC No. 2)

  There were fields where once we walked

  Among the clover and crab grass and those

  Funny little things that look like cotton candy

  There were liquids expanding and contracting

  In which we swam with amoebas and other Afro-Americans

  The sun was no further than my hand from your hair

  Those were barefoot boy with cheeks of tan days

  And I was John Henry hammering to get in

  I was the camel with a cold nose

  Now, having the tent, I have no use for it

  I have pushed you out

  Go ’way

  Can’t you see I’m lonely

  Personae Poem

  (For Sylvia Henderson)

  I am always lonely

  for things I’ve never had

  and people I’ve never been

  But I’m not really

  sad

  because you once said

  Come

  and I did

  even though I don’t like

  you

  Poem

  (For PCH)

  And this silly wire

  (which some consider essential)

  Connected us

  And we came together

  So I put my arms around you to keep you

  From falling from a tree

  (there is evidence that you have climbed

  too far up and are not at all functional

  with this atmosphere or terrain)

  And if I had a spare

  I’d lend you my oxygen tent

  But you know how selfish people are

  When they have something at stake

  So we sit between a line of

  Daggers

  And if all goes well

  They will write Someday

  That you and I did it

  And we never even thought for sure

  (if thought was one of the processes we employed)

  That it could be done

  Poem

  (No Name No. 1)

  And every now and then I think

  About the river

  Where once we sat

  Upon the bank

  Which

  You robbed

&nb
sp; And I let you

  Wasn’t it fun

  Poem

  (For BMC No. 3)

  But I had called the office

  And the voice across the line

  Swore up and down (and maybe

  all the way ’round)

  That you wouldn’t be in

  Until 11:00 A.M.

  So I took a chance

  And dialed your phone

  And was really quite content

  After you said

  Hello

  But since I had previously

  Been taught

  By you especially

  That you won’t say

  Hello

  More than once

  I picked a fight

  Black Separatism

  It starts with a hand

  Reaching out in the night

  And pretended sleep

  We may talk about our day

  At the office

  Then again

  Baseball scores are just

  As valid

  As the comic page

  At break fast

  The only thing that really

  Matters

  Is that it comes

  And we talk about the kids

  Signing our letters

  YOURS FOR FREEDOM

  A Historical Footnote to Consider

  Only When All Else Fails

  (For Barbara Crosby)

  While it is true

  (though only in a factual sense)

  That in the wake of a

  Her-I-can comes a

  Shower

  Surely I am not

  The gravitating force

  that keeps this house

  full of panthers

  Why, LBJ has made it

  quite clear to me

  He doesn’t give a

  Good goddamn what I think

  (else why would he continue to masterbate in public?)

  Rhythm and Blues is not

  The downfall of a great civilization

  And I expect you to

  Realize

  That the Temptations

  have no connection with

  The CIA

  We must move on to

  the true issues of

  Our time

  like the mini-skirt

  Rebellion

  And perhaps take a

  Closer look at

  Flour Power

  It is for Us

  to lead our people

  out of the

  Wein-Bars

  into the streets

  into the streets

  (for safety reasons only)

  Lord knows we don’t

  Want to lose the

  support

  of our Jewish friends

  So let us work

  for our day of Presence

  When Stokely is in

  The Black House

  And all will be right with

  Our World

  Poem

  (No Name No. 2)

  Bitter Black Bitterness

  Black Bitter Bitterness

  Bitterness Black Brothers

  Bitter Black Get

  Blacker Get Bitter

  Get Black Bitterness

  NOW

  The True Import of Present Dialogue,

  Black vs. Negro

  (For Peppe, Who Will Ultimately Judge Our Efforts)

  Nigger

  Can you kill

  Can you kill

  Can a nigger kill a honkie

  Can a nigger kill the Man

  Can you kill nigger

  Huh? nigger can you

  kill

  Do you know how to draw blood

  Can you poison

  Can you stab-a-Jew

  Can you kill huh? nigger

  Can you kill

  Can you run a protestant down with your

  ’68 El Dorado

  (that’s all they’re good for anyway)

  Can you kill

  Can you piss on a blond head

  Can you cut it off

  Can you kill

  A nigger can die

  We ain’t got to prove we can die

  We got to prove we can kill

  They sent us to kill

  Japan and Africa

  We policed europe

  Can you kill

  Can you kill a white man

  Can you kill the nigger

  in you

  Can you make your nigger mind

  die

  Can you kill your nigger mind

  And free your black hands to

  strangle

  Can you kill

  Can a nigger kill

  Can you shoot straight and

  Fire for good measure

  Can you splatter their brains in the street

  Can you kill them

  Can you lure them to bed to kill them

  We kill in Viet Nam

  for them

  We kill for UN & NATO & SEATO & US

  And everywhere for all alphabet but

  BLACK

  Can we learn to kill WHITE for BLACK

  Learn to kill niggers

  Learn to be Black men

  A Short Essay of Affirmation

  Explaining Why

  (With Apologies to the Federal Bureau of Investigation)

  Honkies always talking ’bout

  Black Folks

  Walking down the streets

  Talking to themselves (They say we’re high—

  or crazy)

  But recent events have shown

  We know who we’re talking

  to

  That little microphone

  In our teeth

  Between our thighs

  Or anyplace

  That may have needed

  Medical attention

  Recently

  My mail has been stopped

  And every morning

  When I awake

  I speak to

  Lessy-in-the-wall

  Who bangs behind

  My whole Rap

  This is a crazy country

  They use terms like

  Psychosis and paranoid

  With us

  But we can’t be Black

  And not be crazy

  How the hell would anyone feel

  With a mechanical dick

  in his ass

  lightening the way

  for whitey

  And we’re supposed to jack off

  behind it

  Well I’m pissed

  off

  They ain’t getting

  Inside

  My bang

  or

  My brain

  I’m into my Black Thing

  And it’s filling all

  My empty spots

  Sorry ’bout that,

  Miss Hoover

  Poem

  (No Name No. 3)

  The Black Revolution is passing you bye

  negroes

  Anne Frank didn’t put cheese and bread away for you

  Because she knew it would be different this time

  The naziboots don’t march this year

  Won’t march next year

  Won’t come to pick you up in a

  honka honka VW bus

  So don’t wait for that

  negroes

  They already got Malcolm

  They already got LeRoi

  They already strapped a harness on Rap

  They already pulled Stokely’s teeth

  They already here if you can hear properly

  negroes

  Didn’t you hear them when 40 thousand Indians died

  from exposure to

  honkies

  Didn’t you hear them when Viet children died from

  exposure to napalm

  Can’t you hear them when Arab women die from exposure to isrealijews

  You hear them while you die from exposure to wine

  an
d poverty programs

  If you hear properly

  negroes

  Tomorrow was too late to properly arm yourself

  See can you do an improper job now

  See can you do now something, anything, but move now

  negro

  If the Black Revolution passes you bye it’s for damned

  sure

  the whi-te reaction to it won’t

  Wilmington Delaware

  Wilmington is a funni Negro

  He’s a cute little gingerbread man who stuffs his pipe

  with

  Smog and gas fumes and maybe (if you promise

  not to tale)

  Just a little bit of…pot

  Because he has to meet his maker each and everyday

  LORD KNOWS HE’S A GOOD BOY

  AND TRIES HARD

  While most of us have to go to church only once a week

  They tell me he’s up for the coloredman-of-the-year