The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni

by Nikki Giovanni

i will be broken

  in two

  by my unwillingness

  to control my feelings

  but i sit writing

  a poem

  about my habits

  which while it’s not

  a great poem

  is mine

  and some habits

  like smiling at children

  or giving a seat to an old person

  should stay

  if for no other reason

  than their civilizing

  influence

  which is the ultimate

  habit

  i need

  to acquire

  Fascinations

  finding myself still fascinated

  by the falls and rapids

  i nonetheless prefer the streams

  contained within the bountiful brown shoreline

  i prefer the inland waters

  to the salty seas

  knowing that journeys end

  as they begin

  the sailor and his sail

  the lover and her beloved

  the light of day and night’s darkness

  i walk the new york streets

  the heat rising in waves

  to singe my knees

  my head is always down

  for i no longer look for you

  usually i am cold no matter

  what the temperature

  i hunch my hands in the pockets of my pants

  hoping you will be home

  when i get there

  i know i’m on dangerous ground

  i misread your smile all year

  assured that you and therefore everything

  was all right

  i wade from the quiet

  of your presence into the turbulence

  of your emotions

  i have now understood a calm day

  does not preclude a stormy evening

  con edison after all went out

  why shouldn’t you

  and though it took longer than anyone thought

  the lights did come back on

  why shouldn’t yours

  electricity is a product of the sea

  as much as the air

  coming from turbulence

  as much as generators

  if you were a pure bolt

  of fire cutting the skies

  i’d touch you risking my life

  not because i’m brave or strong

  but because i’m fascinated

  by what the outcome will be

  Gus

  (for my father)

  He always had pretty legs

  Even now though he has gotten fat

  His legs have kept their shape

  He swam

  Some men get those legs from tennis

  But he swam

  In a sink-or-swim mud hole somewhere

  In Alabama

  When he was a young man

  More than half a century ago

  Talent was described by how well

  A thing was done not by whom

  That is considering

  That Black men weren’t considered

  One achieved on merit

  The fact that he is short

  Was an idea late reaching his consciousness

  He hustled the ball on the high school court

  Well enough to win a college scholarship

  Luckily for me

  Since that’s where he met my mother

  I have often tried to think lately

  When I first met him

  I don’t remember

  He was a stranger

  As Black or perhaps responsible fathers

  Are wont to be

  He worked three jobs a feat

  Without precedence though not unknown

  In the hills of West Virginia or the Red Clay of Georgia

  What happens to a dream

  When it must tunnel under

  Langston says it might explode

  It might also just die

  Shriveling to the here and now

  Confusing the dreamer til he no longer knows

  Whether he is awake or asleep

  Before we ourselves:

  Meet the man

  Lie to the bill collectors

  Don’t know where the mortgage payment is coming from

  It’s difficult to understand

  A weakness

  Before our mettle is tested

  We easily consider ourselves strong

  Before we see our children want

  Not elaborate things

  But a christmas bike or easter shoes

  It’s easy to say

  what should have been done

  Before we see our own possibility shrink

  Back into the unclonable cell

  From which dreams spring

  It’s easy to condemn

  If the first sign of spring is the swallows

  Then the first sign of maturity is the pride

  We gulp when we realize

  There are few choices in life

  That are clear

  Seldom is good pitted against evil

  Or even better against best

  Mostly it’s bad versus worse

  And while some may intone

  life is not fair

  “Choice” by definition implies

  Equally attractive alternatives

  Or mutually exclusive experiences

  Boxers protect themselves from blows

  with heavily greased shoulders

  Football players wear helmets

  Joggers have specially made shoes

  to absorb the shocks

  The problem with the Life game

  For unprotected players

  Is not what you don’t have

  But what you can’t give

  Though ultimately there is the understanding

  That even nothing is something

  As long as you are there

  To give the nothing personally

  Black men grow inverse

  To the common experience

  He grew younger as his children left home

  He has both time and money to buy

  The toys he never had

  Lawn mowers saws garden equipment CB’s

  Steroes

  Whatever is new and exciting

  He smiles more often too

  And his legs are still

  quite exceptional

  For a Grandfather

  Choices

  if i can’t do

  what i want to do

  then my job is to not

  do what i don’t want

  to do

  it’s not the same thing

  but it’s the best i can

  do

  if i can’t have

  what i want then

  my job is to want

  what i’ve got

  and be satisfied

  that at least there

  is something more

  to want

  since i can’t go

  where i need

  to go then i must go

  where the signs point

  though always understanding

  parallel movement

  isn’t lateral

  when i can’t express

  what i really feel

  i practice feeling

  what i can express

  and none of it is equal

  i know

  but that’s why mankind

  alone among the mammals

  learns to cry

  Photography

  the eye we are told

  is a camera

  but the film is the heart

  not the brain

  and our hands joining

  those that reach

  develop the product

  it’s easy sitting in the sun

  to forget that cold exists

  let alone envelops

  the lives of peop
le

  it’s easy sitting in the sun

  to forget the ice and ravages

  of winter yet

  there are those who would have

  no other season

  it’s always easy when thinking

  we have the best to assume

  others covet it

  yet surf or sea each has

  its lovers and its meaning

  for love

  watching the red sun bleed

  into the ocean

  one thinks of the beauty that fire brings

  if the eye is a camera and the film is the heart

  then the photo assistant is god

  The Beep Beep Poem

  I should write a poem

  but there’s almost nothing

  that hasn’t been said

  and said and said

  beautifully, ugly, blandly

  excitingly

  stay in school

  make love not war

  death to all tyrants

  where have all the flowers gone

  and don’t they understand at kent state

  the troopers will shoot…again

  i could write a poem

  because i love walking

  in the rain

  and the solace of my naked

  body in a tub of warm water

  cleanliness may not be next

  to godliness but it sure feels

  good

  i wrote a poem

  for my father but it was so constant

  i burned it up

  he hates change

  and i’m baffled by sameness

  i composed a ditty

  about encore american and worldwide news

  but the editorial board

  said no one would understand it

  as if people have to be tricked

  into sensitivity

  though of course they do

  i love to drive my car

  hours on end

  along back country roads

  i love to stop for cider and apples and acorn squash

  three for a dollar

  i love my CB when the truckers talk

  and the hum of the diesel in my ear

  i love the aloneness of the road

  when I ascend descending curves

  the power within my toe delights me

  and i fling my spirit down the highway

  i love the way i feel

  when i pass the moon and i holler to the stars

  i’m coming through

  Beep Beep

  A Poem for Ed and Archie

  I dreamed of you last night

  standing near the Drugstore on the St.-Germain-des-Prés

  You popped out of the pastry shop

  wiping some exotic créme from your lips

  showing off your new cigarette holder

  “Got one yet?”

  and your smile lit up the city of lights

  Southern men cannot be generalized about

  I know you all as liars and lynchers

  I have accepted the myth that though you may wear a suit

  beneath it the blood runs hot

  and your hair so similar to those whom Darwin said were

  all our ancestors mats against your heaving chest

  It’s unpatriotic not to smoke tobacco

  we both agreed at least in North Carolina

  and poor Ed who will some day be a great man

  just sat there confused

  without laughter what is the purpose

  my ancestors once worked for yours

  involuntarily

  and I laugh because it is only what happened

  not nearly the truth

  I’ve seen Paris and you’ve seen me

  and last night in my dream

  we both smiled

  Woman

  she wanted to be a blade

  of grass amid the fields

  but he wouldn’t agree

  to be the dandelion

  she wanted to be a robin singing

  through the leaves

  but he refused to be

  her tree

  she spun herself into a web

  and looking for a place to rest

  turned to him

  but he stood straight

  declining to be her corner

  she tried to be a book

  but he wouldn’t read

  she turned herself into a bulb

  but he wouldn’t let her grow

  she decided to become

  a woman

  and though he still refused

  to be a man

  she decided it was all

  right

  Space

  a flying saucer landed

  in my living room

  i too am an astronaut

  having applied for my own space

  i welcomed the visitor

  i need something intelligent

  to talk to not for long

  but maybe just through dinner

  not being afraid

  of what i don’t know

  i unanxiously awaited the emergence

  should i call him a space man

  or might not it be a woman

  probably not

  her menses on jupiter

  no less than earth

  causes excuses for exclusion

  should i shake hands

  and offer a glass of white wine

  i always wanted to know space

  people but how do we proceed

  i think i should tell you

  she reported as she stepped from her craft

  you possibly are not seeing me

  depending upon the solar year

  you may only be seeing my aura

  don’t worry i assured her

  happy it was a woman

  depending upon my aura

  you are most likely only seeing

  my solar years

  we sat down

  to talk

  Poem

  (for EMA)

  though i do wonder

  why you intrigue me

  i recognize that an exceptional moth

  is always drawn

  to an exceptional flame

  you’re not at all what you appear

  to be

  though not so very different

  I’ve not learned

  the acceptable way of saying

  you fascinate me

  I’ve not even learned

  how to say i like you

  without frightening people

  away

  sometimes I see things

  that aren’t really there

  like warmth and kindness

  when people are mean

  but sometimes i see things

  like fear and want to soothe it

  or fatigue and want to share it

  or love and want to receive it

  is that weird

  you think everyone is weird

  though you’re not really hypocritical

  you just practice not being

  what you want to be

  and fail to understand

  how others would dare

  to be otherwise

  that’s weird to me

  flames don’t flicker

  forever

  and moths are born to be burned

  it’s an unusual way

  to start a friendship

  but nothing lasts forever

  The Rose Bush

  (for Gordon)

  i know i haven’t grown but

  i don’t fit beneath the rose

  bush by my grandmother’s porch

  i couldn’t have grown so much though

  i don’t see why the back of the couch

  doesn’t hide me from my sister

  the lightning that would flash

  on summer days brought shouts

  of you children be still the lightning’s

  gonna get y
ou

  we laughed my cousins and sister and i

  at the foolish old people

  and their backward superstitions

  though lightning struck me

  in new york city

  and i ran

  to or from what i’m not sure

  but i was hit

  and now i don’t fit

  beneath the rose bushes

  anymore

  anyway they’re gone

  Patience

  there are sounds

  which shatter

  the staleness of lives

  transporting the shadows

  into the dreams

  raindrops falling

  on leaves shatter

  the dust of the city

  as soap washed off

  bodies shatters

  the complacent dirt

  she waited for him

  to take away that quiet

  she waited for his call

  with the patience of a slave

  woman quilting or a jewish mother

  simmering chicken broth

  there would be no other

  sound than his voice

  to shatter the quiet

  of her heart

  she waited for him

  to come

  Make Up

  we make up our faces

  for lots of reasons

  to go to the movies

  or some junior prom

  to see ice hockey

  or watch the Dodgers come home again

  defeated

  going to the grocery store

  only requires lipstick

  while a bridge game

  can mean a quick trip

  to the hairdresser for a touch up

  i clean my make up

  before going to bed

  alone

  and if my mood is foul

  i spray the sheets

  with Ultra Ban