The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni

by Nikki Giovanni

4) run a machine

  5) And in some rare cases has been known to speak

  This is training, Black people,

  And while it is amusing

  It is still a circus we are watching

  Barnum and Bailey are the minds

  behind president Johnson

  You would not trust your life to a wolf or a tiger

  no matter how many tricks they can learn

  You would not turn your back on a cobra

  Even if it can dance

  Do not trust a honkie

  They are all of the same family

  The Black Liberation Front has free jobs to offer

  for those concerned about the unemployed

  The sisters need to make flags

  (there are no nations without a flag)

  The Red Black and Green must wave from all our

  buildings as we build our nation

  Even the winos have a part—they empty the bottles

  which the children can collect

  Teen-age girls can fill with flammable liquid

  and stuff with a rag

  Professor Neal says a tampax will do just fine

  Ammunition for gun and mind must be smuggled in

  Support your local bookstore

  Dashikis hide a multitude of Revolution

  Support your local dress shop

  As all reports have indicated our young men are primary

  On the job training is necessary

  Support your local rebellion—

  send a young man into the streets

  Our churches must bless these efforts in the name

  of our Black God

  Far too long we have been like Jesus

  Crucified

  It is time for The Resurrection of Blackness

  “A little child shall lead them” for the Bible tells me so

  And we shall follow our children into battle

  Our choice a decade ago was war or dishonor

  (another word for integration)

  We chose dishonor

  We got war

  Mistakes are a fact of life

  It is the response to error that counts

  Erase our errors with the Black Flame

  Purify our neighborhoods with the Black Flame

  We are the artists of this decade

  Draw a new picture with the Black Flame

  Live a new life within the Black Flame

  Our choice now is war or death

  Our option is survival

  Listen to your own Black hearts

  Poem for Black Boys

  (With Special Love to James)

  Where are your heroes, my little Black ones

  You are the Indian you so disdainfully shoot

  Not the big bad sheriff on his faggoty white horse

  You should play run-away-slave

  or Mau Mau

  These are more in line with your history

  Ask your mothers for a Rap Brown gun

  Santa just may comply if you wish hard enough

  Ask for CULLURD instead of Monopoly

  DO NOT SIT IN DO NOT FOLLOW KING

  GO DIRECTLY TO STREETS

  This is a game you can win

  As you sit there with your all understanding eyes

  You know the truth of what I’m saying

  Play Back-to-Black

  Grow a natural and practice vandalism

  These are useful games (some say a skill is even learned)

  There is a new game I must tell you of

  It’s called Catch The Leader Lying

  (and knowing your sense of the absurd

  you will enjoy this)

  Also a company called Revolution has just issued

  a special kit for little boys

  called Burn Baby

  I’m told it has full instructions on how to siphon gas

  and fill a bottle

  Then our old friend Hide and Seek becomes valid

  Because we have much to seek and ourselves to hide

  from a lecherous dog

  And this poem I give is worth much more

  than any nickel bag

  or ten cent toy

  And you will understand all too soon

  That you, my children of battle, are your heroes

  You must invent your own games and teach us old ones

  how to play

  Concerning One Responsible Negro with Too Much Power

  scared?

  are responsible negroes running

  scared?

  i understand i’m to be sued

  and you say you can’t fight fifteen hundred national

  guards men

  so you’ll beat the shit

  out of poor Black me

  (no doubt because i’ve castrated you)

  dynamite came to your attention

  and responsible negroes tell the cops

  your tongue must be removed

  since you have no brain

  to keep it in check

  aren’t you turned around

  teaching tolerance

  how can i tolerate

  genocide

  my cup is full

  and you already know

  we have no ability

  to delay gratification

  i only want to reclaim myself

  i even want you

  to reclaim yourself

  but more and more i’m being convinced

  that your death

  responsible negro

  is the first step

  toward my reclamation

  it’s very sad

  i’d normally stop and cry

  but evening is coming

  and i’ve got to negotiate

  for my people’s freedom

  Reflections on April 4, 1968

  What can I, a poor Black woman, do to destroy america? This is a question, with appropriate variations, being asked in every Black heart. There is one answer—I can kill. There is one compromise—I can protect those who kill. There is one copout—I can encourage others to kill. There are no other ways.

  The assassination of Martin Luther King is an act of war. President johnson, your friendly uncandidate, has declared war on Black people. He is not making any distinction between us and negroes. The question—does it have rhythm? The answer—yes. The response—kill it. They have been known to shoot at the wind and violate the earth’s gravity for these very reasons.

  Obviously the first step toward peace is the removal of at least two fingers, and most probably three, from both hands of all white people. Fingers that are not controlled must be removed. This is the first step toward a true and lasting peace. We would also suggest blinding or the removal of at least two eyes from one of the heads of all albino freaks.

  And some honkie asked about the reaction? What do you people want? Isn’t it enough that you killed him? You want to tell me how to mourn? You want to determine and qualify how I, a lover, should respond to the death of my beloved? May he rest in peace. May his blood choke the life from ten hundred million whites. May the warriors in the streets go ever forth into the stores for guns and tv’s, for whatever makes them happy (for only a happy people make successful Revolution) and this day begin the Black Revolution.

  How can one hundred and fifty policemen allow a man to be shot? Police were seen coming from the direction of the shots. And there was no conspiracy? Just as there was no violent reaction to his death. And no city official regretted his death

  but only that it occurred in Memphis. We heard similar statements from Dallas—this country has too many large Southern cities.

  Do not be fooled, Black people. Johnson’s footprints are the footprints of death. He came in on a death, he is presiding over a death, and his own death should take him out. Let us pray for the whole state of Christ’s church.

  Zeus has wrestled the Black Madonna and he is down for the count. Intonations to nadinolia gods and a slain honkie will not overcome. Let america’s
baptism be fire this time. Any comic book can tell you if you fill a room with combustible materials then close it up tight it will catch fire. This is a thirsty fire they have created. It will not be squelched until it destroys them. Such is the nature of revolution.

  America has called itself the promised land—and themselves God’s chosen people. This is where we come in, Black people. God’s chosen people have always had to suffer—to endure—to overcome. We have suffered and america has been rewarded. This is a foul equation. We must now seek our reward. God will not love us unless we share with others our suffering. Precious Lord—Take Our Hands—Lead Us On.

  The Funeral of Martin Luther King, Jr.

  His headstone said

  FREE AT LAST, FREE AT LAST

  But death is a slave’s freedom

  We seek the freedom of free men

  And the construction of a world

  Where Martin Luther King could have lived

  and preached non-violence.

  A Litany for Peppe

  They had a rebellion in Washington this year

  because white people killed Martin Luther King

  Even the cherry blossoms wouldn’t appear

  Black Power and a sweet Black Peace

  Just about 200 white people died

  because they conspired to kill Martin Luther King

  And peace and power to you my child

  Blessed be machine guns in Black hands

  All power to grenades that destroy our oppressor

  Peace Peace, Black Peace at all costs

  We’re having our spring sale

  200 honkies for one non-violent

  Even Wilmington Delaware

  (a funni negro at best)

  Responded appropriately

  And to you my Black boy

  A Revolution

  My gift of love

  Blessed is he who kills

  For he shall control this earth.

  Nikki-Rosa

  childhood remembrances are always a drag

  if you’re Black

  you always remember things like living in Woodlawn

  with no inside toilet

  and if you become famous or something

  they never talk about how happy you were to have

  your mother

  all to yourself and

  how good the water felt when you got your bath

  from one of those

  big tubs that folk in chicago barbecue in

  and somehow when you talk about home

  it never gets across how much you

  understood their feelings

  as the whole family attended meetings about Hollydale

  and even though you remember

  your biographers never understand

  your father’s pain as he sells his stock

  and another dream goes

  And though you’re poor it isn’t poverty that

  concerns you

  and though they fought a lot

  it isn’t your father’s drinking that makes any difference

  but only that everybody is together and you

  and your sister have happy birthdays and very good

  Christmases

  and I really hope no white person ever has cause

  to write about me

  because they never understand

  Black love is Black wealth and they’ll

  probably talk about my hard childhood

  and never understand that

  all the while I was quite happy

  The Great Pax Whitie

  In the beginning was the word

  And the word was

  Death

  And the word was nigger

  And the word was death to all niggers

  And the word was death to all life

  And the word was death to all

  peace be still

  The genesis was life

  The genesis was death

  In the genesis of death

  Was the genesis of war

  be still peace be still

  In the name of peace

  They waged the

  ain’t they got no shame

  In the name of peace

  Lot’s wife is now a product of the Morton company

  nah, they ain’t got no shame

  Noah packing his wife and kiddies up for a holiday

  row row row your boat

  But why’d you leave the unicorns, noah

  Huh? why’d you leave them

  While our Black Madonna stood there

  Eighteen feet high holding Him in her arms

  Listening to the rumblings of peace

  be still be still

  CAN I GET A WITNESS? WITNESS? WITNESS?

  He wanted to know

  And peter only asked who is that dude?

  Who is that Black dude?

  Looks like a troublemaker to me

  And the foundations of the mighty mighty

  Ro Man Cat holic church were laid

  hallelujah jesus

  nah, they ain’t got no shame

  Cause they killed the Carthaginians

  in the great appian way

  And they killed the Moors

  “to civilize a nation”

  And they just killed the earth

  And blew out the sun

  In the name of a god

  Whose genesis was white

  And war wooed god

  And america was born

  Where war became peace

  And genocide patriotism

  And honor is a happy slave

  cause all god’s chillun need rhythm

  And glory hallelujah why can’t peace

  be still

  The great emancipator was a bigot

  ain’t they got no shame

  And making the world safe for democracy

  Were twenty million slaves

  nah, they ain’t got no shame

  And they barbecued six million

  To raise the price of beef

  And crossed the 38th parallel

  To control the price of rice

  ain’t we never gonna see the light

  And champagne was shipped out of the East

  While kosher pork was introduced

  To Africa

  Only the torch can show the way

  In the beginning was the deed

  And the deed was death

  And the honkies are getting confused

  peace be still

  So the great white prince

  Was shot like a nigger in texas

  And our Black shining prince was murdered

  like that thug in his cathedral

  While our nigger in memphis

  was shot like their prince in dallas

  And my lord

  ain’t we never gonna see the light

  The rumblings of this peace must be stilled

  be stilled be still

  ahh Black people

  ain’t we got no pride?

  Intellectualism

  sometimes i feel like i just get in

  everybody’s way

  when i was a little girl

  i used to go read

  or make fudge

  when i got bigger i

  read

  or picked my nose

  that’s what they called

  intelligence

  or when i got older

  intellectualism

  but it was only

  that i was in the way

  Universality

  You see boy

  is universal

  It can be a

  man

  a woman

  a child

  or anything—

  but normally it’s

  a

  nigger

  I was told

  Knoxville,

  Tennessee

  I always like summer

  best

  you can eat fresh corn

  from d
addy’s garden

  and okra

  and greens

  and cabbage

  and lots of

  barbecue

  and buttermilk

  and homemade ice-cream

  at the church picnic

  and listen to

  gospel music

  outside

  at the church

  homecoming

  and go to the mountains with

  your grandmother

  and go barefooted

  and be warm

  all the time

  not only when you go to bed

  and sleep

  Records

  it’s so important to record

  i sit here trying to record

  trying to find a new profound

  way to say

  johnson is the vilest

  germiest beast

  the world has ever

  known

  in the alleged civilized

  times

  trying to record

  how i feel about a

  family

  being wiped out

  trying to explain

  that they have nothing

  against bobby

  he’s a white

  millionaire

  several hundred times over

  so it must be me

  they are killing

  trying to record

  the feeling of shame

  that we Black people

  haven’t yet

  committed a

  major assassination

  which very desperately

  must be

  done

  trying to record the

  ignorance of the

  voices

  that say

  i’m glad a negro