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
The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni Page 17
