The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni (8 page)

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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?

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

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

I always like summer

best

you can eat fresh corn

from daddy'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

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

didn't do it

a negro needs to kill

something

trying to record

that this country must be

destroyed

if we are to live

must be destroyed if we are to live

must be destroyed if we are to live

i usta wonder who i'd be

when i was a little girl in indianapolis

sitting on doctors' porches with post-dawn pre-debs

(wondering would my aunt drag me to church sunday)

i was meaningless

and i wondered if life

would give me a chance to mean

i found a new life in the withdrawal from all things

not like my image

when i was a teen-ager i usta sit

on front steps conversing

the gym teacher's son with embryonic eyes

about the essential essence of the universe

(and other bullshit stuff)

recognizing the basic powerlessness of me

but then i went to college where i learned

that just because everything i was was unreal

i could be real and not just real through withdrawal

into emotional crosshairs or colored bourgeois

intellectual pretensions

but from involvement with things approaching reality

i could possibly have a life

so catatonic emotions and time wasting sex games

were replaced with functioning commitments to logic

and

necessity and the gray area was slowly darkened into

a Black thing

for a while progress was being made along with a certain

degree

of happiness cause i wrote a book and found a love

and organized a theatre and even gave some lectures on

Black history

and began to believe all good people could get

together and win without bloodshed

then

hammarskjo¨ld was killed

and lumumba was killed

and diem was killed

and kennedy was killed

and malcolm was killed

and evers was killed

and schwerner, chaney and goodman were killed

and liuzzo was killed

and stokely fled the country

and le roi was arrested

and rap was arrested

and pollard, thompson and cooper were killed

and king was killed

and kennedy was killed

and i sometimes wonder why i didn't become a

debutante

sitting on porches, going to church all the time,

wondering

is my eye make-up on straight

or a withdrawn discoursing on the stars and moon

instead of a for real Black person who must now feel

and inflict

pain