The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni (6 page)

And every now and then I think

About the river

Where once we sat

Upon the bank

Which

You robbed

And I let you

Wasn't it fun

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

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

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

Bitter Black Bitterness

Black Bitter Bitterness

Bitterness Black Brothers

Bitter Black Get

Blacker Get Bitter

Get Black Bitterness

NOW

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

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

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

and 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 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

award

And he'll probably win

(If he'd just stop wetting on himself each and

everytime he

meets a Due-pontee)

LORD KNOWS HE TRIES

Why just the other day I heard him say NO

But he was only talking to the janitor and I believe

they

expect him to exercise some control over the

excretionary

facilities around here

(But it's a start)

My only real criticism is that he eats his daily

nourishment at the “Y”

And I was taught that's not proper to do in public

But he's sharp, my but that boy is sharp

Why it took the overlords two generations to recognize

that negroes had moved to the East side of town (which is similar to

but not the same as the wrong side of the tracks)

And here he is making plans for future whites who

haven't even

reclaimed the best land yet

“Don't say nothing Black or colored or look unhappy”

I heard him tell his chief joints

And every bone bopped in place but quick

(He can really order some colored people around—

a sight to behold)

And does a basically good militant shuffle

when dancing is in order

I'd really like to see him party more but he swears

Asphalt is bad for his eye-talian shoes

And we all appreciate eye-tal

don't we

I tried to talk to him once but he just told me

“Don't be emotional”

And all the while he was shaking and crying

and raining blows on

poor black me

So I guess I'm wrong again

Just maybe I don't know the coloure of my

truefriends

As Wilmington pointed out to me himself

But I'm still not going to anymore banquits

The last one they replaced jello with

jellied gas (a Due-pontee specialty; housewise)

And I couldn't figure out what they were trying

to tell me

Wilmington said they were giving me guest treat-meants

But somehow I don't feel welcome

So I'm going to pack my don-key (asswise) and split

before they start to do me favors too

The whole point of writing you is pointless

and somewhere in the back of my mind I really do

accept that. But on the other hand the whole point

of points is pointless when it's boiled all the way down

to the least common denominator. But I was never one

to deal with fractions when there are so many wholes

that cannot be dissected—at least these poor hands

lack both skill and tool and perhaps this poor heart

lacks even the inclination to try because emotion is in

and of itself a wasteful thing because it lacks the power

to fulfill itself. And power is to be sought.

I see, after talking with you I did see, that Johnson

sent his storm troopers into Detroit and that's wrong

and the wrong is not what we have done but what

Johnson and all the johnsons before him have done

and it's wrong that we hate but it's even more wrong

to love when neither love nor hate have anything to do

with what must be done. And Rap does love and

maybe he won't tomorrow or the next day and if

he does maybe it won't be with me but if we must love

then I must love you and him and all other people.

Or I must not deal with love at all. And if we are not

to deal with love then we must not deal with emotion

because if not love then we deal with hate or fear

or anxiety or just anything but The Problem which is

what we must deal with if we are to get back to love

and hate and anxiety and all those foolish emotions.

Which is what we're talking about. And you are angry

with me maybe because you think I'll get hurt

(if indeed you care) or maybe because you think

you'll get hurt but not at all because I hate

because you know I don't hate and not because

I'm violent because you know I'm not violent

so perhaps you are not angry at all but just give

slightly a shade left of a good goddamn what the hell

happens to me and whether or not I want to share it

with you and the truth being that I should give

a bout face and act like an adult except that adulthood

has no room for me because adulthood implies another

adult to relate to and there are no adults

only children whose balloons are bursting spit

all over their faces and having never tasted spit

let alone eaten any shit or licked any ass

you think that liquid on your face is rain from Heaven

and maybe you hope if it rains hard enough

all the wrinkles will disappear and the fountain

of youth, having been presented to you by our friend

and neighbor, will be yours for-ever surrounded by

flashing lights on the outside instead of the terrible

hammer inside which beats the sweat or fans the cold

and sometimes buckles your knees. So we move to

needs which must be met and I confess with a smile

on my lips that my needs are far more important to me

than your needs are to me and even though your needs

mean something to me they are only important

insofar as your needs have a need to meet mine.

And your needs lack significance to me when your

need is to get away from me and my needs.

Which is why I'm currently going through a thing

which is the only accurate description of my emotional

goulash, as if you've never been lonely and basically

afraid but recognizing that fear is an invalid emotion

and so is loneliness but being afraid and lonely

nonetheless. I called you but you have a job.

Which is no longer inclusive of me or maybe I just

developed a bad case of paranoia which in the next

thousand years may be understood by all the people

everywhere who can understand how it feels to be

lonely and afraid when there is no place for emotion.

And that has to upset your world which I fully intend

to do even if I don't like doing it because likes or

dislikes have nothing to do with what has to be done

—even to you with whom I'd dearly like to do nothing

at all. My, but you hurt.