Nikki Giovanni died this week at the age of 81, a rare example of a best-selling poet. Her work appeared on the scene in the 1960s, when it was already fully formed. Like much of the black art poetry of the time, it had themes of injustice and liberation, but it also displayed her own humor and Southern sensibilities. Drawing inspiration from her hometown of Knoxville, Tennessee, and her childhood in Cincinnati, she challenged the clichéd “hard times” narrative often imposed on the black experience, especially growing up. “Childhood memories always get in the way/If you’re black,” she sarcastically states in her poem “Nikki Rosa,” but reminds readers that “black love is black wealth.” I wanted to remind you of that.
Her many books explored the rich realm of black thought, characterized by anger, beauty, and biting social commentary. Her often lowercase, mostly unpunctuated lines are either unafraid to brag, as in the popular “Ego Trippin’,” which taps into a tradition of black braggadocio that stretches from Bo Diddley to Kendrick Lamar, or a revolution. He was not afraid to talk about economic uncertainty. It turned out to be funny and intense, just like most others did. Both sides are represented in the anthology of African American poetry I edited, and she joins the ranks of profound writers, many of whom are no longer with us, including June Jordan, Lucille Clifton, and Jane Cortez. is playing. When a friend of mine heard the news of Giovanni’s death, he said: “A tree is falling.”
Questions of nature, both nature itself and literary subject matter, circulate among poets, such as the ecopoetics of Clifton’s collection of poems Good News About the Earth and Giovanni’s own classic poem For Sandra .
This character of the English pastoral meets his counterpart not in the city, but in an imagination that does not chase the trees for the forest of the moment. Clifton says in another popular poem:
This “other poem”, which Giovanni has been writing professionally for decades, is about a family and a country that needs the voices of not just its people, but all the people who live in it. This is what I wrote about.
Giovanni’s work was matched by her generosity, which was expressed in her dedication to education and community building. After Clifton passed away in 2010, Giovanni helped organize a commemorative reading of “73 Poems from 73 Years” in Clifton’s honor, which I also read. (Even some of the young poets who participated in that event have now passed away.) Finally, Giovanni, in all his charisma as a southern choral conductor, , led us readers and poets through a choral rendition of Lucille’s famous “Will You Celebrate with Me?” And craft. Not only did we learn who among us can sing, as is often said, but it seemed like an apt metaphor for her ability to convene, direct, and keep things perfect.
A charming performer, she dominated the reading stage until recently, despite being diagnosed with cancer. Over time, she started making more public appearances, speaking, and riffing. At such events, whether from behind the microphone or from the audience, I often heard her talk more about politics than poetry, more about space than line breaks. She preached and provoked. She specifically talked about the power of Mars and how we have to get there. Moving excerpts from her interplanetary work are on display at the Whitney Museum of American Art’s recent Alvin Ailey exhibit. The fullest expression of this may be the 2023 documentary “Going to Mars.” This documentary traces Giovanni’s Afrofuturist message across the stars and into sometimes even more inaccessible territory here on Earth.
She was a contrarian but totally original, gentle but immune to fools, and wrote children’s books, but she could also stir up storms. Some might say it’s perfect for her zodiac sign. That constellation became the title of his memoir, “Gemini: An Extended Autobiographical Statement About Me,” his first 25 years as a black poet. ” The New Yorker was lucky enough to publish her article. It was originally posted in 1997 and again just last week, later than it should have been. “Sterling Silver Mirror” begins as follows:
Giovanni was always a joker, including at herself, and she knew that the next volume in which this poem would appear would probably be her last, but she simply called it “a new book.” I named it. I can only wish she was back on the pages of the magazine and believe that she will remain forever new and always on time for generations of readers. ♦
