My dad told me that he and my mom used to read Nikki Giovanni’s poems to each other when they were in college together in Wisconsin. I being enthralled when the cast of “A Different World” performed her poem, “Ego Tripping” during one of the episodes of the late-‘80s, early-‘90s sitcom. I was in high school when “The Selected Poems of Nikki Giovanni” was released and I saw so many of my Black girlfriends thumbing through copies, ing them between our friend groups.
As the news of her ing on Dec. 9, at the age of 81, made its way into my text messages and social media feeds, there was the obvious and expected sadness, but also celebration. There was an outpouring of stories of so many folks who felt fortunate and blessed to have had even the smallest personal interaction with her, whether it was at a book g, a poetry reading, a convention. In each story, people described feeling like they’d just chatted with an auntie, or a good friend who also happened to be a cultural icon. For me, her words have been beautiful and powerful in the ways they’ve helped me to think about and see myself, to love myself and love being Black.
In 2020, I was fortunate enough to get the opportunity to interview her about her latest book at the time, “Make Me Rain.” In that conversation, she talked about how proud she is of younger generations and the work of Black Lives Matter, the resilience of being a Black American, and making her grandmother proud.
“I do very much apologize, but I love my book so much because, if anything, Black women are rain. We have watered this ground and our seeds have grown, and it’s something to be so proud of,” she said. “I mean, you just wake up as a Black woman and say, ‘Oh, I’m wonderful.’ You can’t help it.”
The following is an excerpt of our conversation from 2020 (it has been edited for length and clarity).
Q: As I was reading your latest work, “Make Me Rain,” I noticed what seemed like the theme of transitions and transitioning coming up again and again in the book. My first question is to ask you about how you’ve been doing during this most recent time of transition that we’re all experiencing from the pandemic, from the protests for Black Lives Matter; what’s been going through your mind? How has this adjustment been for you?
A: I, like most writers, enjoy being alone. So, I haven’t had a problem. People complain about being in the house, I haven’t had that problem at all. I am, and I don’t think a ‘fan’ is the word, but I am such an irer of Black Lives Matter. It is such an honor that I have worked a little bit with them, as much as the old ladies do. I think that the young people, and I’m serious about that we need. We, the older generation, we’ve done pretty much what we can—we did eliminate segregation. We did not and have not, and probably cannot, eliminate racism, but Black Lives Matter has brought it to the attention of the world. When George Floyd was murdered, it was Black Lives Matter all over the United States that took it all over the world. And I’m so very proud of those youngsters and I think it’s so important that we, of this generation, grant them the freedom to handle it the way that they see fit. So, I’m extremely proud of what they’re doing…That’s just a wonderful group, they’re doing their job. They’re more than doing their job—they changed the world.
Q: In “But Some of Us Stayed,” that piece seems to uphold and affirm the strength of those of us who stayed behind, in some form or another, to build homes and lives and community. In it, you say that “100 years really isn’t that long, when we plant love with patience, and when we find that song that gives us strength to go on.” What has been that song for you? What’s the song that’s given you the strength to continue?
A: I had had the world’s greatest grandmother, and whatever would happen, I would never want grandmother to be embarrassed by me. So, my work has always been to be sure that grandmother is proud of me. At the African American Museum (the National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, D.C.)…when you go upstairs, if you turn right, there will be a picture of me. If you turn left, there will be a place where the older women actually sat down and talked about their experience in civil rights. But when I turned right and I saw my photograph, I automatically—it brings tears to my eyes — I automatically turned to my shoulder to say, “Look, grandmother, I did my job.”
Q: I want to go back to something you said earlier about always wanting to make sure that you didn’t disappoint your grandmother and the people in your life that you love, and that love you.
A: Oh, yeah. You know, you have to know who loves you, and you have to know who you love, and then you have to move on from that because that’s about happiness.
We were looking at “Star Trek.” You’re probably too young to “Star Trek.” They were down on one of the new planets that they found, and there was a flower there, and it went, “poof.” I think it was just a takeoff on marijuana, frankly speaking. And, they were doing it. Everybody was down there—Spock was down there, Jim was down there. They came back because they realized, “We can’t change this, we need to leave these people alone,” which they were right about. Jim said, “Well, what did you learn about being on that planet?” And Spock said, “I was happy for the first time” because, you know, Spock doesn’t deal with emotion. And he said, “I was happy.” I’ve always loved Spock because I’m a space freak. Being happy is important, but doing your duty, which is what I always loved about him, is important. You do your duty. In my generation, I was so sorry to see John (Lewis) . John was a Fisk University graduate, also. I was just so sorry to see him , but John did his duty. So, he’s sitting in heaven. That’s what you want to do. The song says, “I want to go heaven when my work is through. Yes, I do. Don’t you?”
