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By Veronica Mackey
Beloved and iconic author, poet, professor, and activist Nikki Giovanni, 81, has died. One of the most prolific voices of the Revolutionary Arts Movement, Nikki was known for her ability to crystallize perfectly into words what it meant to be Black in America during the Civil Rights Era.
Her words resonated so powerfully within the Black community that they became the substance that fueled a 5 decades-long career. In her lifetime, Nikki authored 30 books, earned Emmy and Grammy nominations, an NAACP Image Award, Langston Hughes Award, sold-out lectures and television appearances.
She was a favorite within academic circles and found her place within the esteemed social circles of such literary greats as Maya Angelou, James Baldwin and Nina Simone.
Born on June 7, 1943, in Knoxville, Tennessee, and raised in Cincinnati, Ohio, Giovanni found her poetic voice while attending Fisk University. Despite her Southern upbringing, and family warning her to “behave” and not get kicked out of school, Nikki was always unapologetically Black, and unafraid to speak out against racial injustice in any form. She frequently called out systemic racism and its devastating effects on the psyche and social conditions on Black people always with more wit than anger.
In Nikki, I saw a clear path for my own journey as a young black writer and freshman at UCLA, who had a lot to say but lacked the courage to “put it all out there.” Nikki’s fearlessness gave me the freedom and confidence to express my views on social injustice through poetry and essays.
My first encounter with Nikki happened when I attended one of her readings on campus. I was blown away! I spent many a day, going to Powell Library, listening to recordings from Black Feeling, Black Talk, her first poetry book, published in 1968. Ego Tripping, Love Poem and That Day are among my favorites.
Watching Nikki step up and tell her truth gave me the courage to send her some of my work. Never expecting more than a form letter thanking me for the submission, imagine my shock when she actually replied with a personal note. Rather than give me a critique, Nikki simply said she enjoyed reading my poems and that “we are our own best critics.”
The ability to stand for what you believe in, speak your truth, and stand up to the status quo was something many of my peers were reluctant to do. There was an unspoken rule that a person of color needed to just be thankful they made it into a university, not make waves or draw any attention to themselves. There was the thinly veiled threat that doing so could lead to getting expelled.
As a graduate of Fisk, a historically black university, one could say Nikki’s academic environment made being black easier. Nonetheless, she continued to stay relevant long after the college days, proving she was “in the struggle” for life. Nikki was still willing to stick her neck out for Black people after returning to academia as a professor at Virginia Tech, where she taught for more than 35 years.
In 1998 I saw Nikki again, reading from her book, Cotton Candy on a Rainy Day. She spoke before a standing-room-only crowd at Malik’s Bookstore in Leimert Park Village. It was there that I learned she had undergone surgery to remove cancer from her lungs—the same cancer that would eventually resurface to claim her life 26 years later.
I scooped up a copy and had her sign it. She was in a philosophical mood. I don’t recall the actual topic but as she signed copies, she likened the news of the day to the animal kingdom, and how species will always populate when they are in danger of becoming extinct.
As the incomparable Ms. Giovanni journeys upward, and we are left here to ponder her incredible legacy, she will be sorely missed. This poem, which she released in 1973, makes that journey a little easier to accept. Rest in Power, Nikki.
Like A Ripple on a Pond
One ounce of truth benefits like a ripple on a pond.
One ounce of truth benefits like ripples on a pond .
Once ounce of truth benefits like a ripple on a pond.
As things change, remember my smile.
The old man said, “My time is getting near.”
The old man said, “My time is getting near.”
He looked at his dusty, cracked boots to say
“Sister, my time is getting near.
When I’m gone, remember I smiled
When I’m gone, remember I smiled.
I’m glad my time is getting there.”
The baby cried wanting some milk.
The baby cried needing some milk.
The baby, he cried for wanting.
His mother kissed him gently.
When I came, they sang a song.
When I was born, they sang a song.
When I was saved, they sang a song.
Remember I smiled when I’m gone.
Remember I smiled when I’m gone.
Sing a good song when I’m gone.
We ain’t got long to stay.
