SOURCE: "My House," in Essence, Vol. 12, No. 4, August, 1981, pp. 84-8.

[In the following essay based on an interview with Giovanni, Stokes remarks on Giovanni's home and family.]

"Now don't expect to find me in a fancy mansion," Nikki Giovanni said when told the Essence crew was on its way to Cincinnati to share a day in her busy life. "But if you want someone who lives like everyone else, then you're coming to the right place."

We couldn't imagine Nikki's house as anything less than wonderful. Sure, she lives in an average, middle-class Black community called Lincoln Heights. And yes, her house looks much like others on her block; it's nice, although in passing one wouldn't look twice. But once inside you feel there's a lot of care and love in this house. One of Nikki's poems does say that Black love is Black wealth. Our expectations were confirmed.

But what's Nikki Giovanni doing in Cincinnati: She recalls that once when she was washing her car a brother recognized her and asked in amazement, "Nikki Giovanni? What're you doing here?" Her reply: "Washing my car. Want to help?"

The true answer to his question lies deep in the love Nikki has for her family. Three years ago, after her father had a stroke, Nikki and her son, Thomas, moved from New York City to be with her parents.

"The stroke was so serious that there was some question as to whether he was going to live," Nikki explains. "I thought, 'If he dies, somebody's going to have to be here with my mother. If he doesn't, somebody's going to have to be here with him.' So the decision wasn't difficult and didn't bother me. I like New York but I don't feel like 'Oh God, I've made this great sacrifice for these people.' If I did I wouldn't have come." Nikki's father is now convalescing in California with Nikki's older sister, Gary. And Nikki is enjoying living in her old hometown.

The day we spent with Nikki, she had just returned from a 90-day lecture tour. Yet the hectic pace had not diminished her energy one bit. She washed clothes, answered correspondence, took her latest memorabilia went to the framer, went to the bookstore, the cleaners and the post office. When 11-year-old Tommy came home from school, she played football with him, then cooked dinner.

Most days she works on a new volume of poetry and a book of "nonpoetic faction." She also writes free-lance for newspapers and magazines. "I'm a writer that likes to be topical," she explains. "Some poems are topical, but the nature of poetry is not topical; it's emotional. So I like journalism too. I'm not very good at who, what, when, where and how; I'm more interested in discussing 'What does it really mean?'"

One writing obligation Nikki doesn't overlook is answering her loads of mail. She comments that she often gets requests to provide more information about her poems. Not one to live in the past by explaining how or why she wrote her poems, Nikki says, "I'm not the critic. If I have to give information that will enable someone to write a critique, then I should write the critique. And if I have to write the critique, then I've failed in 14 books to make a statement."

"I don't think I have to backtrack," she adds. "I definitely stand behind all my poems. There's not one that I can say I regret. My poetry is as much a part of me as kindergarten—I'm not denying it, but I'm not going back."

She has gone back to living in her parents home, however, and that has required some adjustments. "No matter what the situation is or what the financial arrangements are you are always their child," she says. "If you're in your parents' house or they're in yours, it's still a parent-child relationship. When I get tired of being a child, I go to the small apartment I maintain in New York. But essentially, I don't have any problems living with my parents."

Actually, Nikki has made a special place for herself, a kind of apartment, right in her parents' basement. It's a gold mine of wall-to-wall bookshelves, Afro-American memorabilia and antique furniture. The books and records are in alphabetical order. The memorabilia is framed and hung or neatly displayed. Everything is organized and has its own place. When Nikki describes how the basement used to look, with a large cocktail bar and room for dancing, the renovation seems especially astounding.

"I like to do renovations," Nikki says, sitting in her library retreat. "So I looked around this house and thought. 'Well, we have a lot to do here.' I thought it would take about a year. It turned out to be a three-year job."

The project took longer than she had anticipated because the workers she called were slow to start. "In Manhattan, if you call for something you get it right away," she explains. "I called here and the guy said. 'Well, I'll have to call you back in about a week.' The slowness took an adjustment." As a result, Nikki took on many of the jobs herself. "I have a girlfriend who's forever in awe of me because of the things that I do" she says, smiling. "I'm amazed that women sit around and don't do things, saying. "I have to wait on my husband.'"

In her renovation, Nikki considered the needs of everyone living in the house. "I wanted to make a home that everyone could function in. My father likes to sit on the front porch and holler at his neighbors, so we made the front porch larger. I took the garage and turned it into a gazebo for Tommy and his good friend Brian. Since they're into records now, in the summer I put a record player in the driveway and they dance outside. I like to barbecue and sit in the backyard, so I put up an awning. And so that I wouldn't have to walk my dogs, I built a fence for them to have the run of the yard. I've enjoyed playing with the house. It's fun."

As Nikki talks about the birthday party she threw for her father, the small field she's clearing for her son and his friends to play soccer and the relationship between her mother and Tommy, a smile of satisfaction crosses her face.

"I don't think I have a lifestyle," she says, turning serious. "I have a life. It's not a style. Lifestyles are transitory. For example, one moved to Paris if one happened to be a Black artist in the thirties or forties. Or one moved to California in the late fifties, early sixties. I'm sure that's charming, but that's not what I am about. I'm about my life."

Nikki's life doesn't include role playing or following a formula. "I'm not into roles," she states firmly. "When I lecture, the kids keep asking, 'What's the role of the woman? What's the role of this or that?' This is no job. This is our life. It's reality, and I think you do what has to be done. Some people wait for the sink to be fixed, because, after all, they're a woman and they don't do that. That means nothing. Working together to build a common homestead—that works.

"I think all the concern about the family in the eighties is slightly overblown," Nikki adds. "Or maybe I'm in an awkward position because I am personally fond of my family. I think we get along—although not without effort. I mean, a family member's like any other friend. That's where people miss. They expect a family to take the worst of them and their friends to get the best. They don't work at a good relationship. I think familial relationships are very delicate and should be treated as you would any other love affair.

"I've been seeing articles that ask, What's causing the breakup of the family? Well, it's not surprising it's breaking up—the nuclear family doesn't work. Many of us are divorced already. Many of us will be stepparents. Some of us will rear our brothers or live with aunts and uncles. Some of us are adopted. And we make this big deal. 'Oh, this is a different child. It's adopted.' If you tell me you're family, I take your word for it."

Nikki lives by her philosophy. It was her choice 11 years ago to have a baby and not marry the child's father. To her, the concept of extended family is real. And even though her parents have been married 43 years, she's not interested in living her life based on theirs.

"I don't think anybody should stay on the job that long. Just for the exercise of it there should be a separation. I'm glad my parents like each other.

"I just think that we're responsible for our own happiness." Nikki adds that one way to start being responsible is to change the wording of the marriage ceremony toward an equitable living situation. "In the old days," she muses, "it was 'I now pronounce you gender and role.'"

"This is not my soapbox," she adds. "I'm not saying that I won't wake up ten years down the pike and say, I really think I want to get married.' I'll be as happy to get married as I am to be single now."

     i mean i want to keep you warm
     and my windows might be dirty
     but it's my house
     and if i can't see out sometimes
     they can't see in either
 
     i'm saying its my house
     and i'll make fudge and call
     it love and touch my lips
     to the chocolate warmth
     and smile at old men and call
     it revolution cause what's real
     is really real
     and i still like men in tight
     pants cause everybody has some
     thing to give and more
     important need something to take
 
     and this is my house and you make me happy
     so this is your poem