Authors: Nikki Giovanni
Chasing Utopia
Contents
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Why I Wrote
The Grasshopper's Song
The Lioness Circles Her Brood in New Orleans
The American Vision of Abraham Lincoln
What the Fly on the Wall Overheard
The Lone Ranger Rides the Lonesome Trail Again
I Wish I Could Live (in a Book)
I Wish I Could Live (in Music)
I Wish I Could Live (in a Painting)
To the Lion Who Discovered a Deer in his Habitat: Give Him Ketchup!
Our Job Safety Is Your Priority with Coffee
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So here is the actual story. I was bored. Well, not bored because I had the privilege of interviewing Mae Jemison, the first Black woman in space, who said she pursued a degree in physics and also became a medical doctor to keep her mind occupied. Mae's IQ must be nine hundred and fifty-five or thereabouts. I asked: “How do you keep from being bored?” And she replied: “A friend of my father's once told me âIf you're bored you're not paying attention.'”
So I said to myself: “Beer.”
We are foodies, my family and I. My grandmother was an extraordinary cook. Her miniature Parker House rolls have been known to float the roof off a flooded house in hurricane season. Grandpapa made pineapple ice cream so rich and creamy with those surprising chunks that burst with citrusy flavor. My sister made Spring Rolls so perfectly the Chinese complained to the State Department and my aunt fries chicken just short of burning that has been known to make the Colonel denounce his own KFC. Mommy is the best bean cooker in this world or the next and I do a pretty swell pot roast. We are, in other words, dangerous when it comes to food. But I'm a wine drinker. My sister was a wine drinker also. Red, of course. One aunt married a minister so they ate their wine instead of drinking it. That left Mommy and my middle aunt, Ann, as the beer drinkers.
Mommy also liked Pig Feet. Boiled. Not Pickled.
I was sad when Mommy died. Then six weeks later Gary died. Then my aunt Ann. I tried to find a way to bring them back.
Beer.
Mommy drank Miller Genuine Draft. Ann drank Bud Light. Not for me. If it was going to be Beer I needed to learn something.
Going through books I came across Utopia. Sam Adams. The #1 Beer in the World. Having always been a fan of
start at the top
I called my local beer store. “I'd like to order a Utopia, please.” Thinking this would be easy. “No Way,” Keith said. “We never get that!” O.K. I called Bounty Hunter. They have everything. I bought my Justice Series: Blind Justice, Frontier Justice, Poetic Justice. Great red wines. “No, ma'am, we don't sell beer.” In Canada they sell Utopia as a Special Brew because the alcohol content is so high but it's still a beer.
But here is the happy part. I am a poet. I occasionally get invited to speak at Important Government Agencies. I was thrilled. Sure, someone will say why would you, a poet, a rebel, you who hate the TSA and think Railroads should make a big comeback, you who think modern wars are stupid and unworthy . . . why would you speak for an Important Government Agency? Well for one thing I am an American. So government, whether I like it or not, R Me. For another thing I know they have the world's best computers. I was charming; I was funny. I was very nice and a good citizen. I wanted an illegal favor.
“Please, Sir,” said I, “can you find Utopia?” “Of course, Little Lady,” said the Director. “It's in your heart and mind.” He smiled a lovely smile and patted me on my shoulder. Not wanting to appear to correct him I smiled the smile of the defeated. And waited for him to leave. I asked his assistant. “I think,” he pontificated, “it is in your soul. Search deep and you will find it.” I knew I needed someone of color. Finally an older man, gray hair cut short, came by. “Please excuse me,” I said, “I'm trying to find Utopia. Can you help?” “Why sure,” he said, “as soon as I can find a safe computer.” We moved into another room and he made me stand way away from him so that I could not see the computer screen. He pulled up a website. “Here you go.” And he was right. “I can't buy it as it's against the rules but get someone else to go to this site. I hear it's a great beer. At $350 a pint it ought to be.”
And now that I've found Utopia I am at peace . . . drinking the Jazz Series from Dogfish brewery
:
Brother Thelonious, Bitches Brew, Hellhound on My Ale. I have Utopia and if I were Egyptian I would be buried with it. I use it to start conversations and make friends. It is not for Mortals. Or Americans. Utopia is for Poets . . . or the Gods.
A SHORT ESSAY NOT ON WHY I DON'T ASK PERSONAL QUESTIONS BUT A BALANCING SHARING ON WHEN I FIRST DID
I went to the memory bank to see when it was that I last asked a personal question since we were talking and I said to you:
I don't
. When it got to be more than twenty years back I began to feel the journey wasn't worth it but then I said:
Oh, put ten more years in
. I still couldn't come up with a question. The last person I asked a personal question of, I think, is Sister Althea and I wanted to know why she became a nun. I must have been twelve or thirteen years old. Thank goodness she took it in the love it was given or I guess in this case Asked.
So I thought since I had asked a personal question of you, mainly:
What were you like at 17?
I thought I should answer it about myself.
I asked because my own journey begins not actually at 17 but events that would make 17 a mountain began to be put in place. My aunt Ann lived in Philadelphia and my grandfather wanted to go visit her. I was living with Grandmother and Grandpapa in Knoxville and was in school at Austin High. There are still memories I need to mine to see the how and why but I knew I couldn't live with my parents and my grandparents were kind enough to take me in. I think now the reason I went to Philadelphia with Grandpapa and not Grandmother is that we probably could only afford two tickets. I wasn't thinking about that then or maybe Grandmother had meetings (she was a committed club woman: Garden, Book, Deaconess, Bridge, NAACP among others). Grandmother was very popular so she may have had commitments. At any rate Grandpapa and I took the train to Philly. It was a day trip, change in DC and we were there that night. I learned the subway system the hard way: I got on and rode to Center City. I walked to the Liberty Bell and purchased a little copy for my mother which sits still on my dresser. I was very proud of myself because I am mostly adventurous in my head. I had lunch at the Reading Market and went back home by subway. I was thrilled that I could do it.
A day or so later we received a call from Grandmother. She said I needed to come back to Knoxville because she had talked with Mme. Stokes, the French teacher, who told her there was a test I should take. The Ford Foundation had a program called Early Entrant to College. You take a test, do well, and you go off to college. Grandmother was always thrilled when any of us did well so she thought I should come home and take the test. That would have meant Grandpapa would have to cut short his trip which didn't seem right. Uncle Haynes took me to the train station and gave me directions about changing in DC. I learned later he also asked the Pullman Porters to look out for me.
The first book I ever bought for myself was a biography of Clarence Darrow,
Attorney for the Damned,
but I doubt I was reading anything so useful. Most likely something trashy, since I've always been a fan of trashy heroes. I bought a small box of chocolate chip cookies and sat down. One of my good things is I can actually sit still for interminable lengths of time. I didn't do much between Philly and DC but be a bit nervous about making my connection.
After DC it was on to Knoxville. I no longer had to worry so I opened my book and my chocolate chip cookies. Two young white soldiers started to talk about me:
She has those cookies; I wonder if she'll give us one.
I remember looking at them. They were as young as I was or so they seemed. I said:
Do you want a cookie?
And they laughed. They meant me no harm. They were, I later realized, flirting with me. I didn't understand it then because I didn't know that I was pretty. I was 16.
I passed the test. Never graduated from high school. Went to Fisk. Got kicked out. Failed. Then learned failure is as important as success. I still don't ask many questions. But I do try to pay attention.
If a lemon
Kissed a beet
Is it sour
Or is it sweet
If a bear
Gives
A hug
Will it turn
Into a rug
And then there's me
And there is you
I do sometimes wonder
What will we do
I loved before
I understood;
Love is a skill
I loved my Mother's cool hands
On my forehead
I loved the safety
Of her arms
I trusted
Before I understood
The word
Mommy would say
When I had fallen:
“Come here, Nikki,
and I'll pick you up”
and I would wipe my eyes
push myself off my fat bottom
and tottle over to her
for my reward:
a kiss and a “That's my Big Girl!”
I am still a sucker
For that one
But I grew up
And learned
Trust and love
Are crafts we practice
Are wheels
We balance
Our lives on
Are BICYCLES
We ride
Through
challenges and changes
To
escape
and
ecstasy