COTTON CANDY ON A RAINY DAY
By
Giovanni's angry dithyrambs have given way to a soft-focus personal realism: she's become a kind of wise young newspaper columnist in broken lines: ""If i can't have/ what i want then/ my job is to want/ what i've got/ and be satisfied/ that at least there/ is something more/ to want."" A reasonable definition of life? Only one poem, 'The Winter Storm,"" puts this mellowing acceptance of age and disappointment and realism to any artistic use; all the others could be sent to Hallmark posthaste: ""emotional falls always are/ the worst/ and there are no crutches/ to swing back on."" Giovanni's work has regularly played to the grandstand, thus its popularity; she seems to have now decided that black poetry needs its own Rod McKuen, all kitsch and coo.