Here Comes mE
Hierarchy Curtails Emancipation; Capital’s
Hegemony Crushes Empathy;
Heavenly Creatures Expire; and I’m Writing These
Hardly Crucial Expatiations
Cmde Daniels, a godless anti-capitalist, was born in NYC in 1956, dropped out of high school to become a musician (that is, dishwasher, cook, house painter and stonemason’s helper), never bothered with college, and now lives in the San Francisco Bay Area, where he sells his labor at a loss. He passed the GED and received a highschool diploma in the late 90’s. He’s still not quite sure why. He can be blunt, exceedingly vulgar and misguided, but most who know him sense that he is gentle and good-hearted. He is utterly unafraid to change his mind when it becomes clear that he is wrong. He strives for honesty. He is a fairly reclusive poet and a prolific translator of Lusophone poetry. His translations have been published all over the place. In 2003, Manifest Press published his “On the Shining Screen of the Eyelids”, poems by Josely Vianna Baptista, with artwork by Francisco Faria. He is working on a volume of selected poems by the Brasilian modernist, Murilo Mendes, to be published in the not-too-distant future by Listening Chamber; Clarice Lispector’s final novel; and a host of other translations for a gigantic, very personal anthology of Brasilian poetry. His translations of Fernando Pessoa’s heteronymic poetry most likely will begin to appear in book form some time in 2006.
Click here for the questions.
5. I read tons of poetry, mostly in Portuguese, including poetry translated into Portuguese. I’m a translator, so reading and writing poetry are the same thing to me. I say this pragmatically.
6. I’ve tried to read The Maximus Poems. With all due respect to his admirers, Olson is basically just a dreamy liberal and I far prefer Eduardo Galeano’s epic “Memory of Fire”. People in this country who know something about Brasilian literature may be surprised to know that I’ve never been able to read a single poem by Adélia Prado all the way through, not even in translation. Her soft Catholic mysticism expressed in domestic, confessional poetry does nothing for me. I’ve never read Proust or “Finnegans Wake”. Except for “After Lorca”, I’ve read practically no Spicer at all. There’s a whole raft of stuff I haven’t read and never, ever will, whether I want to or not. There’s not enough time.
7. Remember when you pointed at the cat and said “Papa”?
8. Like science, art is a way of experiencing and trying to understand the world and ourselves in it. Art is a part of life. The Role of the Poet is to Write Poetry. When Poets talk about Community, they don’t seem to mean Global Human Society, but all Poets are Citizens, though some obviously don’t realize it very deeply.
9. Grass / Bernini / You / Being Numerous / Content
10. This question makes me want to take a shower. My brain is in my body. Human emotions are sensed and felt in the body. I write with my hands, my eyes, my brain. When my body dies, there will be nothing left of me but quickly rotting matter, a very few poems and a whole lot of translations. Descartes wrote, “I am not this body.” I write to Descartes, “dream on, you uptight motherfucker”.
Hegemony Crushes Empathy;
Heavenly Creatures Expire; and I’m Writing These
Hardly Crucial Expatiations
Cmde Daniels, a godless anti-capitalist, was born in NYC in 1956, dropped out of high school to become a musician (that is, dishwasher, cook, house painter and stonemason’s helper), never bothered with college, and now lives in the San Francisco Bay Area, where he sells his labor at a loss. He passed the GED and received a highschool diploma in the late 90’s. He’s still not quite sure why. He can be blunt, exceedingly vulgar and misguided, but most who know him sense that he is gentle and good-hearted. He is utterly unafraid to change his mind when it becomes clear that he is wrong. He strives for honesty. He is a fairly reclusive poet and a prolific translator of Lusophone poetry. His translations have been published all over the place. In 2003, Manifest Press published his “On the Shining Screen of the Eyelids”, poems by Josely Vianna Baptista, with artwork by Francisco Faria. He is working on a volume of selected poems by the Brasilian modernist, Murilo Mendes, to be published in the not-too-distant future by Listening Chamber; Clarice Lispector’s final novel; and a host of other translations for a gigantic, very personal anthology of Brasilian poetry. His translations of Fernando Pessoa’s heteronymic poetry most likely will begin to appear in book form some time in 2006.
Click here for the questions.
1. My father tells me that I was fascinated by The Owl and the Pussycat and Hafiz’s magnificent poem about the rose and the nightingale when he’d recite them to me in the bathtub.
2. I’ve always felt compelled to read the labels on all kinds of products. I can’t explain it.
3. Well, that depends on what you mean by philosophy. Currently, I’m trying to read Hegel. It’s not easy. I’ve read some Nietszche and Heidegger, and even at this very early stage I can see that Hegel is so much more humane and useful. For me, Freud is limited by his rigid conception of the tripartite psyche, but some of his late things, when he’s discarded several of his sillier notions, are well worth reading. Bataille can be loads of fun. Levinas is moving. Jean Amery had a profound effect on me. I’ll take Silvia Federici’s “Caliban and the Witch: Women, the Body and Primitive Accumulation” over anything by Derrida. Marxism is important to my sense of being, and it’s beginning to look like Hegel will be, too. I can’t seperate art from life. It’s useless to try.
4. Marx and Engels, their antecedents and descendents. More thoroughly than anybody before them, Marx and Engels expose the terrible cruelty and constant, ingrained violence of our civilization. Trotsky’s “Literature and Revolution” should be read by every poet. A.K. Voronsky ought to be be better known.
I read certain Lusophone writers over and over again. Pessoa, of course. Guimarães Rosa in Portuguese is a humbling experience, even for many highly-educated Brasilians. Clarice Lispector is a heroine of mine. I’m working on a translation of her final novel and a small reader made up of passages that have been poorly translated, in my opinion. I can’t begin to tell you how much fun it all is. Monoglots don’t know what they’re missing.
I love the Latin American neo-baroque tendency: Lezama, Sarduy and many others. Erin Moure is a force of nature. Celan was amazing. Lately, in translation: Hіkmet, Pasolini, Cesaire, Iskender.
2. I’ve always felt compelled to read the labels on all kinds of products. I can’t explain it.
3. Well, that depends on what you mean by philosophy. Currently, I’m trying to read Hegel. It’s not easy. I’ve read some Nietszche and Heidegger, and even at this very early stage I can see that Hegel is so much more humane and useful. For me, Freud is limited by his rigid conception of the tripartite psyche, but some of his late things, when he’s discarded several of his sillier notions, are well worth reading. Bataille can be loads of fun. Levinas is moving. Jean Amery had a profound effect on me. I’ll take Silvia Federici’s “Caliban and the Witch: Women, the Body and Primitive Accumulation” over anything by Derrida. Marxism is important to my sense of being, and it’s beginning to look like Hegel will be, too. I can’t seperate art from life. It’s useless to try.
4. Marx and Engels, their antecedents and descendents. More thoroughly than anybody before them, Marx and Engels expose the terrible cruelty and constant, ingrained violence of our civilization. Trotsky’s “Literature and Revolution” should be read by every poet. A.K. Voronsky ought to be be better known.
I read certain Lusophone writers over and over again. Pessoa, of course. Guimarães Rosa in Portuguese is a humbling experience, even for many highly-educated Brasilians. Clarice Lispector is a heroine of mine. I’m working on a translation of her final novel and a small reader made up of passages that have been poorly translated, in my opinion. I can’t begin to tell you how much fun it all is. Monoglots don’t know what they’re missing.
I love the Latin American neo-baroque tendency: Lezama, Sarduy and many others. Erin Moure is a force of nature. Celan was amazing. Lately, in translation: Hіkmet, Pasolini, Cesaire, Iskender.
5. I read tons of poetry, mostly in Portuguese, including poetry translated into Portuguese. I’m a translator, so reading and writing poetry are the same thing to me. I say this pragmatically.
6. I’ve tried to read The Maximus Poems. With all due respect to his admirers, Olson is basically just a dreamy liberal and I far prefer Eduardo Galeano’s epic “Memory of Fire”. People in this country who know something about Brasilian literature may be surprised to know that I’ve never been able to read a single poem by Adélia Prado all the way through, not even in translation. Her soft Catholic mysticism expressed in domestic, confessional poetry does nothing for me. I’ve never read Proust or “Finnegans Wake”. Except for “After Lorca”, I’ve read practically no Spicer at all. There’s a whole raft of stuff I haven’t read and never, ever will, whether I want to or not. There’s not enough time.
7. Remember when you pointed at the cat and said “Papa”?
8. Like science, art is a way of experiencing and trying to understand the world and ourselves in it. Art is a part of life. The Role of the Poet is to Write Poetry. When Poets talk about Community, they don’t seem to mean Global Human Society, but all Poets are Citizens, though some obviously don’t realize it very deeply.
9. Grass / Bernini / You / Being Numerous / Content
10. This question makes me want to take a shower. My brain is in my body. Human emotions are sensed and felt in the body. I write with my hands, my eyes, my brain. When my body dies, there will be nothing left of me but quickly rotting matter, a very few poems and a whole lot of translations. Descartes wrote, “I am not this body.” I write to Descartes, “dream on, you uptight motherfucker”.
posted by BN-B at 8:28 AM
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