Mark Strand -- (b. 1934, Prince Edward Island). He'll be here at Smith to do a reading on Tues., but alas I have another event I cannot miss, so I'll miss him. He spent 1965 in Brazil and is a translator of Drummond, and their affinity seems clear in this poem, from the collectiion "Sleeping with One Eye Open" (1964).
Keeping Things Whole
In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.
When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body’s been
We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.
Mantendo inteiras as coisas
Num campo
Eu sou a ausência
de campo.
Isso é
sempre o caso.
Onde eu estiver
eu sou o que está faltando.
Quando eu ando
parto o ar
e sempre
o ar volta
para encher os espaços
onde meu corpo esteve.
Todos temos motivos
para nos movermos.
Eu me movo
para manter inteiras as coisa.
(tradução minha)
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Obama
I’m still digesting all of the monumentality – historical and emotional – of the election of Barack Obama as president of my country. There’s too much to think and feel through. Overwhelming. Where to begin. Perhaps, with my possessive pronoun above. It’s been some time, perhaps since before any real sense of political awareness or awareness of history, that I’ve been able to fully utter “my” country with a feeling of complete, unqualified pride. There was always pride, in the principles, unperfected but prophetically imagined in the founding of this nation, but it was tinged with a deep ambivalence, an awareness of and responsibility for the still unresolved histories of racist imperial expansion that the nation has protagonized, first on this continent and then ever increasingly abroad. These histories are still there, of course, and are ongoing, but with this election, we have demonstrated hope again not only for the perfectability of our egalitarian founding principles but also a willingness to examine the different sides of that history, to re-consider the ways in which we define our national exceptionality, to perhaps even place ourselves among and not above the rest of the world. This is my hope and pride right now.
I’m thinking hard about two of Obama’s speeches, both worth watching and reading repeatedly. I'm so encouraged by the thought that future generations will read and watch them too. Of course, the victory speech, and its solemn invitation for shared responsibility and continued mobilization to solve the major problems that confront us and that are truly global in scale. After three decades of radical individualism – recall Margaret Thatcher telling us that “society doesn’t exist” – we are reminded of the responsibility we have to each other, to lift each other up and to look out for the vulnerable among us. Call it what you want – communitarianism, neighborliness, fraternity, socialism, whatever – it’s a shift away from the ideology of monadic self-interest that has oriented our public discourse and policy for far too long. I was also impressed again by the invitation in Obama’s rhetorical style to dialogue, to thoughtful, sustained reflection, to open-endedness and complexity. This is a marked shift away from the monologic, blustering, simplistic, from-the-gut certainty that our macho, mediatized culture and perhaps the political moment has seemed to favor in recent years. I think that conservative New York Times commentator David Brooks has it right: the Republican Party has ridden the horse of faux-folksy anti-intellectualism into the ground. (Fox news just reported yesterday that according to campaign aides, Governor Palin did not understand that Africa was a continent, not a country, and did not know what countries were in the North American Free Trade Agreement.) Nobody wants to be patronized or spoken down to, but I think the electorate has demonstrated an awareness that the problems we face and the solutions we need to come up with are complex and will require sustained intellectual effort, reflection, curiosity, and a more profound awareness of the world.
I’ve continued to think about Obama’s Philadelphia speech on race, in the throes of the Jeremiah Wright “scandal.” This semester I’ve been teaching a course on race, national identity, and narrative in Angola, Brazil, and Cuba. As I re-read a number of Brazilian and Cuban writers with my students, I’ve been struck by the possibility of a sort of Latin Americanization of race relations and racial identities in the U.S. as embodied by Obama’s candidacy and its narrative of ancestry and self. Obama is simultaneously our first African-American president-elect and our first mixed-race, mestiço/mestizo, or mulatto president-elect. At the same time we all considered the historical weight of Obama’s candidacy as a Black man, we were reminded of (and some voters perhaps soothed by) his simultaneous Whiteness, even up to the end, as we learned of the death of his grandmother in Hawaii, the “rock” of his family. Obama points to himself as the embodiment of a transcendence of racial division in a way that evokes the discourse of mestiçagem/mestizaje – of race mixture – which became a fundamental dimension of national discourse in both Cuba and Brazil over at least the last 100 years. The effects of this narrative, and its permutations, in actually effectively making progress to resolve racial conflict and inequalities in those two countries should be considered as we contemplate its future here in the U.S. In this vein, a couple of Nicolás Guillén poems keep coming to mind as I think about this election.
The first perhaps evokes Reverend Wright:
Ancestry
Fabio, from what you say,
your grandfather was an archangel with his slaves.
My grandpa, on the other hand,
was a demon with his masters.
Yours died cudgeled.
Mine they hanged.
The second evokes the Obama of Philadelphia, willing, forcing by the fact of his own being, his own two grandfathers to embrace.
Ballad of the Two Grandfathers:
Shadows which only I see,
I'm watched by my two grandfathers.
A bone-point lance,
a drum of hide and wood:
my black grandfather.
A ruff on a broad neck,
a warrior's grey armament:
my white grandfather.
Africa's humid jungles
with thick and muted gongs . . .
"I'm dying!"
(My black grandfather says).
Waters dark with alligators,
mornings green with coconuts . . .
"I'm tired!"
(My white grandfather says).
Oh sails of a bitter wind,
galleon burning for gold . . .
"I'm dying"
(My black grandfather says).
Oh coasts with virgin necks
deceived with beads of glass . . .!
"I'm tired!"
(My white grandfather says).
Oh pure and burnished sun,
imprisoned in the tropic's ring;
Oh clear and rounded moon
above the sleep of monkeys!
So many ships, so many ships!
So many Blacks, so many Blacks!
So much resplendent sugarcane!
How harsh the trader's whip!
A rock of tears and blood,
of veins and eyes half-open,
of empty dawns
and plantation sunsets,
and a great voice, a strong voice,
splitting the silence.
So many ships, so many ships,
so many Blacks!
Shadows which only I see,
I'm watched by my two grandfathers.
Don Federico yells at me
and Taita Facundo is silent;
both dreaming in the night
and walking, walking.
I bring them together.
"Federico!
Facundo!" They embrace. They sigh,
they raise their sturdy heads;
both of equal size,
beneath the high stars;
both of equal size,
a Black longing, a White longing,
both of equal size,
they scream, dream, weep, sing.
They dream, weep, sing.
They week, sing.
Sing!
(translations from Spanish by Roberto Marquez, colleague and new friend in the valley...)
I’m thinking hard about two of Obama’s speeches, both worth watching and reading repeatedly. I'm so encouraged by the thought that future generations will read and watch them too. Of course, the victory speech, and its solemn invitation for shared responsibility and continued mobilization to solve the major problems that confront us and that are truly global in scale. After three decades of radical individualism – recall Margaret Thatcher telling us that “society doesn’t exist” – we are reminded of the responsibility we have to each other, to lift each other up and to look out for the vulnerable among us. Call it what you want – communitarianism, neighborliness, fraternity, socialism, whatever – it’s a shift away from the ideology of monadic self-interest that has oriented our public discourse and policy for far too long. I was also impressed again by the invitation in Obama’s rhetorical style to dialogue, to thoughtful, sustained reflection, to open-endedness and complexity. This is a marked shift away from the monologic, blustering, simplistic, from-the-gut certainty that our macho, mediatized culture and perhaps the political moment has seemed to favor in recent years. I think that conservative New York Times commentator David Brooks has it right: the Republican Party has ridden the horse of faux-folksy anti-intellectualism into the ground. (Fox news just reported yesterday that according to campaign aides, Governor Palin did not understand that Africa was a continent, not a country, and did not know what countries were in the North American Free Trade Agreement.) Nobody wants to be patronized or spoken down to, but I think the electorate has demonstrated an awareness that the problems we face and the solutions we need to come up with are complex and will require sustained intellectual effort, reflection, curiosity, and a more profound awareness of the world.
I’ve continued to think about Obama’s Philadelphia speech on race, in the throes of the Jeremiah Wright “scandal.” This semester I’ve been teaching a course on race, national identity, and narrative in Angola, Brazil, and Cuba. As I re-read a number of Brazilian and Cuban writers with my students, I’ve been struck by the possibility of a sort of Latin Americanization of race relations and racial identities in the U.S. as embodied by Obama’s candidacy and its narrative of ancestry and self. Obama is simultaneously our first African-American president-elect and our first mixed-race, mestiço/mestizo, or mulatto president-elect. At the same time we all considered the historical weight of Obama’s candidacy as a Black man, we were reminded of (and some voters perhaps soothed by) his simultaneous Whiteness, even up to the end, as we learned of the death of his grandmother in Hawaii, the “rock” of his family. Obama points to himself as the embodiment of a transcendence of racial division in a way that evokes the discourse of mestiçagem/mestizaje – of race mixture – which became a fundamental dimension of national discourse in both Cuba and Brazil over at least the last 100 years. The effects of this narrative, and its permutations, in actually effectively making progress to resolve racial conflict and inequalities in those two countries should be considered as we contemplate its future here in the U.S. In this vein, a couple of Nicolás Guillén poems keep coming to mind as I think about this election.
The first perhaps evokes Reverend Wright:
Ancestry
Fabio, from what you say,
your grandfather was an archangel with his slaves.
My grandpa, on the other hand,
was a demon with his masters.
Yours died cudgeled.
Mine they hanged.
The second evokes the Obama of Philadelphia, willing, forcing by the fact of his own being, his own two grandfathers to embrace.
Ballad of the Two Grandfathers:
Shadows which only I see,
I'm watched by my two grandfathers.
A bone-point lance,
a drum of hide and wood:
my black grandfather.
A ruff on a broad neck,
a warrior's grey armament:
my white grandfather.
Africa's humid jungles
with thick and muted gongs . . .
"I'm dying!"
(My black grandfather says).
Waters dark with alligators,
mornings green with coconuts . . .
"I'm tired!"
(My white grandfather says).
Oh sails of a bitter wind,
galleon burning for gold . . .
"I'm dying"
(My black grandfather says).
Oh coasts with virgin necks
deceived with beads of glass . . .!
"I'm tired!"
(My white grandfather says).
Oh pure and burnished sun,
imprisoned in the tropic's ring;
Oh clear and rounded moon
above the sleep of monkeys!
So many ships, so many ships!
So many Blacks, so many Blacks!
So much resplendent sugarcane!
How harsh the trader's whip!
A rock of tears and blood,
of veins and eyes half-open,
of empty dawns
and plantation sunsets,
and a great voice, a strong voice,
splitting the silence.
So many ships, so many ships,
so many Blacks!
Shadows which only I see,
I'm watched by my two grandfathers.
Don Federico yells at me
and Taita Facundo is silent;
both dreaming in the night
and walking, walking.
I bring them together.
"Federico!
Facundo!" They embrace. They sigh,
they raise their sturdy heads;
both of equal size,
beneath the high stars;
both of equal size,
a Black longing, a White longing,
both of equal size,
they scream, dream, weep, sing.
They dream, weep, sing.
They week, sing.
Sing!
(translations from Spanish by Roberto Marquez, colleague and new friend in the valley...)
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