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An Interview by Michael Collins Part I: On Collaboration Komunyakaa: Each collaboration is different. Matter of fact, each poem is different. Of course, poetry always begs connective tissue, especially since each reader or listener is a collaborator because he or she helps render the poem's meaning. Language is music, so when poetry embraces the sounds made by instruments, the two shouldn't collide; they should work together to produce a whole sound if the musicians are listening to the words, and vice versa. I'm not talking about harmony; I'm thinking about lyrical discord that creates tension and thought. This happens when two or more voices are reaching for a resounding yes. And, sometimes the yes comes to us in other ways. Take Gilgamesh. I had read parts of that Sumerian epic years ago and remembered how the two central characters, Gilgamesh and Enkidu, were linked through grief. When Chad Garcia approached me about writing a Gilgamesh for the stage, I didn't readily embrace this daunting task. But there was something in Chad that I trusted. I had never written a full-length dramatic piece, but I knew this man would usher such an effort to a fruitful conclusion. I said yes to the idea of Gilgamesh, and then I went to work to find the appropriate language. It had to sound different from anything that I'd written and yet possess the essence of my aesthetics. Often, Chad was the engine behind this piece, asking all the right questions and making sure that I kept abreast of the tone and dramatic intent: "Suppose this word was changed? Suppose this passage was shifted up here for dramatic effect?" This collaboration was a dare, a challenge. Why not start at the beginning of our literature? I knew this story needed poetry as its emotional spine, but it had to linger slightly beneath the skin of the piece. Collins: Before we leave the subject, can you comment on your collaboration with the visual artist Rachel Bliss? For instance, what did the two of you see in each other's work that made a collaboration seem possible and desirable, and did your collaboration develop as a call and response? Komunyakaa: I saw images from Rachel Bliss's work before I met her, in a catalogue entitled A State of Bliss, curated by Dr. James Dickinson at the Rider University Gallery. I was struck by the originality in her work. Also, I kept returning to the following paragraph in the catalogue: Many small works depict strange, demented and surreal animals. However, to interpret them exclusively in a traditional manner, as evidence of an imaginary world of dreams and fantasy, would be a mistake, for an intense realism informs Bliss's depiction of this menagerie. As Bliss recalls, a neighbor, Farmer Jim, began collecting exotic birds and animals, keeping them in an alley that connected with Bliss's house. For a while, the collection made an unbelievable sight, contradicting the grimness of surrounding conditions: "Here were these animals - which at the beginning were so wonderful and totally out of place - in the midst of drunks smashing bottles against factories the local vandals were busy burning down, the screams of female prostitutes being beaten up by men under the El, loud car stereos, which set off car alarms all down our street, empty crack vials, dirty needles and used condoms that I swept up every morning off my front door step." The family enjoyed "waking up to the animals...the rooster cock-a-doodle-dooing, the pigs oinking, and the huge peacock staring at us curiously through our bathroom window." But neglect and abuse made it necessary to call in the S.P.C.A. to rescue the surviving animals. Thus the surreal imagery of the animal paintings records a real situation. As Bliss puts it: "I use fantastic color to remember the beauty of the animals, but if they also look sad and somewhat demented it's because they were." Who was this woman, this painter, and why did I feel somehow connected to her vision? Night Animals has been a recurring title in my head for more than ten years, long before I saw an image by Rachel. I knew I wanted to write poems about nocturnal creatures, animals and human beings. So, in this sense, we were already walking on a similar landscape before our paths crossed. At times, the realization that we have been on the same page in so many ways is daunting. Her background dovetails with mine, linking in some strange fashion her Rochester, New York, with my Bogalusa, Louisiana. We both love jazz, and the music has instructed us in the pursuit of our work. And, it didn't seem extreme to ask her to consider painting twelve portraits of jazz musicians, titled Madrigals. In other words, we have chosen to collaborate on topics of mutual interest. Most of Rachel's works are portraits, which seem to me the most difficult, time-consuming avenues or approaches in creating visual art. Faces demand differences, even if they are only slightly varied, such as identical twins. Each portrait is a concise study - an active meditation and/or approximation. Rachel is a natural surrealist. Authentic surprise is interfused into the character of each piece - a personality. It seems that her highly developed graphic skills give her the abiltiy of a gifted psychologist who can capture a mental landscape through visual depiction: the mind made flesh through paint and texture. Some of her most provocative pieces appear as chimeras that have wandered out of a state of mind. But because of her technique and process, nothing is an accident. Everything is deliberate, and intensively deliberated on. Intention bends to her control; a tough beauty emerges from the thoughtful hues. In this sense, Rachel's ability to find beauty and celebrate it is what drew me to her work. For her, destiny is often a reality: the crippled songbird lands on her shoulder because she has the heart to help it. If one detects or glimpses violence in a piece of hers, it isn't accidental or ornamental: it underlines the state of affairs in America - personal and public, urban and rural. Together, as collaborators, we are interested in creating dialogue. Callaloo, Volume 28, Number 3, ISSN 0161-2492 (2005) |