Open Letter: A Canadian Journal of Writing and Theory, Winter 2009: "Beyond Stasis: Poetics and Feminism Today"
Edited by Barbara Godard and Kate Eichhorn
Interview with Sandra Alland by Anna Candido
Anna Candido:
There has been a lot of dialogue by the poets in this issue of Open Letter about the generational differences among feminist poets, with diverging interests in political issues and the language to speak on these issues. What is your understanding of the linguistic/thematic gap between generations of feminist poets? Can you describe the state of feminist poetics amidst these divisions?
Sandra Alland:
If I were to place myself anywhere in feminism it would maybe be next to bell hooks. Interlocking forms of oppression etc.; sexism not always being the most important obstacle in a woman’s life. I’m at the hub where hooks and Cherrie Moraga meet Emma Goldman’s anarchy then intersect with QueerCore and Gay Shame. I am maybe a feminist of the 90s, or if Julia Serano starts her own feminism I’d consider signing up. If I am indeed a feminist at all these days. Ouch. But let me be more specific before you burn this interview.
There have always been the same problems with feminism as everywhere. From the earliest (officially sanctioned) women’s movements, there were class and race problems. Later, we saw lesbians and bisexuals kicked out of women’s lib for being supposed man-haters or movement-splitters. The pornography wars began. And then there was also the question of sex work, dear lord. And what, you want that journal translated into Spanish, or French, or Cree? Sorry – we have to focus, people. One issue at a time...
A fascinating thing about living in Edinburgh in 2008 is that it’s kind of like living in Canada in the 80s. The feminists here are generally anti-pornography, and completely unsupportive to sex workers and laws that would keep them safe. They aren’t necessarily pro-immigrant, either. Women are fighting to keep other, poorer women on the streets and hungry. Good times.
But Canada isn’t much better. I still encounter middle class white women, sadly often in positions of power at universities, who have no real understanding of class, race, ability or sexuality issues. I would say the gaps are largely based on these problems, rather than generational differences. Linguistically, this sometimes means the language used to talk and write about many important feminist issues completely alienates women who are not university-educated, and/or who don’t speak English.
Something I find especially intriguing is that intra-feminist problems are also gender-based. One of North America’s biggest feminist dilemmas is how most cissexual feminists react to transsexuals, and to a lesser extent transgender and genderqueer people. Many feminists of all generations are stuck in the idea that gender is inherent and natural, and that maleness is inherently evil. And they’re openly hateful towards trans people, especially those who decide to physically transition.
What these particular feminists don’t see is that, for example, transsexual men are not abandoning women or “choosing power”; they were often never women in the first place. Some feminists also miss how amazing it can be that many trans men are redefining what it means to be male, perhaps with an understanding of what it was like to be treated like a woman in a misogynist society. And trans women, whom certain feminists seem to save a particularly violent hatred for, are asking some of the most important questions about women’s rights.
It’s hard to call yourself a feminist when the word is like a tattoo on your forehead saying “I hate sex workers and trannies!” And yet of course I fight constantly, as an artist and otherwise, against sexism. And I would love it if we could redeem the f-word, because there are many amazing feminists who have worked for centuries to get us where we are.
Some of my greatest teachers have been from other generations (older and younger), and often from genders other than female. I have more in common, both politically and poetically, with some of my elders than with my contemporaries. Every now and then some older feminist comes along to whine about how my generation doesn’t appreciate all the hard work she did for us, but I don’t jump to the conclusion that she’s speaking for everyone her age. I’m certainly not like many other people born in 1973.
My poetics aren’t entirely gender- or movement-based. I am an anarcho-queer crip who loves magic realism, experimental poetry, multimedia mishmashes and surrealism, so I guess that makes me that kind of poet. But perhaps what I have in common with many feminist poets of all generations is a poetics that examines the power of language.
Anna Candido:Many of your pieces speak to the problems of dichotomies and fixed categories, particularly around the subject of sexuality and gender. Much of your work celebrates the possibility of fluidity. I am curious about your approach to liminal space in relation to processes of communication. If what is in between dichotomies produces multiplicities and a proliferation of meaning, how can translation/communication be possible when meaning is continually splitting and recombining in totally unique ways?
Sandra Alland:Speaking in black and white terms can be useful; for me, dichotomies often serve a purpose as roadmaps. And they aren't always bullshit. For example, although there are way more than two genders, most people do feel comfortable saying they are either a man or a woman. The problem is not the dichotomy itself, but our refusal to also acknowledge the variety in the space between opposites.
Meaning can never be fixed, and the world contains infinite linguistic possibilities. Therefore the precise communication of complex emotions and ideas is quite impossible. But the beauty is in the trying. The impulse to pass on, through language, something we find remarkable – I find that overwhelmingly gorgeous. Especially when the likelihood of success is slim.
The fluidity of language is both a frustration and a reason to dance. In the case of translation between languages, people sometimes learn new philosophies that change their lives. The odd part is that they probably do not completely understand the philosophy because they don't understand the language (and culture) it’s tied to. But perhaps this doesn't matter, perhaps they have come up with another philosophy altogether, something that would have been impossible were it not for the failed translation.
A translator can do a good job creating a superb work of art, especially if she understands the culture she's translating from. But something will always be lost. I’ve seen simple e-mails and text messages interpreted in ways I would never have imagined – by people who speak the same language. So how can I understand what a Mongolian poet was trying to say, especially once he has been filtered through another person, culture and language?
But it won't stop me reading him. Most translation, most language, fails. Yet there is sometimes a sense of getting closer to the thing, which is I think the reason we use language at all.
Anna Candido:
As a multimedia artist, you embrace several different mediums to showcase/translate your work. Something that I find particularly interesting about your work, along with many emerging writers/artists, is the embrace of websites like myspace or youtube that are owned by multi-billion dollar corporations (News Corporation and Google, respectively). You have been a proponent for small-press and independent business but you also embrace mass media. Is this a contradiction, or do you see the adoption of such tools as a tactical redeployment? Can you talk about the relationship of your work to these entities?
Sandra Alland:
Hmmm. I just recently joined both youtube and myspace. Like five minutes ago. My initial feeling about them is that they are working for me, not vice-versa. And they are free. Free! I make about $950 a month, so free is good. And they’re easy to use. I also have fibromyalgia, and experience extreme pain when I type. Maintaining my own website with film and sound components is, quite frankly, too much physical work for me. Myspace only requires a few clicks to upload.
But, well, yes. They are Evil Corporations. I’m not selling anything they’re getting a cut of; I’m using them to get snippets of my work into the world. Fundamentally I still despise them, but I don’t really feel they’re gaining much (anything?) from me. I’m more concerned and disturbed that my books are sold on Amazon or at Indigo (grrrrrrrrrr). I publish with small indie presses who use small indie distributors, yet there is still no opt-out option when it comes to the big book-killers.
I guess an important difference between questionable mass media like myspace, and questionable book-based entities like Indigo, is that there aren’t really independent sites that offer the services myspace does. When I’m putting out a sound poetry recording or a weird short film, I’m not sure where else I could showcase them where people could find them. But at least in Toronto, there are plenty of indie bookstores, and they’re in fact *superior* to Indigo. Offer me an ethical choice, especially one I can afford, and I’ll take it.
Also the internet is a strange, unwieldy place. I feel it’s beneficial for me to try to control what work of mine gets out there. For example, before I joined youtube, someone put footage of me on it that I despise. Now people are more likely to see work I feel represents what I do, because I’m the one choosing it and promoting it.
Myspace, and to a lesser extent youtube, have really opened up opportunities for working artists (especially musicians and multimedia artists) to get their creations into the hands of people who want them. And to create online communities of resistance. It’s perhaps not exactly tactical redeployment, I don’t make claims to be doing anything so grand by posting my short films online. But it is useful. And when it comes down to screening or publishing or releasing my work on CD, I’ll still go solo or indie. But to be honest, on some level I also understand people who don’t… you can’t eat from the $500 a year I make in royalties.
I am extremely passionate about keeping things (especially my things) independent, and out of the hands of corporations. But the older I get, the more I realize that certain kinds of ethics are sometimes a luxury.
Lastly, if I want to reach young people, I’m a fool to ignore the places they hang out.
Anna Candido:You have a long history of collaborating with other artists - especially musicians and actors - how have these collaborations affected your poetics both as a performer and on the page?
Sandra Alland:
Most of my collaborations have been with musicians and dancers, sometimes writers and visual artists. But music is where my heart is. One of the simple reasons for this is that musicians work together. Most art forms are solitary, but music generally requires a group effort. And I sometimes like the challenge of making art that simply can’t be self-obsessed.
More importantly, music is a unique and magical language. I’ve always been envious of the way musicians from vastly different countries can meet in a pub and play together for hours. They form lasting friendships, despite not understanding a word the other person says. Once the playing begins, men who are otherwise sexist might even forget you're a woman.
Music often has no need for language, no quest for meaning, and I admire this. I've always been a fairly concise writer, but working with musicians helps me pare things down more – both on the page and in performance. It also makes me listen to breath and silence. It increases my awareness of the rhythm of poetry. It pulls me into the abstract, the surreal even. Helps me to play, have fun. I’m like a musician in that I get off on the possibilities of sound, particularly the human voice. So we work well together.
Despite being obsessed with meaning and communication, I don't want my work to get bogged down by always trying to “say something.” Sometimes I want to communicate a raw, unexamined emotion, or even something more abstract. Sometimes I just want to throw a sound at you and see what happens. Musicians are wise teachers when it comes to this kind of art, and they ask important questions. Where can we go when we lose the safety net – or cage – of language?