Second Letter to Douglas Watson December 1981 (page 4 of 4)

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—or Dr. Douglas Watson—(cont’d) 4. Is there a major shift in my activity from scholar-educator to poet? Yes, there is. I do not intend to write any more prose, and I have had that intention since the mid-70s. I have succumbed to too few requests to write prose since then: for example, Caliban at the University of Toulouse; for the December 1979 conference of the Spanish Jesuits for Anglo-American Studies, Cuadernos de Comunicación, Spain; and the two recent autobiographical works. But in the future I shall write only poetry unless I try some short fiction or a one-act play. The reason is twofold: I believe in poetry as the ultimate expression of an individual’s appreciation of human life; and I think disproportionately more people can excel me in writing scholarship than in writing poetry. Regarding future books to come, I intend to offer a book of poetry (partly new, partly selected from very recent pieces of mine), already my Villa Milla of 1962. Since I have not been “at home” in Latin America since 1971 (when I finished my part of How I Write, recortando Jorge Jovdanovic), I anticipate writing no poetry during my remaining two years at CCNY. 5. The reason behind my contented stay in France. It is true that I have been able to write poetry—and more steadily—in France than in the USA. It is also true that I desired to return to the country where I was earlier a Fulbright fellow, and where it is not likely that I shall return again, even though the Embassy graciously offered to help me secure reading tours in that region. I returned to France in 1971 and in 1978 (after living six months in London) because it was in France that I first felt that no one would regard me as anything else but another human being. In the U.S., I always knew—after becoming an adult—that about ninety percent of my countrymen, as well as the federal, state, and local governments, were ready to deprive me of my rights as a citizen for the slightest opportunistic reason, or perhaps just for whimsical reasons. Also, there looms behind my stay in France the miasma of “the DuBroff case”—detailed in Snowflakes and Steel—which, try as I might, I cannot erase from my consciousness. And I should not be able to erase it, I now understand, somewhat in contrast to the conclusion of my poem “White-Belly Justice’s New York Souvenir.” I have always believed, and I confirmed it in my life behind the Iron Curtain, that a man must stand up for what he believes, cost what it may. I believe in fair play and in justice, both of which were denied me in the DuBroff case. I further believe that a country that denies a citizen the application of its basic laws forfeits its right to that citizen’s affection, and is even unworthy of that citizen’s residence. It is ironically irrelevant to the reasonableness of my attitude that I also conclude that no other country has a better claim to my allegiance. So I actually regard myself as an Earth-citizen, as a man without a country. Nothing could reverse my feeling except future actions by New York courts to redress the wrongs done to me; but since I have so little faith in that legal system, wherever Black people are concerned, I see no likelihood of an attempt on my part to remedy the harm already done. 6. The connection with poetry. My contempt for the mentalities of learned men who countenance such abuses turns into a creative energy that enables me, once in a while, to compose poetry about it. Fortunately, that poetry has consistently been termed “powerful,” “disturbing,” or has been otherwise acknowledged by readers as effective. As a poet, I am willing to undergo the foul memories if the artistic result is indeed artistic rather than simply personal “protest.” It is likely that I shall return to France again. At any rate, I do not intend to stay in America after leaving CCNY, unless a remarkable and totally unforeseen change occurs. As a poet—and I must always come back to that perspective—I admit a curiosity about the possibility of that miracle, convertible into literary art; and if it should occur, it would be useful for me to be on the scene, somewhat incredulous but with my antennae out and my typewriter ready.

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Typed letter to Douglas Watson from James Emanuel, dated December 3, 1981. Emanuel responds to an earlier letter from Watson and speaks about his influences and writing practices (Page 4).

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Download image “Second Letter to Douglas Watson December 1981 (page 4 of 4)”
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  • container title
    James A. Emanuel Papers
  • creator
    James A. Emanuel
  • issue
    Box 4 Folder 7, Watson, Douglas, 1981-1993
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    James A. Emanuel Estate
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    James A. Emanuel Estate
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    1981