La mia vita queer tra religione, arte, amore e lotta per i diritti

Dialogo di Katya Parente con David Hatfield Sparks (Stati Uniti)

Mi stavo gustando la mia dose giornaliera di Daily Art Magazine quando mi imbatto in un articolo molto interessante sui personaggi queer delle diverse mitologie la cui fonte principale è il “Cassell’s Encyclopedia of Queer Myth, Symbol, and Spirit“, e penso subito che sarebbe interessante intervistarne i curatori – deformazione professionale, ma tant’è.
Una breve ricerca mi porta a contattare David Hatfield Sparks, un distinto signore dalla barba bianca che insieme a Randy P. L. Conner, suo compagno da una vita (più o meno quanti sono i miei anni…) sono gli editori di questa fantastica enciclopedia, purtroppo non tradotta in italiano.

Ma, leggendo le sue note biografiche, David Hatfield Sparks non è solo uno “scrittore, è anche un musicista, un bibliotecario ed un padre gay che ha scritto per il teatro e calcato i palcoscenici dal Midwest a Manhattan, da Austin, Texas a San Francisco, dove ha lavorato attivamente nella comunità di artisti queer che lì avevano il loro centro nevralgico. Il suo lavoro si concentra su musica/performance/ricerca/politica di genere, religione, arte e mitologia, il tutto nel contesto multiculturale LGBTQIA”.

Una vita incredibilmente eclettica, all’insegna di attivismo e cultura. E per noi un’occasione molto ghiotta.

Prima di tutto, grazie per averci dedicato un po’ del tuo tempo. Ma partiamo con le domande. Cosa ti ha avvicinato alla scena artistica e culturale (queer)?

Prima che facessi coming out nel 1975 quando avevo 28 anni, oltre a scrivere poesia ero musicista e compositore. Dopo essermi diplomato durante la guerra del Vietnam, quando la legge contemplava ancora la coscrizione obbligatoria, sono stato, come pianista/percussionista della Marina a Napoli dove c’era la base NATO dell’Europa del sud. Stava iniziando  un’altra guerra tra Cipro e la Turchia. E, mentre vivevo vicino all’antica città di Cuma, a Pozzuoli, vicino Napoli, quest’esperienza mi fece innamorare dell’Italia, e della sua antica storia. È stato anche quando sono diventato fanatico dell’opera. Sono stato tutta la vita in mezzo all’arte. Ho iniziato a studiare danza e teatro a cinque anni, e ho continuato così finché sono andato al conservatorio come studente di composizione. Mi sono sempre sentito attratto dalla scena artistica, molto spesso piena di persone queer – una specie di bonus per me.

Quando ho fatto coming out stavo facendo  il pianista in una band di blues. Per poter continuare, me ne andai in California, visto che avevamo l’opportunità di incidere un disco. Il mio primo incontro con la comunità LGBTQ+ è stato a Los Angeles negli storici distretti di Silver Lake e West Hollywood. Come succede a molte band, anche il nostro sogno andò in frantumi, così mi trasferii a San Francisco conscio che era una capitale queer che si sviluppava grazie ai suoi artisti e agli attivisti politici. In quel periodo il movimento era molto concentrato sull’integrazione tra arte, politica e differenze etnico/culturali.

Questo era dovuto alla forza della comunità lesbica e alle sue molte scrittrici, attrici e artiste, come la poetessa Judy Grahn e la scrittrice chicana Gloria Anzaldúa, che diventano tutte e due mie amiche. Ero un sostenitore di Harvey Milk, il primo politico dichiaratamente gay mai eletto, che corse con successo al consiglio comunale – assassinato solo un anno dopo, nel suo ufficio, da un altro funzionario cittadino, Dan White.

Grazie ai café in cui lavoravo, ho conosciuto molti degli artisti e scrittori famosi (o che lo sarebbero diventati) della città, dal momento che presentavo una serie mensile di  reading/performing. In questo periodo ho iniziato a scrivere sul serio e alcune delle mie poesie sono state pubblicate su periodici – come uno a Boston, chiamato “Fag Rag.” Oltre ad esplorare i locali e i quartieri gay della città, ho iniziato a frequentare la drag queen Ambi Sextrous, un artista che cantava nella sua meravigliosa ed autentica voce baritonale.
Questo tipo di drag, allora piuttosto  conosciuto a San Francisco, si chiamava “gender fuck” drag, e combinava aspetti maschili e femminili. Aveva una bella barba che tingeva di blu e, sul palco, si esibiva vestito con frivolezza glamour proprio come quarant’anni dopo avrebbe fatto la vincitrice del’Eurovision Song Contest Conchita Wurst. Ambi mi ha introdotto nella più larga cerchia della cultura drag – parte della storia di San Francisco fin dagli anni ’40. Non mi esibivo come una drag queen tradizionale, ma tendevo a vestirmi in modo più “gender fluid”.

Dire che sei poliedrico è un eufemismo. C’è tuttavia qualche medium artistico al quale ti senti particolarmente legato?

Starting in the second half of the 1970s, I focused on music by composing openly gay songs. Pop and folk songs were very popular, as famous lesbian singers such as Meg Christian, Holly Near and others recorded them for Olivia Records, so I performed in several clubs and hangouts in San Francisco. I had also started writing poetry regularly.

Gay films also began at that time, especially documentaries, such as “Word is Out: Stories of Some of our Lives” (1978): I met many who had appeared in it since they often came to my café. I met openly gay poets like the famous Robert Duncan. My then partner (now late husband) Randy was also an experimental film director.

San Francisco, where you worked, evokes a particular atmosphere, which perhaps has faded over the years, but which had a capital importance for the gay world. Can you briefly outline it?

San Francisco was already a queer capital, especially for gay writers of the then young Beat Movement such as Allen Ginsberg and Lawrence Ferlinghetti, founders of the famous City Lights Bookstore and Press. So in 1977 the center of queer art and activism was the gay Castro neighborhood and the Missions Districts, the latter was also a center for lesbian, Latino, Mexican, and black writers/artists whose work approached their cultural heritage with radical politics and poetics.

Diventai amico intimo di Gloria Anzaldúa, che si definiva una “tejana, chicana, lesbiana.” Mi incontravo con lei, portando con me mia figlia Mariah per discutere sulle cose che scrivevamo e sulla politica cittadina. È lei che mi presentò il suo migliore amico Randy P. Conner, che per quarantatre anni è stato il mio compagno di vita/marito e che è morto nel 2022.

Capitale per portare queste istanze e quest’arte ad un pubblico queer è stato l’inizio del nostro collettivo artistico “El Mundo Surdo,” il “Left-handed World” usato da Gloria per enfatizzare le basi della nostra scrittura e della nostra vita: queerness multiculturale, spiritualità/misticismo,  politiche radicali/socialismo democratico, e l’essere “dichiarati” in ogni ambito. L’abbiamo aiutata a curare una serie di reading a Noe Valley, il nostro quartiere, tra Castro Mission, che promuoveva e introduceva nella nostra eterogenea comunità molti scrittori ed artisti. Questo ha unito molti gruppi che prima erano separati: lesbiche, gay, latinos, afroamericani e femministe bianche.

All these different people and ideas have formed the basis of our literary production. San Francisco still remained one of the capitals of the LGBTQ world, but many, in this period, died due to HIV/AIDS, or had to leave due to the rising cost of living in the City. When Silicon Valley corporations opened in the southern part of the City, many employees moved to those neighborhoods. Between then and the 1994 earthquake, many homes and buildings used by artists in my community were destroyed and the cost of living had skyrocketed.

What is it like to have a life partner who is also a work colleague?

Since 1978, when Randy and Gloria became a part of my life, we have worked together on love and life Plans. gay marriage was illegal, so we had a private ceremony and quoted a poem by Walt Whitman – Calamus 11 “When I Felt at the End of the Day” (1860), which we both loved, then we celebrated big in a very intimate gay restaurant, the Duo whose characteristic was to only have tables for two. After the release of her first book “This Bridge Called My Back: Radical Writings by Women of Color” (Persephone Press, 1981), Gloria moved to New York City. We had already begun research for our “Encyclopedia of Queer Myth, Symbol, and Spirit” (Cassell/London, 1997) which emphasized a multicultural and trans-historical approach to LGBTQ+ religion and history.

I've always said that the key to a long-term relationship is having common interests. They don't have to be artistic or intellectual, but they need to be authentic and shared. Just before Randy died, we finished a revised, expanded edition of the encyclopedia titled, this time, “LGBTQ+ Companion to Symbol, Mythology, Folklore, and Spirituality” due out in 2025 from Equinox Publishing/London. Randy had already published an important book “Blossom of Bone: Reclaiming the Connections between Homoeroticism and the Sacred” (HarperSanFrancisco, 1993) focused on gay men and gender fluidity/transgenderism, it also dealt with the themes dear to us of multiculturalism and a global queer way of life.

In the 1990s we focused on the queer aspects of African American diaspora religion, such as Santería, and Vodou, which become part of the initiation of neophytes into both religions. The resulting book was titled “Queering Creole Spiritual Traditions: Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Participation in African-Inspired Traditions in the Americas” (Hayworth, 2004; Routledge, 2013). Randy also illustrated my poetry book “Princes and Pumpkins” (Xlibris, 2013)

And your daughter? What was it like to be a gay father, politically involved, in an era when activism was something exuberant and “angry”?

I was married to my daughter's mother for five years – I called myself bisexual then. This was in the mid-1970s, and it wasn't a term used at the time, nor well understood. After realizing my queerness, and realizing I couldn't live in a fake marriage, we divorced after I officially “came out.” Because of this, and due to custody laws at the time, I lost custody of my daughter, also losing visitation rights. After a couple of up-and-down years, I hired an attorney who finally took on our case, and I regained shared custody and visitation rights for vacations and summer breaks.

Being a father was not looked upon favorably in the gay and lesbian community in the second half of the 1970s. Neither the gay nor the political lesbian groups in the community supported me in the foster care battle. Lesbians told me that my daughter should be with her mother – regardless, and that men were incapable of raising children. Most gay men simply didn't understand and disapproved.
The only group that helped me raise money for my legal battle was the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, a drag queen group now known internationally. I met a lot of them thanks to my ex, the drag singer Ambi Sextrous, who I mentioned earlier.

My lawyer advised me not to say that I had a lover, or that I lived in a queer artists' commune. Eventually we were able to bring my six-year-old daughter Mariah to live with us in San Francisco, and Randy became an “evil fairy stepmother,” as she called him.

It was a battle, and we eventually learned that her mother had been admitted to a mental institution, and that her straight stepfather had physically and emotionally abused her. And were we unsuitable parents? So my first years as a father were characterized by joy, depression and anger. He is now 50 and has an old atypical, queer family and we continue to have a close and loving relationship.

You never stopped. What are you doing now?

I continue to write, trying to finish a couple of projects we started before Randy died: the LGBTQ+ Companion, which I mentioned above, and another book, “Meeting at the Crossroads of Desire, Spirit, and Diversity: An Autohistoria of Friendship with Gloria Anzaldúa” that may be published by the University of Illinois Press. I just finished a spiritual memoir of our queer family “Faery Fathering, Crystal Balls, Persephone, and a Pair of Ruby Slippers” that focuses on my family's tradition of spiritualism, our study of mystical/occult groups, my interest in the Eleusinian mysteries, and, of course, the definitive queer fable “The Wizard of Oz,” especially the film version starring Judy Garland.

I continue to write poetry, I'm completing a second collection of poems called “Archways and Apparitions,” and I'm writing short stories to include in a sort of fictionalized erotic memoir. A couple of these stories explore fables like “The Twelve Dancing Princesses” and “The Witch, the Wolf and I”

Will we ever be lucky enough to see you translated into Italian?

Not yet, but it would be fabulous!

David's life was full and we thank him for the time he gave us. David is what is defined as a "rara avis", an eclectic artist who recalls certain Renaissance figures with a culture of encyclopedic vastness and versed in all the arts. It is essentially what, in our own small way, we should all be: hungry for beauty and culture and indomitable in our battles.