The poems arrive on crumpled sheets of scrap paper, folded and refolded, pulled from deep inside the front pocket hoody. With a twinkle in his eye and a mischievous smile, he passes them across the front counter of the vendor office, like diamonds wrapped in rags.
Daniel is a natural wordsmith, a shy craftsman, a language economist who can crack open a thought or experience and let the light stream in with just five or six lines. His poems transport us to the core of a moment. Not as an observer, but as a participant, and in that moment, we are brought together in the beauty and pain of being human.
Daniel is descended from two legendary tribes. His father was from Scotland, with its rich mythology of river goddesses, shape-shifting kelpies and the legends of King Arthur. On his mother’s side, he is an Alaskan native Tlingit, indigenous to the rainforests of the Alaskan coast. Art, spirituality and generosity imbue every aspect of Tlingit life. Stories about Raven and Eagle form the basis of their mythology.
“My parents said I should be proud of both my heritages,” he said.
Daniel was born in Anchorage, Alaska, where his father was a plane mechanic at Elmendorf Air Force Base.
“I remember hearing jets constantly,” he said, “and having the vague feeling I’ve been here all my life.”
He was the youngest of six brothers and sisters. “I was the baby. I was immensely, tragically spoiled,” he said with a smile.
“My mom was an old-fashioned, stay-at-home mom. I always found it difficult to express myself verbally, but with my mom there was no problem. She seemed to answer my questions before I asked them,” he said. He remembers visiting his grandparents in his mother’s Tlingit village outside Ketchikan. “My grandmother was scary,” he said. “Very stoic. She was “an important lady in the tribe.” The Tlingit have a matriarchal society.
As a young man, Daniel’s life seemed headed in one direction when he joined the Marines, but it took an abrupt and unexpected swerve.
“It was the night before we shipped out for basic training. I didn’t drink back then, and I was the designated driver. Everyone was having a good time, and I was babysitting. My friend stumbled out in the road in front of a car. He was going to get killed. I dove in and pushed him away, but the car got my knee. The Marines said they didn’t need me no more. They told me I needed a new knee, but they said I was too young, and I didn’t have insurance.”
His knee is still bent at a dramatic angle, and walking causes a constant, searing pain.
In the years following the accident, Daniel “got in trouble in Seattle. It didn’t end good,” he said. He moved to Portland 12 years ago to start over. “I’m a better person now, not living that lifestyle.”
Five years ago, Daniel found Street Roots.
“I was inspired to write poetry because Street Roots offers 10 free papers if you get published,” he said, “and I thought that was a mighty endeavor.”
I asked Daniel to describe how he writes his beautiful poems.
“Some poems are a mystery to me. Did that come out of me? I write about what people in general go through, their barriers and obstacles. Maybe in a perfect world we wouldn’t need poems,” he said.
Daniel feels there could be ghosts “maybe trying to tell us something. Ancestors have a story to tell. I would hope they use our voices sometimes.”
Daniel feels more and more connected to the community he has found through Street Roots.
“I have more than just a rapport with my customers. We care about each other,” he said. “I’ve learned a lot from Street Roots. I used to think the answers were violent: My way or the highway. Street Roots opened my eyes to another way of being. The concept of nonviolence struck me hard. Things don’t have to end in a catastrophe every day.”
Daniel is still influenced by his tribal roots.
“We are tribal. We have tribal instincts,” he said. “The majority of us build devices to keep us occupied, apart, and we get stuck. But we aren’t designed to go around being silent.”
Daniel sells outside the Pearl Bakery on Northwest Ninth Avenue and Couch Street. Stop by, break the silence, start up a conversation and listen carefully, you’ll be glad you did.
The smoke filters out the sun
To an eerie red glow, it’s as if
I was looking through alien eyes.
How strange my perception of life became.
This was at the evening time, and by dawn
It’s still settled.
-Daniel Cox, Street Roots, Sept. 14, 2018
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