Poetry of Place

Objective:  To further your understanding of the commitment to place and the diversity of forest communities by using the voices of local residents.

The views and emotional attachment expressed in these poems underlie the desire of many local residents to participate in community efforts to influence forest management.

Your assignment:

1. Read the poems
2. Make a list of common themes.
3. Is there anything else that you find interesting or striking about these poems?
4. Write a short paragraph about each author, imagining what he or she might be like. Gender, age, occupation and place and length of local residence are just some of the things you might want to mention. Think creatively, but make sure the rationale for your choices are based largely on the content of these poems and your knowledge of forest communities.

After you read these poems, I will tell you more about the authors and the places they live.

To Stay in the Mountains
by D. Hoopes

You and I share a dream.
If we never have anything else,
we want our children to know
the clean fresh look of new fallen snow.
We don’t want them to miss
the robins gleefully announcing the coming of Spring,
when every bright little wildflower
is a matchless work of art painted by God Himself.
We want them to be able to play in a creek
and get brown and even
a little lazy in the summer sun.
We want them to know the crisp, cold air
on their faces in the Fall ...
a time when they can walk through millions
of red and gold leaves
that crackle beneath their feet.
Most of all, we want them to know what it means
to love and share with a family who sticks together.
You and I share a dream ...
teaching them love is up to us.
The rest is up to God,
our determination ...
and maybe a little luck.
To stay and work in the mountains ...
this is all we ask ...
this is our dream.

Mountain Song

by S. Rooney

Dark—

dark and mysterious

my mountains appear

through veils of

white

morning

mist—

    blue-green

    immense

    intensely alive,

I have known them

for many centuries,

for eons beyond measure, beyond time.

    They are my guardians,

    they are my wise, old grandmothers,

    they are the teachers

who speak,

    silently,

        to my heart.

My mountains rise up

in the distance

full of secrets

entwined

in cool

whispering

breezes,

reaching out to me,

saying, softly,

“Come home ... come home.”