Orion Blog, page 17

Expanding the Spirit of Democracy

As the world flipped upside-down in March, the Spirit of Democracy: Re-Imagining We the People Conference was planned that month at the National Cathedral in Washington D.C. The conference was intended to launch a book edited by David Orr and others called Democracy Unchained. Speakers included Van Jones, Jill Lepore, Bill McKibben, Tiokasin Ghost Horse, and many others. The line-up also included Mary Evelyn Tucker, long-time Orion advisor and founder of Yale University’s Forum on Religion and Ecology. Due to obvious circumstances, organizers were forced to reschedule the event for an abbreviated version online this fall (details forthcoming). Mary Evelyn Tucker was generous enough to share her thoughts about the future of democracy in this tenuous moment.

 

HOW MIGHT WE unlock hope in an expansive spirit of democracy for present and future generations in this time of upheaval? As the underside of American society is being revealed and the stark inequities and racial prejudices made manifest, we are called to reflect on what brought us to this disturbing state of affairs. With shock and recrimination we are responding to the truth of our history and the entrenched habits of structural racism along with economic inequity [1]. This history is revealing itself in the consequences of brutal slavery and Jim Crow laws, the near extermination of Native Americans, subsequent theft of land and banishment to reservations, the ongoing history of discrimination against Latinx, Asian, and immigrant communities, and the endless overseas wars and militarization of our society at the expense of the wellbeing of humans and nature.

How do we look clearly at our history and, through reexamining it, seek ways forward? Can we own our past and create a more equitable society, just economics, and inclusive politics? May we ask forgiveness and restore compassion? Can we recognize that democracy rests on peace, not violence and bloated military budgets? In short, how can we rediscover and expand the spiritual roots of democracy?

As these roots lie in the hope of living with inclusive representation in government, with equitable participation in society, and with fairness of opportunity for education and jobs, our challenge is how to make this viable [2]. This will be impossible without a recognition that humans are interwoven with each other and with the larger kinship of life—interconnected and interdependent. This is because relationality is at the heart of life. In this spirit, an authentic democracy affirms the inherent dignity of humans and the intrinsic worth of nature.

Our task, then, is to enhance the wellbeing of both humans and nature as a basis for a truly comprehensive democracy [3]. Clearly, we can’t have a healthy democracy that rests on polluted air, contaminated water, and toxic soil disproportionally exposing people of color to these risks. Our question is how can we find our way back to being members of the Earth community on this precious blue green planet that has given birth to an extraordinary diversity of life – human and more than human?

In this search to expand what community is, we might first examine some historic documents that led to our democracy today, imperfect as it is. These are noteworthy to build on, but we need to enlarge their potential.

We can look at ancient Greek democracy and find it aspirational, but wanting in full participation. That is because it limited decision-making to an elite and excluded others, such as enslaved peoples. We can read the Magna Carta (1215) and see it as a beginning of limiting monarchial rule. However, newly codified privileges of the aristocracy still omitted “the people” [4].

We can hold up the dream of liberty in the American Declaration of Independence (1776), but observe that what became the republic reserved power and privilege to propertied white men. The declaration proclaims that “all men are created equal,” but slavery was enshrined in the American social code. As the abolitionist Frederick Douglass said in a Fourth of July speech in 1852: “…you maintain a system as barbarous and dreadful as ever stained the character of a nation — a system begun in avarice, supported in pride, and perpetuated in cruelty” [5]. The drafters of the declaration highlighted “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” as inalienable rights. But now we recognize that “life” needs to be expanded to include all life, “liberty” broadened to embrace all races and genders, and the “pursuit of happiness” widened beyond material consumption. 

We can cite the French Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen (1789) and say it is inspiring but still not sufficient. We observe that “liberty, equality, and fraternity” were noble aspirations of the French Revolution for all countries, but insufficiently realized as the colonial and postcolonial periods illustrate. We can examine the UN Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948) and rejoice in its laudable goals, among which are protections against torture and slavery and upholding personal liberty, freedom of speech, and freedom of religion. But we lament that it is still wanting in full adherence and broader inclusion here in the United States and around the world.

So where do we look for aspiration and inspiration to be reunited with the spiritual roots of our democratic yearnings? We may begin with indigenous traditions that have strong cosmovisions celebrating the kinship of all life forms and communitarian social ethics that emphasize a shared common good.

We might start with the Haudenosaunee Confederacy that began in 1142 and exists into the present. Benjamin Franklin was familiar with the Confederacy and referred to it during discussions in the Constitutional Congress. The original Confederacy was a model of peace and consensus-building that arose in response to a period of intense warfare among five related tribal groups. Focusing on harmonious relations between the tribes, it also highlights the importance of decision-making that keeps in mind seven generations into the future. Doing so links social and ecological wellbeing. Intergenerational justice is valued by the Haudenosaunee tribes. These are peoples who hold relationality and kinship among species to be a sacred trust. Thus an expanded spirit of democracy encompasses a broader solidarity among humans and across generations. Moreover, this sacred trust implies fostering the flourishing of the biosphere.

We also need to examine global statements of the last forty years pointing to a broader spirit of democracy that includes both people and planet. We can start with the UN World Charter for Nature (1982) [6]. It is an eloquent tribute to the basis for democracy resting in the health of ecosystems [7]. It states: “The degradation of natural systems owing to excessive consumption and misuse of natural resources, as well as to failure to establish an appropriate economic order among peoples and among States, leads to the breakdown of the economic, social and political framework of civilization.”

Most especially, we can look at the Earth Charter (2000), a declaration of interdependence that highlights the need for a new integration of ecological integrity, social and economic justice, democracy, non-violence and peace [8]. Ecological health and inclusive justice are the basis for human wellbeing and a viable democracy. The Preamble begins with a statement that is clearly relevant now:

We stand at a critical moment in Earth’s history, a time when humanity must choose its future. As the world becomes increasingly interdependent and fragile, the future at once holds great peril and great promise. To move forward we must recognize that in the midst of a magnificent diversity of cultures and life forms we are one human family and one Earth community with a common destiny. We must join together to bring forth a sustainable global society founded on respect for nature, universal human rights, economic justice, and a culture of peace. Towards this end, it is imperative that we, the peoples of Earth, declare our responsibility to one another, to the greater community of life, and to future generations.

Another document we may cite is the Universal Declaration of the Rights of Mother Earth (Earth Day 2010). This arose after the failure of the UN climate conference in Copenhagen in 2009. The World’s Peoples Conference on Climate Change and the Rights of Mother Earth drew together some 30,000 people, largely indigenous, in Cochabamba, Bolivia in April 2010. A drafting committee wrote the declaration that was released at the conference on Earth Day. The declaration is based on indigenous cosmovisions of a living Earth community as the basis for a flourishing society, a functional politics, and a just economic system.

What distinguishes the World Charter for Nature, the Earth Charter, and the Universal Declaration of the Rights of Mother Earth is that they are planetary in scope and involve the expansion of rights to include all people as well as nature itself. This broadened movement is being pushed forward by events such as we are living through – a pandemic that shows us humans and nature are interdependent and racial upheaval that illustrates we are all interconnected.

In this spirit Thomas Berry wrote, “We cannot have well humans in a sick planet. We cannot have a viable human economy by devastating the Earth economy…. If the climate is altered so that the rainfall and the sunlight are affected, there are serious consequences” [8a]. He called for an Earth jurisprudence based on interdependence of all life and the rights of nature. He observed that the American Constitution and others modeled after it were designed to protect individual human rights. This was more recently extended to protect the rights of corporations. Nature is left out completely.

Thus, the spiritual roots of democracy lie in the aspiration that we can move through this period to reassert interdependence and interconnection in ways that are both ancient and new, simultaneously ecologically and economically viable, and, most critical, politically and socially imperative.

Such aspiration is evident in the Papal encyclical Laudato Si (2010). This letter is a call for an integral ecology that brings together the “cry of the Earth and the cry of the poor.” In this spirit, mutually enhancing human-Earth relations need to be based on environmental justice and social participation. Pope Francis highlights the principle of the common good along with transparency in decision making. He calls for politics and economics to be in dialogue for human fulfillment. Certainly this is a basis for an expanded spirit of democracy.

A broader context for these documents and movements is our growing recognition that we have emerged as part of a universe story [9]. As the Earth Charter states and as indigenous people have recognized: “Humanity is part of a vast evolving Universe. Earth, our home, is alive, with a unique community of life.” This sensibility offers a narrative that illustrates how all life originated in the cosmic explosion of stars where the elements arose. Moreover, we humans have a common origin arising out of Africa, leading to migration around the planet, and the ongoing formation of unique cultures, complex societies, and varied political systems.

This story helps us to realize that we are biocultural beings joined by both unity and diversity. From this perspective a functional democracy is unlikely to thrive unless it rests on ecologically and culturally vibrant roots. We are trustees for ensuring this process. Elevating a sense of public trust for a healthy planet for future generations is the basis of a thriving democracy. We may now be in the process of creating, over time and with much struggle, biocultural democracies with variations across countries and regions [10].

Is this possible? Is it probable? Let us not allow cynicism and despair to foreshorten our aspirations, for our survival as a species may depend on it.

What would this look like? Can we dream again amid such unraveling of life and communities? Can we revive and expand the spirit of democracy for our time, for our challenges? Can we draw on the great movements that have preceded us, such as the abolition of slavery and the fight for civil rights, women’s rights, and gay rights? Can we call on new spiritual depths that acknowledge the great mystery of being that contains us all? Can we awaken a fresh reverence for the dynamic complexity of life in which we are embedded?

Such a dream may be our best hope. For we need to create, with due process, vibrant democracies where:

  • political systems hold in trust the foundations for genuine flourishing of life – human and more than human;
  • legal systems ensure equity for people and inclusion for species and healthy ecosystems;
  • economic systems are regarded as subsystems of nature’s economy and function in service to the common good of clean air, water, and soil;
  • financial systems build a basis for community prosperity not individual greed;
  • educational systems teach valuing the integration of ecology, justice, peace, and democracy;
  • religions bring forth new understandings of the dignity of human life and all life;
  • health care systems are based on the assumption that we can’t have healthy people on a sick planet;
  • agricultural systems aim to deliver nourishing food to feed large numbers of people.

All of this is aspirational, yes. But also practical and doable. We need to begin by redefining community as including the greater Earth community – humans and more than humans.

Indeed, there is no lasting future for democracy without a biological basis for life. Thus, a biocultural democracy is the recognition that our common home is the one rare blue green planet that we share. May its future flourishing be our greatest priority, the wellbeing of the human community be our constant aspiration, and the great mystery of life our deepest spiritual inspiration. O

 

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[1] See Howard Zinn, A People’s History of the United States (New York: Harper Collins, 1980, reprinted many times, latest edition in 2015).

[2] This is developed by Steven Rockefeller, “Renewing the American Democratic Faith”, D. Orr, A Gumbel, B. Kitwana, W. Becker, eds. Democracy Unchained: How to Rebuild Government for the People. (New York: New Press, 2020).

[3] There are various projects already working on this. They include The Democracy Collaborative, Our Common Purpose: Reinventing Democracy for the 21st Century, Democracy the Unites Us.

[4] We might return also to the Charter of the Forest (1217) issued two years after the Magna Carta. This Charter allowed common people access into the royal forests for firewood, farming, and grazing. The enclosure movement that peaked in the 18th and 19th centuries pushed back the democratic inclinations of the Charter. Eventually it was superseded by the Wild Creatures and Forest Laws Act in 1971. However, some of its statues endured for 800 years and this was commemorated in 2017 with a new Charter for Trees, Woods and People.

[5] Frederick Douglass, “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?” July 5, 1852. Frederick Douglass: Selected Speeches and Writings, ed. Philip S. Foner (Chicago: Lawrence Hill, 1999).

[6] This was signed by all 111 member states at the time, except the United States with 18 abstentions.

[7] Two more human centered documents should be noted. In 1993 the Declaration Toward a Global Ethic was drafted by theologian Hans Kung and adopted by the Parliament of World Religions. It was updated to include the environment in the 2018 Parliament in Toronto. The Charter for Compassion, drafted primarily by religious scholar, Karen Armstrong, was announced in 2009 and points to the need for cities, schools, places of worship, and businesses to adopt practical steps to implement compassionate practices.

[8] This document, over a decade in drafting, represents one of the most participatory civil society document of its kind.

[8a] Thomas Berry, Evening Thoughts, Ed by ME Tucker. San Francisco: Sierra Club Books 2006. p 109.

[9] See Brian Swimme and Thomas Berry, The Universe Story (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1992) and Brian Thomas Swimme and Mary Evelyn Tucker, Journey of the Universe (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2011).

[10] The historian Lynn White first used the term biodemocracy in his article, “The Historical Roots of our Ecologic Crisis” (Nature, March 1967).

The Best of Wendell Berry

Wendell Berry has been an Orion contributor and advisor since the magazine’s beginnings in 1982. Berry is the author of over forty books of poetry, fiction, and essays, and has farmed in Port Royal, Kentucky, for over forty years.

This week we celebrate Wendell Berry’s eighty-sixth birthday by sharing several of our staff’s all-time favorite essays, poems, short stories, and media clips published in Orion over the past four decades.  

 

  Best Political Writing: “Thoughts in the Presence of Fear
Summer 2005

This essay was written in response to the September 11, 2001 attacks, part of a three-essay book of the same title.
  Best Food and Farm Writing: “The Agrarian Standard
Summer 2002

Twenty-five years after the publication of his landmark book, The Unsettling of America, the author reflects on the state of agricultural life in America.
  Best Poem: “The Defenders
July/August 2009
  Best Interview: “To Live and Love with a Dying World
Spring 2020

A conversation with climate activist Tim DeChristopher.
  Best Fiction: “Whitefoot
January 2007

A story from the center of the world. 
  Best Video: Fire & Grit Plenary Talk (26 minutes)
Summer 1999
 
Berry delivered this talk in June 1999 during an Orion conference, Fire & Grit, which took place in Shepherdstown, West Virginia.

 

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Seven Questions for Camille Dungy, Orion’s New Poetry Editor

It brings us great pleasure that, beginning with the Autumn 2020 issue, Camille Dungy will take on the role as Orion’s poetry editor. After five years, former editor Aimee Nezhukumatathil has decided to move on as she launches a new book and deepens her teaching and writing practice. Luckily for us, Aimee will remain close as an Orion columnist. (Here is her five-year editorial retrospective.)

Camille Dungy is the author of four collections of poetry, most recently Trophic Cascade, and the essay collection, Guidebook to Relative Strangers: Journeys into Race, Motherhood and History. She has edited or co-edited anthologies including Black Nature: Four Centuries of African American Nature Poetry and the From the Fishouse poetry anthology. Her honors include a Guggenheim Fellowship, NEA Fellowships in poetry and prose, and an American Book Award. She lives in Colorado with her husband and daughter, where she is a University Distinguished Professor at Colorado State University.

Orion staff pooled together seven questions for Camille about her new editorial post, about gardening, literary mapping, and the function of poetry as we wade into these mysterious and unsettling times ahead.

 

 

What types of literature did your parents and family introduce you to? 

I come from a family of readers. There were books everywhere in our house. More than once I’ve heard someone ask one of my parents if they are going to be okay with some long wait (at the car dealership, a doctor’s office, a gymnastic meet, etc…) “I’ll be fine,” they’d answer, “I have a book.”

The books I’ve always been surrounded by are eclectic and varied. Fiction, history, natural history, cultural criticism, biography, poetry, drama, social science, medical history, world civilizations, travel. You name it. Nature, Culture, Place: the folks in my family have always been interested in reading about such things. 

How has teaching poetry changed for you over the last ten years? 

Back in 2009 I was asked how teaching poetry had changed since 1999, and my answer then was the same: Access. Access is the biggest change. I used to have to type or photocopy poems I loved in order to more easily share them with students. Now I can send them links and they can read the poems on the computer or their phone. I still buy a lot of poetry books and assign books and journals for students to read in class, but the fact that it is easier than ever for students and readers to access individual poems is a game changer. There are so many more entry points because of this greater access. So many more ways people can come to love individual poems. Through these expanded points of access, they can come to love more and more poetry.

 

In order to create the changes that so urgently need to be made,
we must make revolution irresistible. Poetry is one way to do this.

 

What is teaching poetry like during a pandemic?  

A lot of this is really horrible. People are in great pain. There are incalculable losses suffered day after day, many of which we may never fully know about. These are immensely difficult times. But here is one upside that I would like to focus on as I answer this question. Some people are figuring out what it means to be themselves in their own spaces. Before the pandemic, when I taught poetry, I would be teaching people in my space, a classroom or some other fabricated community away from their own homes. Now, I Zoom into their spaces.

What this means is that we are talking about making a life for poetry within their daily lives, not outside of them. If you want to be a successful writer, you have to figure out how to carve space for this craft from the fabric of your actual life. So often we go away to some other place to learn about being a writer. Then, when we return to our own space, we seem to forget many of the lessons. One of the positive aspects of teaching poetry during the pandemic is that the lessons people are learning become implemented right there, right in the place where they write. And that’s a good thing, or at least it’s the start of something that could be very good.

 

 

I see you teach a course in “Literary Mapping.” Can you explain what that is?  

One thing a good writer can do is to map the world of her imagination in such a way that a reader feels as if they could walk around that world and not get lost. This is too often an overlooked element of quality craft. When it is pulled off well, it can be amazing. How many of our readers had a map of Middle Earth on their walls when they were growing up? That is an example of excellent Literary Mapping.

Even without the illustrations in those books, a careful reader could draw their own map thanks to the words on the page. When I first read Tommy Orange’s There, There (Knopf, 2018), I quickly developed a sense that I knew exactly where one character’s house was situated thanks to references to landmarks dropped throughout the book. By the time they finally named the street, I was thrilled to know my own interpretation of the map of Orange’s Oakland had been correct. I was personally familiar with the neighborhood, and clearly so was Tommy Orange, because he drew a map so well with his words that I could place his characters before he even gave me the name of a street.

There are poems that do this, too. Classic examples would be C.S. Giscombe’s Giscombe Road (Dalkey Archives, 1998) or much of Frank O’Hara’s work. I’ve been recently drawn to Allison Adair’s The Clearing (Milkweed Editions, 2020) and Molly McGlennen’s Our Bearings (University of Arizona Press, 2020) for the ways they use setting to further develop their subjects. I am always interested in the ways we create maps with language in our poems, fiction and essays.

One cool thing about teaching is you sometimes get to spend a whole semester talking with other people who are interested in the same things. Thus, my class on Literary Mapping. The last time I taught this course I was in San Francisco and exclusively taught books set in and around Northern California. Now I live in Colorado, so the books we read will be different when I teach the course again.

I hear you’re an avid gardener. How does gardening play a role in your creative life?

Gardening is its own thing. It wouldn’t be any fairer to use gardening as a tool for writing than it would be to use cooking as a tool for writing. Cooking and gardening both feed me. If I am not fed, I can’t write, but cooking and gardening are also their own occupations entirely. That’s important. It is important to have a life beyond writing if one hopes to ever have anything worth writing about.

In this environmental, social, and political inflection point, what do you see being a primary function or role of poetry during this time?  

I was recently reminded of a crucial Toni Cade Bambara quote: “The role of the artist is to make revolution more irresistible.” In order to create the changes that so urgently need to be made, we must make revolution irresistible. Poetry is one way to do this.

What was the most earth-shattering poem you’ve read this year?

That is impossible to answer. I read a lot of poetry, and if it sticks with me at all it is because it has shifted my world in some way. I am from California. (Well, I am and I’m not, but that’s a long story for another time.) When people think of California, they often think of earthquakes. But when they think of California and earthquakes what that usually means are the catastrophic ones: 1906, Loma Prieta, Northridge-level quakes. The big ones. The “earth-shattering” kinds that reorganize skylines and destroy freeways.

For about a week when I was living in Oakland, I kept an earthquake tracker on my phone. It notified me every time there was an earthquake. That thing went off all the time! All the time! There are so many tiny, imperceptible earthquakes happening on those fault lines. Let me clarify this. They may seem imperceptible to most of us, but someone is paying attention. Otherwise, that app couldn’t send me all those alerts. And they may seem tiny, but they are doing the work of moving the earth. (Stick with me, my extended metaphor has almost reached its culmination.)

There certainly are capital-B Big One poems that shift my thinking. But I don’t want to overlook the many other ones that also, when I read them, do the work of moving me. So, prepare to look for both kinds of poems in the pages of Orion.

 

 

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Editor’s Choice: “Of Birds and Barley”

“Is humankind so intrinsically ugly that we seek deliverance by not only yearning after, but also actually imitating other creatures, such that the aping of swans by skilled dancers has become a paragon of beauty and artistic ambition? … Is there some reason, some human need, to imagine swans as majestic?” – Shauna Laurel Jones, “Of Birds and Barley,” Summer 2020. 

The best piece of writing advice I ever received was from a teacher whose nose wrinkled at my dumb, preacherly notions of what I thought literature is “meant” to do. The books I cared for during graduate school were painstakingly curated; you could almost hear the authors sitting next to you as you flipped the pages, telling you which words to pay attention to. I loved those books, for whatever reason—let’s not get into why right now—so it’s no surprise that my most terrifying sight back then was a blank sheet of paper on my desk. I would sit before that open white space, imagining the intricate machinery of the books on my shelves, and wonder how I might ever start. My teacher, seeing the smoke come out of my ears, would casually suggest that I try a different approach. “What if you thought about all the things you like in the world,” she asked, “and just put it all on the page?”

 

Photo: Wang LiQiang
 

I love Shauna Laurel Jones’s story from our Summer 2020 issue, “Of Birds and Barley,” because it feels in many ways like a grab bag selection of everything that captured one person’s interest at a certain moment in her life history. There’s the eye, trained on the sight of swans—Icelandic swans whose plumage disappears in the blank white landscape. There’s the author’s insistent sympathy with the situation in which the swans find themselves, driven by endless hunger for the taste of barley. And then there’s this deep humanism that urges her, over and over again, to hear from the farmers experiencing the fallout of that hunger, even as they want her to do things like watch them click on their own Facebook photos. (She watches, and so lovingly.) There’s a helplessness to the allure of the swan’s elegant stature and an equal-sized anxiety over the wreckage they leave in their wheat binges. There’s art criticism, somehow, and debates over carnivorism, and the poetry of one’s own youth.

I think this is what people mean when they talk about something being a snapshot of the world through someone else’s eyes. You read a story like this, and not only do you get to see everything to which Shauna is drawn, but you actually become drawn in yourself, brought into a bright and unknowable world filled with birds who swim, the intricate machinery of their bodies, and the mystified people seeing them up close for the first time.

 

Read the full article “Of Birds in Barley” here

 

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Aimee Nezhukumatathil Reflects on Five Years as Poetry Editor

“The land knows you, even when you are lost.” I’ve lost track of the times I’ve thought of this sentence from Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass since I first became Orion’s poetry editor in 2015.

After five years gathering bouquets of poems for each issue, I’m stepping aside. In reading hundreds and hundreds of poems for Orion over the years, I can truthfully say that reading such a wide array has helped ground me, even during these tumultuous political times when I’ve felt lost.

I’m so grateful to former editor-in-chief Chip Blake and my predecessor Hannah Fries for reaching out to me in the first place—I got the text while I was boarding a plane. O, travel! Seems almost quaint now in the midst of a pandemic! I said yes immediately, for Orion has always been a magazine that I’d greedily read from cover to cover when it arrived in my mailbox.

More than that, it promised to be a place where I could help shape and collect a different vision of environmental poetry than what had previously been offered from any place else. This meant plucking unknowns from the slush pile and nervously asking my poetry heroes and superstars to consider sharing their poems, while I also fielded wonderful recommendations from nature writers across the country. Just look at this gathering of writers (published in Orion from 2015 to June 2020), re-defining what is written about the environment:

Joseph O. Legaspi, Paisley Rekdal, John Poch, Michelle Bonczek, Fatimah Asghar, C. Dale Young, Jennifer Chang, Teddy Macker, Brian Doyle, Michelle Gillette, Kathryn Hunt, Phil Metres, Rita Dove, Deborah Cummins, Jim Daniels, David Roderick, Laure-Anne Bosselaar, Dave Lucas, Janice N. Harrington…

Erica Dawson, Anne Haven, Sierra Golden, Kimiko Hahn, Joan Naviyuk Kane, James Thomas Stevens, Christopher Cokinos, Natalie Diaz, Chloe Honum, Rigoberto González, Katherine Riegel, Ellen Bass, Layli Long Soldier, Ilyse Kusnetz, Amanda Hawkins, Todd Davis…

Deborah A. Miranda, Toni Jensen, Jennifer Elise Foerster, Heid Erdrich, Louise Erdrich, Joy Harjo, Keetje Kuipers, Traci Brimhall, David Tomas Martinez, Sean Hill, Catherine Pierce, Liz Kicak, Robert Wrigley, Jessica Jacobs, Duy Doan, Kazim Ali, Tess Taylor, Jessica Gigot, Urvashi Bahuguna…

Rebecca Morgan Frank, Susan Elbe, Martin Jude Farawell, Kelli Russell Agodon, Zoe Brigley, Molly Sutton Kiefer, Oliver de la Paz, Brandi George, Donika Kelly, Javier Zamora, Jane Wong, Christopher Bakken, Jenny George, Jane Hirshfield, Noah Davis, Roger Reeves, Lisa Russ Spaar, Tyree Daye, Adrian Matejka, Marci Calabretta Cancio-Bello, Camille T. Dungy, Sally Wen Mao…

Dorianne Laux, Major Jackson, Catherine Pierce, Eloisa Amezcua, Rajiv Mohabir, Kevin Young, Stuart Dybek, Cecily Parks, Ilya Kaminsky, Paige Quiñones, José Olivarez, Ada Limón, Luisa A. Igloria, David Baker, John Freeman, Brenda Hillman, W. Todd Kaneko, Tina Chang, Craig Santos Perez, Janine Joseph, Sandra Meek, Su Cho, and Kwame Dawes.

During this time we’ve had several of these poems anthologized, selected for the Academy of American Poetry’s “Teach This Poem” series, included in prize-winning books, and, just last month, we found out that Ilya Kaminsky’s broadside insert, “Letters of Recommendation” (Winter 2019) won a Pushcart Prize!

But we’re not done yet.

When I thought of passing the torch to someone who could guide and celebrate new pathways into environmental poetry, I had only one name in mind, and I’m grateful she accepted: Camille Dungy will be taking over as poetry editor starting with the Autumn 2020 issue, and I am so excited to watch her unique vision unfold in this position.

As for me, I’ll be joyfully transitioning to being a contributing editor of Orion with a brand-new column called “A Taste of Wonder,” that I envision will bring environmentalists to the table. Like sharing a meal with a good friend, we will nibble a bit of wonder around the world. Look for it in an upcoming issue.

For now, I’m going to try and see if my first attempts at growing blackberries in Mississippi’s famously hot summers will succeed, or if the mockingbirds will snatch them all in the next few weeks, and I’ll try to prepare to teach online classes this fall.

But first, there are walks to be had (with masks on), and fireflies to catch (and release!) with my sons. My collection of nature essays, World of Wonders: In Praise of Fireflies, Whale Sharks, and Other Astonishments will be ushered into the world in September (via Milkweed Editions) and I’m all kinds of nervous and excited about that.

This isn’t a goodbye, but a wish: I hope you find yourself a little less lost, or a little less lonely when you read the upcoming issues of Orion. Thank you for your support over the past five years. It’s been so lovely to make this a more inclusive space for environmental writing, and I can’t wait to see what’s next on the horizon.

 

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