Writing the Land: darlene anita scott reads a poem for Capital Region Land Conservancy

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A poem by darlene anita scott called, "Ever" written on behalf of Haskin’s Tract, which is protected by Capital Region Land Conservancy. It appears in the anthology, “Writing the Land: Virginia” (Northfield, MA: NatureCulture, 2024), which is part of NatureCulture’s Writing the Land project.
(www.writingtheland.org)
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Writing the Land is a collaborative outreach and fundraising project for land protection organizations hosted by NatureCulture. Through our anthologies, poets help raise awareness of the importance of land conservation, ecosystems, and biodiversity.
Writing the Land is an attempt to honor nature and our relationship with it in a way that is as equitable and transparent as it is deep and entangled. As poets and advocates, we declare our intention that the scope of this project be as inclusive-to humans and places-as we hope the mantle of protection that land trusts offer can be. Our work in writing the land will never be complete but rather gains strength, depth, beauty, and energy from a multitude of voices.
Learn more about Writing the Land: www.writingtheland.org
Where to buy past WTL anthologies: www.nature-cul...
And about other projects from NatureCulture: www.nature-culture.net
Artwork: Martin Bridge, www.thebridgebrothers.com
Produced by: The Nature Imaginarium, www.natureimaginarium.com
Edited by: Zoe Gilfix

Опубликовано:

8 сен 2024

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@scottgyrl Месяц назад

Here's the full text of the poem: Ever by darlene anita scott You should repeat names of all you love to ensure they never die. Which makes death an imprecise way to explain the transmutation of all that lives since anything that lives must end. To converse with the land of ancestors known and not is to mourn what inexactness takes. Why we search for home away from the ones we call by its name. I am in Ghana, then Virginia, home of my father and his before Daddy made mine north. We speak my grandfather’s name often. Daddy is last of his sons; then, daughters. He is becoming Pop-Pop’s image and drawl. At the edge of overgrown land fertilized by blood, flesh, dignity of men like my people called as inexactly as dead and home- not-I work on remembering: Like all living things, soil dies. Like all that dies, all it holds; all it carries does not expire. It ends in the way it is known. Soil becomes a collection of new things, over and over like cells in the bodies hold our history, carry us toward new things we become, like food for soil for one and so on and so on and so.