Ray Zimmerman's Blog, page 3
October 3, 2020
Salvadore Dali Meets Gertrude Stein
The Southern Festival of Books opened October 1 with a focus on fiction. At 7:30 pm, EST, Ann Patchett, author of Dutch House: A Novel, held a conversation with Yaa Gyasi, author of Transcendent Kingdom. A full list of the programs is available on their web page.
https://www.humanitiestennessee.org/s... Videos of past sessions are still available on their Facebook page The festival is virtual only this year.
As this Nashville festival opens, I think of the Magazine, 2nd, and Church, which began publication in 2012 and went on hiatus after eight issues. All issues are still available on their web site. The publisher, Roy Burkhead, and his writers published a wide spectrum of writing between its covers.
My work appeared in three issues of 2nd and Church. I am Grateful to Roy Burkhesad, and Poetry Editor Alvin Knox for including two of my poems, my review of the Rick Steve’s book, Travel as a Political Act, and my interview with Jim Pfitzer, a native of East Ridge, Tennessee who was, at the time, crossing the continent with his living history presentation depicting conservationist Aldo Leopold. Leopold is noted among conservationists for his book A Sand County Almanac.
The lifespan of Literary magazines is a tenuous business. The North American Review claims to be America’s oldest, with publication since 1815. Some last for only an issue or two, For a few years, Nashville was home to one of the best.
One of my surrealist poems which 2nd and Church printed was titled, “Salvador Dali Meets Gertrude Stein.”
Salvador Dali Meets Gertrude Stein
Nebulous nebulae nebulae nebulae nebulous
Negotiate nebulous nebulae, oversee
weather cloudy and serene. Serene sirens
negotiate nebulous nebulae with squad cars
of intergalactic police as we negotiate
a tapestry of weather symbols and barrel staves
in water inhabited by golden goldfish and
copper piranhas. Copper cop car piranhas
eat us out of house and home, house
and home house house home house home.
Ascend cirrus cloud cloud cloud cirrus stairs.
Find no piranhas here and chum for sharks.
Catch any sharks, chum? Chum chum chum
for tiger tiger burning bright, tiger sharks
pursue us on this journey with no destination
to love but the question itself of who
ate the last shark steak in the refrigerator.
Shark steak steak steak shark steak shark.
Man-eating shark has a stake in this tale and
has a tail to tell it with like Ferlinghetti's dog,
if indeed it is the shark that eats the man and.
not the man eating the shark stake, the SOB
took the last one. Gnash your teeth you
sharkless humans and humanless sharks.
Gnash gnash teeth teeth gnash human
teeth gnash on shark flesh irony.
https://www.humanitiestennessee.org/s... Videos of past sessions are still available on their Facebook page The festival is virtual only this year.
As this Nashville festival opens, I think of the Magazine, 2nd, and Church, which began publication in 2012 and went on hiatus after eight issues. All issues are still available on their web site. The publisher, Roy Burkhead, and his writers published a wide spectrum of writing between its covers.
My work appeared in three issues of 2nd and Church. I am Grateful to Roy Burkhesad, and Poetry Editor Alvin Knox for including two of my poems, my review of the Rick Steve’s book, Travel as a Political Act, and my interview with Jim Pfitzer, a native of East Ridge, Tennessee who was, at the time, crossing the continent with his living history presentation depicting conservationist Aldo Leopold. Leopold is noted among conservationists for his book A Sand County Almanac.
The lifespan of Literary magazines is a tenuous business. The North American Review claims to be America’s oldest, with publication since 1815. Some last for only an issue or two, For a few years, Nashville was home to one of the best.
One of my surrealist poems which 2nd and Church printed was titled, “Salvador Dali Meets Gertrude Stein.”
Salvador Dali Meets Gertrude Stein
Nebulous nebulae nebulae nebulae nebulous
Negotiate nebulous nebulae, oversee
weather cloudy and serene. Serene sirens
negotiate nebulous nebulae with squad cars
of intergalactic police as we negotiate
a tapestry of weather symbols and barrel staves
in water inhabited by golden goldfish and
copper piranhas. Copper cop car piranhas
eat us out of house and home, house
and home house house home house home.
Ascend cirrus cloud cloud cloud cirrus stairs.
Find no piranhas here and chum for sharks.
Catch any sharks, chum? Chum chum chum
for tiger tiger burning bright, tiger sharks
pursue us on this journey with no destination
to love but the question itself of who
ate the last shark steak in the refrigerator.
Shark steak steak steak shark steak shark.
Man-eating shark has a stake in this tale and
has a tail to tell it with like Ferlinghetti's dog,
if indeed it is the shark that eats the man and.
not the man eating the shark stake, the SOB
took the last one. Gnash your teeth you
sharkless humans and humanless sharks.
Gnash gnash teeth teeth gnash human
teeth gnash on shark flesh irony.
October 2, 2020
The Southern Festival of Books
This post was previously published on my web site: rayzimmermanquthor.com - the festival began yesterday eening
,Rayz Reviewz Volume 1 Number 24
The Southern Festival of Books returns with a virtual festival this year I will miss the live event in Nashville which I first attended in 2007 to read my prize-winning poem, Glen Falls Trail which appears below. It was just ten days after my Coronary Bypass Surgery, and the neighbor who drove to the festival thought the trip ill advised. Still medicated, I delivered an "unusual" performance. The pace of my reading was irregular at best.
My reading took place under a canopy on Legislative Plaza as part of the awards ceremony of the Tennessee Writer's Alliance. It was not as well attended as the indoor presentations by notable authors, but I will never forget the experience, and I am grateful for the doors opening to opportunities as a result. I have attended several times since, reading on two of those occasions, and I have always enjoyed the opportunity to reconnect with authors from across Tennessee and beyond.
One year, I heard local Nashville poets perform on one of the outdoor stages. That evening I read with some of them at Poetry in the Brew, an open mic at Portland Brew East, a coffee shop on Nashville's East side. They went on with their regularly scheduled program despite the festival. Covid-19 has brought a change to Poetry in the Brew and I have reconnected with some creative poets through their weekly virtual open mic. I had hoped to read with them again, but I did not suspect it would happen in this way.
This year, I will be content to participate in the Southern Festival of Books as a member of the online audience. Some old friends are on the program, as well as a few famous authors. I will, no doubt, offer thanks and congratulations to those with whom I am acquainted and enjoy the presentations of the rest. One evening though, my internet connection will be tuned in to an open mic still hosted by a Nashville poet but now with an international array of presenters.
Festival and event information
Humanities Tennessee is the moving force behind the Southern Festival of Books. Their website has a schedule of events, author biographies, and information on how to access the streaming events from your computer or though the app on your mobile device. https://www.humanitiestennessee.org/s...
Parnassus Books is the official book vendor of the Southern Festival of Books. Historically they have created a popup bookstore on the plaza. This year, they offer sales at their store. They also have a preview of the event on their web page. https://parnassusmusing.net/2020/09/3...
Poetry in the Brew streams the open mic through their Facebook Page.
The Poem I read at the Festival
Glen Falls Trail
I climb the limestone stairs
through an arch in rock,
into the earth’s womb,
pass through to a surprise:
George loves Lisa painted on a wall.
I wonder, did he ever tell her?
Did she ever know or think of him,
raise a brood of screaming children?
Did they kiss near wild ginger above the stony apse?
Did lady’s slipper orchids
adorn their meeting place
where deer drink from rocky cisterns?
Did their love wither
like maidenhair fern,
delicate as English Lace?
The symbols have outlived the moment.
There is only today,
only the murmur of water underground,
my finding one trickle into a pool.
I never knew this George or Lisa.
The rock bears their names in silence,
names the stream forgot long ago.
,Rayz Reviewz Volume 1 Number 24
The Southern Festival of Books returns with a virtual festival this year I will miss the live event in Nashville which I first attended in 2007 to read my prize-winning poem, Glen Falls Trail which appears below. It was just ten days after my Coronary Bypass Surgery, and the neighbor who drove to the festival thought the trip ill advised. Still medicated, I delivered an "unusual" performance. The pace of my reading was irregular at best.
My reading took place under a canopy on Legislative Plaza as part of the awards ceremony of the Tennessee Writer's Alliance. It was not as well attended as the indoor presentations by notable authors, but I will never forget the experience, and I am grateful for the doors opening to opportunities as a result. I have attended several times since, reading on two of those occasions, and I have always enjoyed the opportunity to reconnect with authors from across Tennessee and beyond.
One year, I heard local Nashville poets perform on one of the outdoor stages. That evening I read with some of them at Poetry in the Brew, an open mic at Portland Brew East, a coffee shop on Nashville's East side. They went on with their regularly scheduled program despite the festival. Covid-19 has brought a change to Poetry in the Brew and I have reconnected with some creative poets through their weekly virtual open mic. I had hoped to read with them again, but I did not suspect it would happen in this way.
This year, I will be content to participate in the Southern Festival of Books as a member of the online audience. Some old friends are on the program, as well as a few famous authors. I will, no doubt, offer thanks and congratulations to those with whom I am acquainted and enjoy the presentations of the rest. One evening though, my internet connection will be tuned in to an open mic still hosted by a Nashville poet but now with an international array of presenters.
Festival and event information
Humanities Tennessee is the moving force behind the Southern Festival of Books. Their website has a schedule of events, author biographies, and information on how to access the streaming events from your computer or though the app on your mobile device. https://www.humanitiestennessee.org/s...
Parnassus Books is the official book vendor of the Southern Festival of Books. Historically they have created a popup bookstore on the plaza. This year, they offer sales at their store. They also have a preview of the event on their web page. https://parnassusmusing.net/2020/09/3...
Poetry in the Brew streams the open mic through their Facebook Page.
The Poem I read at the Festival
Glen Falls Trail
I climb the limestone stairs
through an arch in rock,
into the earth’s womb,
pass through to a surprise:
George loves Lisa painted on a wall.
I wonder, did he ever tell her?
Did she ever know or think of him,
raise a brood of screaming children?
Did they kiss near wild ginger above the stony apse?
Did lady’s slipper orchids
adorn their meeting place
where deer drink from rocky cisterns?
Did their love wither
like maidenhair fern,
delicate as English Lace?
The symbols have outlived the moment.
There is only today,
only the murmur of water underground,
my finding one trickle into a pool.
I never knew this George or Lisa.
The rock bears their names in silence,
names the stream forgot long ago.
September 25, 2020
For the Last Carolina Parakeet
Previously Published in Number One, Gallatin, Tennessee
I imagine the loneliness of your aviary
there at the Cincinnati Zoo where your
predecessor, the last Passenger Pigeon
flew off to oblivion just a few years earlier.
One voice is not a choir.
You were part of a social species,
descending by the thousands,
on fields to consume cockleburs,
or orchards for luscious fruits.
One voice is not a choir.
Some labelled you a pest
and pursued with shotguns.
Audubon noticed your species
in decline even in his bygone days.
One voice is not a choir.
No welcoming song of your fellows
greeted your waning days. Does your
skin adorn a museum, just as your
ancestors’ feathers adorned lady’s hats?
On voice is not a choir.
It saddens me to think my adopted home
of Tennessee once knew the calls and colors
of a native parrot. One scientist titled
an article about your kin, “Forever Gone.”
No voices remain in the choir.
An image of the Carolina Parakeet, once Native to Tennessee and the Carolinas, appears here. Painting by John James Audubon. https://www.audubon.org/birds-of-amer...
I imagine the loneliness of your aviary
there at the Cincinnati Zoo where your
predecessor, the last Passenger Pigeon
flew off to oblivion just a few years earlier.
One voice is not a choir.
You were part of a social species,
descending by the thousands,
on fields to consume cockleburs,
or orchards for luscious fruits.
One voice is not a choir.
Some labelled you a pest
and pursued with shotguns.
Audubon noticed your species
in decline even in his bygone days.
One voice is not a choir.
No welcoming song of your fellows
greeted your waning days. Does your
skin adorn a museum, just as your
ancestors’ feathers adorned lady’s hats?
On voice is not a choir.
It saddens me to think my adopted home
of Tennessee once knew the calls and colors
of a native parrot. One scientist titled
an article about your kin, “Forever Gone.”
No voices remain in the choir.
An image of the Carolina Parakeet, once Native to Tennessee and the Carolinas, appears here. Painting by John James Audubon. https://www.audubon.org/birds-of-amer...
September 24, 2020
Blakes Tyger and the Mistress of Typhoons
I live in an alternate universe populated solely by me and Mary Poppins. This seems to be the image I conjure up when I tell an audience that I am a Nature Poet. Sometimes this image is true. In a state of reverie, I enter a distant land where the keys of a piano yield the soothing strains of Claire de Lune. The poet William Blake appears and reads the introduction to Songs of Innocence as I hear a child’s voice say, “Pipe a song about a lamb.”
With a sudden twist, Blake recites lines from a better-known poem, “Tyger, Tyger burning bright…” I see in his face the assurance of one who could gaze upon both the gentle and the destructive personas of the natural world without flinching. “Did He who made the lamb make thee?” The piano music changes to the opening from The Saber Dance. The goddess Kali appears, wearing her necklace of human skulls. She is mistress of the typhoon, the earthquake, and the tidal wave. She gestures with her hand.
A tidal wave ravages a distant shore, washing people, goats, chickens, and homes out to sea. Some wave their hands in hopes of an unlikely rescue. The sea reclaims all flesh. Kali smiles as new life sprouts to fill the void left by her destruction. In my heart, I hold the mystery of birth following death. The vision passes and I am on the shore of a familiar pond.
A heron snatches a hapless frog. Herons and egrets take flight with a hoarse chorus of croaking. They gently glide and land on the further shore. They take up stationary posts, resuming a hunt that involves patience and a speedy attack from ambush. A kingfisher hovers above the water seeking a fishy dinner. I imagine the strains of Appalachian Spring filling the air.
If Blake were present, he might smile and gaze at a tree, its branches filled with angels. But he is not here. A dragonfly lands on a nearby twig. Its wings shimmer in the morning sun.
My Latest Project Goes Live at
https://appvoices.org/2020/09/09/snor...
After telephone conversations and multiple edits, my feature article, “Snorkeler Casper Cox Explores Appalachia’s Diverse Freshwater Life,” is live on the Appalachian Voice website. The article is handsomely illustrated with stunning underwater photographs provided by Casper Cox.
With a sudden twist, Blake recites lines from a better-known poem, “Tyger, Tyger burning bright…” I see in his face the assurance of one who could gaze upon both the gentle and the destructive personas of the natural world without flinching. “Did He who made the lamb make thee?” The piano music changes to the opening from The Saber Dance. The goddess Kali appears, wearing her necklace of human skulls. She is mistress of the typhoon, the earthquake, and the tidal wave. She gestures with her hand.
A tidal wave ravages a distant shore, washing people, goats, chickens, and homes out to sea. Some wave their hands in hopes of an unlikely rescue. The sea reclaims all flesh. Kali smiles as new life sprouts to fill the void left by her destruction. In my heart, I hold the mystery of birth following death. The vision passes and I am on the shore of a familiar pond.
A heron snatches a hapless frog. Herons and egrets take flight with a hoarse chorus of croaking. They gently glide and land on the further shore. They take up stationary posts, resuming a hunt that involves patience and a speedy attack from ambush. A kingfisher hovers above the water seeking a fishy dinner. I imagine the strains of Appalachian Spring filling the air.
If Blake were present, he might smile and gaze at a tree, its branches filled with angels. But he is not here. A dragonfly lands on a nearby twig. Its wings shimmer in the morning sun.
My Latest Project Goes Live at
https://appvoices.org/2020/09/09/snor...
After telephone conversations and multiple edits, my feature article, “Snorkeler Casper Cox Explores Appalachia’s Diverse Freshwater Life,” is live on the Appalachian Voice website. The article is handsomely illustrated with stunning underwater photographs provided by Casper Cox.
September 4, 2020
Rayz Reviewz1.20
This is an excerpt from my blog post for September 3, 2020
Featured Essay: Home and Away
From my youngest days, we lived in a land of plenty, a land I remember as a paradise on earth. The house was old but was situated on a one-acre lot, with ample room for a garden and an orchard. When fall came we had beans, corn, potatoes, and squash. Our fresh okra went into chicken gumbo soup, always homemade. Our pumpkins made fine jack-o-lanterns and pies and there were always apples to preserve for the apple pies of winter. Trips to town were reserved for meat, milk, flour, and other staples but the garden and the orchard sustained our needs for fruit and vegetables.
The fumes of an oil refinery assaulted our nostrils when we drove into Canton, Ohio, the nearest city. Tanks filled with raw materials that would become diesel oil, gasoline, kerosene, and other products of commerce surrounded a tower. Components of the crude oil, not usable for manufacturing, were ignited at the top of this tower. My dad once referred to the flame as the Statue of Liberty. This phrase quickly caught on with my friends when repeated. I later heard that a cousin whose family lived near the refinery was sickly until a doctor advised his mother to move elsewhere for the child’s health.
Within a mile of the house and garden, a small and never reclaimed strip-mine had bloomed on the landscape. We were told never to go there alone, but one day my dad took me walking on the gutted land. He hunted small game in the wooded areas nearby. This walk was a scouting trip to see if the strip mine would yield productive hunting that year. We saw an old house, just a board framework by this time, which he strictly warned me to never enter in the case that I “accidentally” passed nearby. He said that it was unsound, and likely a habitat for snakes.
On the cusp of my teenage years, I began picking the blackberries from canes filling the vacant land that surrounded the strip mine. On occasion, my friends and I caught a few snakes which we carried home in a pillowcase. Our mothers sent us packing to turn them loose elsewhere. They were much more appreciative when we brought home blackberries, which ended up in cobblers and pies. If you have the misfortune to have never experienced a blackberry cobbler, search for a picture on the world wide web. The picture won’t do justice to my mother’s cobbler. My mouth waters as a write about them.
Remembering those days, I am caught between the beauty of the garden and the industrial wasteland of the refinery and the mine. My environmentalism is genuinely fueled by the twin engines of delight and despair. The strip mine and the refinery helped to shape my personality, but I think of the garden when I think of home.
Heaven with constant harp music and streets paved with gold has never been much of an enticement for me, but I once heard an old preacher give a more convincing speech. He told of the man on the cross who asked Jesus to remember him and received an answer. “This day you shall be with me in Paradise.” The old preacher said,” Now don’t confuse that with heaven. Paradise literally means The Kings Garden.” That was all the convincing I needed. Here was a place I could love and hope for. If I ever make it to The Kings Garden, that will be all the heaven I need.
To find resoucrces discussing the conflicts between park and indigenous people, and to find some resources for writers, see the full text of my blog with photos of Big Soddy Gulf at: https://www.rayzimmermanauthor.com/th...
Featured Essay: Home and Away
From my youngest days, we lived in a land of plenty, a land I remember as a paradise on earth. The house was old but was situated on a one-acre lot, with ample room for a garden and an orchard. When fall came we had beans, corn, potatoes, and squash. Our fresh okra went into chicken gumbo soup, always homemade. Our pumpkins made fine jack-o-lanterns and pies and there were always apples to preserve for the apple pies of winter. Trips to town were reserved for meat, milk, flour, and other staples but the garden and the orchard sustained our needs for fruit and vegetables.
The fumes of an oil refinery assaulted our nostrils when we drove into Canton, Ohio, the nearest city. Tanks filled with raw materials that would become diesel oil, gasoline, kerosene, and other products of commerce surrounded a tower. Components of the crude oil, not usable for manufacturing, were ignited at the top of this tower. My dad once referred to the flame as the Statue of Liberty. This phrase quickly caught on with my friends when repeated. I later heard that a cousin whose family lived near the refinery was sickly until a doctor advised his mother to move elsewhere for the child’s health.
Within a mile of the house and garden, a small and never reclaimed strip-mine had bloomed on the landscape. We were told never to go there alone, but one day my dad took me walking on the gutted land. He hunted small game in the wooded areas nearby. This walk was a scouting trip to see if the strip mine would yield productive hunting that year. We saw an old house, just a board framework by this time, which he strictly warned me to never enter in the case that I “accidentally” passed nearby. He said that it was unsound, and likely a habitat for snakes.
On the cusp of my teenage years, I began picking the blackberries from canes filling the vacant land that surrounded the strip mine. On occasion, my friends and I caught a few snakes which we carried home in a pillowcase. Our mothers sent us packing to turn them loose elsewhere. They were much more appreciative when we brought home blackberries, which ended up in cobblers and pies. If you have the misfortune to have never experienced a blackberry cobbler, search for a picture on the world wide web. The picture won’t do justice to my mother’s cobbler. My mouth waters as a write about them.
Remembering those days, I am caught between the beauty of the garden and the industrial wasteland of the refinery and the mine. My environmentalism is genuinely fueled by the twin engines of delight and despair. The strip mine and the refinery helped to shape my personality, but I think of the garden when I think of home.
Heaven with constant harp music and streets paved with gold has never been much of an enticement for me, but I once heard an old preacher give a more convincing speech. He told of the man on the cross who asked Jesus to remember him and received an answer. “This day you shall be with me in Paradise.” The old preacher said,” Now don’t confuse that with heaven. Paradise literally means The Kings Garden.” That was all the convincing I needed. Here was a place I could love and hope for. If I ever make it to The Kings Garden, that will be all the heaven I need.
To find resoucrces discussing the conflicts between park and indigenous people, and to find some resources for writers, see the full text of my blog with photos of Big Soddy Gulf at: https://www.rayzimmermanauthor.com/th...
August 14, 2020
Rayz Reviewz Volume 1 Number 18
Welcome to Rayz Reviewz. Past editions are archived on my web page. My feature article, Whale Watch: A Cape Cod Memoir, follows the Travel Close to Home section and the opportunities section. This week’s photos are from the Curtain Pole Rode portion of the Tennessee Riverpark in Chattanooga, Tennessee. https://www.rayzimmermanauthor.com/th...
Travel Close to Home
For the past few weeks, the Curtain Pole Road section of the Tennessee Riverpark has been my “go to” location for nature photography. I have spent several mornings there, collecting photographs of Great Egrets, Great Blue Herons and Green Herons, and more recently, dragonflies, robber flies, and cicadas, as well as fruits and flowers.
Meanwhile, the Chickamauga Dam is still productive for viewing Osprey, Double Crested Cormorants, and Great Blue Herons. If you want to know more about the birds mentioned here, see the online field guide of the National Audubon Society.
The picnic area of the Tennessee Riverpark near the Hubert Fry Center has some lovely flower gardens which are productive for butterfly observation and photography.
The American Lotus at Amnicola Marsh are rapidly losing their flowers. The large seed heads are prominent and green with some turning to brown. Soon the duck and geese populations should be more visible.
Chattanooga Outdoors provides information about outdoor sports on their web page https://outdoorchattanooga.com/. This is the pace to find out about bicycling, kayaking, white water rafting and other opportunities.
Opportunities for Writers
Owl Canyon Review offers a short story contest with an October 1 deadline. They supply the first and last paragraph and your write 18 paragraphs. The contest FAQ is available online.
Ecotone Magazine promotes place-based writing. The editors recently posted the current issue. For Submission information, consult the submissions page..
Still, the Journal publishes an annual edition celebrating Appalachia. To know what they like to publish, read selections on their web page: Guidelines for submissions are also available there.
Frontier Poetry has a $3,000 award for new poets competition. The deadline is September 15. Guidelines are available on the web.
The Missouri Review publishes in all genres Submission Guidelines are available online.
The Avocet is now accepting nature poetry for the fall edition. If you simply like reading the poetry, a subscription if $24 for a quarterly bound journal and a weekly edition delivered viz email. Subscriptions should go to The Avocet, P.O. Box 19186, Fountain Hills, AZ 85269
Include your email address if you want to receive guidelines for submissions.
Whale Watch: A Cape Cod Memoir
Reading or hearing about the size of whales was no preparation for meeting one in person. I exclaimed about the size of the beast, but the shipboard naturalist pointed out, “That’s the whale calf, the mother is over there.” She was an adult Right Whale, possibly 50 feet long, and as much as 79 tons. As do all mother Right Whales, she swam in tandem with another adult whale, her escort. The second whale could be male or female and stood by to help fend off potential predators.
They were the right whale to kill. That’s how they got the name. They floated when dead. Slow swimmers, they were easy targets. They yielded tons of blubber; rendered to oil and stored in barrels. It fetched a good price on the docks. The baleen pates in their mouth, designed to strain food from the water, became corset stays. Whalebone corsets where fashionable.
The three I saw that day amounted to one percent of the population. After the whaling ships had done their work, few remained. On that day in 1988, the world-wide population was about 300. Being the first whales I ever saw, they became all whales for me Though I would later see humpback whales and finback whales, sleek and fast, I will always think of rotund, slow swimming Right Whales, rarest of the rare, when I hear of whales.
They calf came close to our boat to wave and splash with an energetic tail. It rolled to one side and waved a fluke. I wished the calf a long and healthy life; growth to maturity without being cut down by killer whales or lost to accident or disease.
I have since read that the North Atlantic Right Whale population has increased to 450 individuals. Today, it pleases me to that somewhere off the American coast, mother Right Whales swim with escorts who sing to them as the calf nurses, filling with milk so rich in butterfat it would be toxic to humans. The calf circles mother and escort with the boundless energy of all young things.
Shameless Self Promotion
A few months ago I wrote an article about Robert Sparks Walker for The Chattanooga Pulse.
Travel Close to Home
For the past few weeks, the Curtain Pole Road section of the Tennessee Riverpark has been my “go to” location for nature photography. I have spent several mornings there, collecting photographs of Great Egrets, Great Blue Herons and Green Herons, and more recently, dragonflies, robber flies, and cicadas, as well as fruits and flowers.
Meanwhile, the Chickamauga Dam is still productive for viewing Osprey, Double Crested Cormorants, and Great Blue Herons. If you want to know more about the birds mentioned here, see the online field guide of the National Audubon Society.
The picnic area of the Tennessee Riverpark near the Hubert Fry Center has some lovely flower gardens which are productive for butterfly observation and photography.
The American Lotus at Amnicola Marsh are rapidly losing their flowers. The large seed heads are prominent and green with some turning to brown. Soon the duck and geese populations should be more visible.
Chattanooga Outdoors provides information about outdoor sports on their web page https://outdoorchattanooga.com/. This is the pace to find out about bicycling, kayaking, white water rafting and other opportunities.
Opportunities for Writers
Owl Canyon Review offers a short story contest with an October 1 deadline. They supply the first and last paragraph and your write 18 paragraphs. The contest FAQ is available online.
Ecotone Magazine promotes place-based writing. The editors recently posted the current issue. For Submission information, consult the submissions page..
Still, the Journal publishes an annual edition celebrating Appalachia. To know what they like to publish, read selections on their web page: Guidelines for submissions are also available there.
Frontier Poetry has a $3,000 award for new poets competition. The deadline is September 15. Guidelines are available on the web.
The Missouri Review publishes in all genres Submission Guidelines are available online.
The Avocet is now accepting nature poetry for the fall edition. If you simply like reading the poetry, a subscription if $24 for a quarterly bound journal and a weekly edition delivered viz email. Subscriptions should go to The Avocet, P.O. Box 19186, Fountain Hills, AZ 85269
Include your email address if you want to receive guidelines for submissions.
Whale Watch: A Cape Cod Memoir
Reading or hearing about the size of whales was no preparation for meeting one in person. I exclaimed about the size of the beast, but the shipboard naturalist pointed out, “That’s the whale calf, the mother is over there.” She was an adult Right Whale, possibly 50 feet long, and as much as 79 tons. As do all mother Right Whales, she swam in tandem with another adult whale, her escort. The second whale could be male or female and stood by to help fend off potential predators.
They were the right whale to kill. That’s how they got the name. They floated when dead. Slow swimmers, they were easy targets. They yielded tons of blubber; rendered to oil and stored in barrels. It fetched a good price on the docks. The baleen pates in their mouth, designed to strain food from the water, became corset stays. Whalebone corsets where fashionable.
The three I saw that day amounted to one percent of the population. After the whaling ships had done their work, few remained. On that day in 1988, the world-wide population was about 300. Being the first whales I ever saw, they became all whales for me Though I would later see humpback whales and finback whales, sleek and fast, I will always think of rotund, slow swimming Right Whales, rarest of the rare, when I hear of whales.
They calf came close to our boat to wave and splash with an energetic tail. It rolled to one side and waved a fluke. I wished the calf a long and healthy life; growth to maturity without being cut down by killer whales or lost to accident or disease.
I have since read that the North Atlantic Right Whale population has increased to 450 individuals. Today, it pleases me to that somewhere off the American coast, mother Right Whales swim with escorts who sing to them as the calf nurses, filling with milk so rich in butterfat it would be toxic to humans. The calf circles mother and escort with the boundless energy of all young things.
Shameless Self Promotion
A few months ago I wrote an article about Robert Sparks Walker for The Chattanooga Pulse.
August 9, 2020
A Visit to Cloudland Canyon
Rayz Reviewz Volume 1 Number 17
Welcome to Rayz Reviewz. Past editions are archived on my web page.
Opportunities
Cloudland Canyon State Park, near Trenton, Georgia provides excellent opportunities for nature appreciation, photography, and writing. I visited on Sunday, July 26 and again on Tuesday, August 4. The park was crowded on Sunday, and about half were wearing masks. I kept my distance from the crowds. On Tuesday, I encountered very few people, although the campground was full. There is a modest parking fee of $5.00 per vehicle, but I bought a season pass, discounted for senior citizens.
I encountered the fence lizard, the diminutive dragon which I have adopted as my mascot for now, as I returned from Overlook Number One, I stepped off the trail to let an oncoming group pass. The rocky ground was bare and provided an opening within the surrounding forest. When I looked to my left, there he was, perched on a fallen log.
I say he, but I don’t know the lizard’s gender. Males have a blue belly which they flash as part of their courtship display. They also do pushups, lifting and lowering their bodies on the forelegs, as a courtship signal to females and a territorial announcement to other males. Presumably, a female lizard somehow assesses his suitability from this display, just as a female bird can assess a singing male’s genetic fitness, hunting ability, and overall desirability from the song.
Female fence lizards have white bellies, but I did not see this lizard’s belly. The lizard did not move. By instinct, the lizard remained frozen with camouflage as the main protection from me, perhaps a potential predator.
I slipped my cameral into action, taking a “grab shot” with the lens at 89 millimeters. Then I zoomed the lens out to its 300 mm maximum length and snapped several shots.
I don/t know if anyone passed on the trail behind me or if any other animals happened by at the time. There was only the camera, the lizard and me. The lizard may have slipped into the brush as I turned and left.
Resources for Nature Writing
“The Greatest Nature Essay Ever,” published in Orion magazine, is Brian Doyle’s contribution to the art of essay writing. During his lifetime, Doyle published at least one collection of essays, as well as nonfiction nature books and fictional works with nature settings.
Barry Lopez, also the author of nature works in several genres and winner of the National Book Award, is an excellent source of exemplary nature writing. Read his essay “The Naturalist,” in Orion magazine.
I believe Orion is currently the best exemplary journal for prose nature writing, but the Tennessee Conservationist is an excellent place to read exemplary nature journalism.
Mary Oliver’s book Upstream includes exemplary nature essays. Her nature poetry is also well worth a read. Her poem “Wild Geese” is an exemplary nature poem.
Review
The Outermost House
Henry Beston, 1928
Reviewed by Ray Zimmerman
The through the seasons approach is popular among nature writers from Aldo Leopold (A Sand County Almanac) to David George Haskell (The Forest Unseen). Although Beston starts with this approach, he adds a few twists. The bulk of the material is devoted to the fall and winter seasons, and on Cape Cod at that.
He devotes a substantial portion of his descriptions to bird life. My favorites appear in Chapter IX, "The Year at High Tide," the summer chapter. Though one of the shortest chapters, it includes a vivid description of the Common Terns nesting on the beach and attacking interlopers. These include a female Marsh Hawk, likely rearing young of her own. A description of the Least Tern, now endangered, rounds out descriptions of bird life. He opens chapter IX with a description on the olfactory delights of the beach. His words rival descriptions of the benefits of aromatherapy.
Beston also devotes portions of the book to the "Surfmen," Coast Guard personnel assigned to the shore stations and dedicated to finding shipwrecks and rescuing the victims. These hardy men were heirs to those in the United States Lifesaving Service, an agency merged with the Revenue Cutter Service to create the modern Coast Guard. The surfman no longer walk the beach, having been replaced by helicopters and technology, and receive scant notice in history.
Beston concludes his book with the rising of Orion on the morning dunes; the reappearance of his old friends Rigel and Betelgeuse. This is a fitting end to a great book from an all but forgotten literary naturalist
Excerpt from the Book
So runs, as far as it is possible to reconstruct it in general terms, the geological history of Cape Cod. The east and west arm of the peninsula is a buried area of the ancient plain, the forearm, the glaciated fragment of a coast. The peninsula stands farther out to sea than any other portion of the Atlantic coast of the United States; it is the outermost of outer shores. Thundering in against the cliff, the ocean here encounters the last defiant bulwark of two worlds.
Shameless Self Promotion
Several months ago, my article about Chattanooga poetry opportunities appeared in The Chattanooga Pulse.
http://www.chattanoogapulse.com/featu...
Welcome to Rayz Reviewz. Past editions are archived on my web page.
Opportunities
Cloudland Canyon State Park, near Trenton, Georgia provides excellent opportunities for nature appreciation, photography, and writing. I visited on Sunday, July 26 and again on Tuesday, August 4. The park was crowded on Sunday, and about half were wearing masks. I kept my distance from the crowds. On Tuesday, I encountered very few people, although the campground was full. There is a modest parking fee of $5.00 per vehicle, but I bought a season pass, discounted for senior citizens.
I encountered the fence lizard, the diminutive dragon which I have adopted as my mascot for now, as I returned from Overlook Number One, I stepped off the trail to let an oncoming group pass. The rocky ground was bare and provided an opening within the surrounding forest. When I looked to my left, there he was, perched on a fallen log.
I say he, but I don’t know the lizard’s gender. Males have a blue belly which they flash as part of their courtship display. They also do pushups, lifting and lowering their bodies on the forelegs, as a courtship signal to females and a territorial announcement to other males. Presumably, a female lizard somehow assesses his suitability from this display, just as a female bird can assess a singing male’s genetic fitness, hunting ability, and overall desirability from the song.
Female fence lizards have white bellies, but I did not see this lizard’s belly. The lizard did not move. By instinct, the lizard remained frozen with camouflage as the main protection from me, perhaps a potential predator.
I slipped my cameral into action, taking a “grab shot” with the lens at 89 millimeters. Then I zoomed the lens out to its 300 mm maximum length and snapped several shots.
I don/t know if anyone passed on the trail behind me or if any other animals happened by at the time. There was only the camera, the lizard and me. The lizard may have slipped into the brush as I turned and left.
Resources for Nature Writing
“The Greatest Nature Essay Ever,” published in Orion magazine, is Brian Doyle’s contribution to the art of essay writing. During his lifetime, Doyle published at least one collection of essays, as well as nonfiction nature books and fictional works with nature settings.
Barry Lopez, also the author of nature works in several genres and winner of the National Book Award, is an excellent source of exemplary nature writing. Read his essay “The Naturalist,” in Orion magazine.
I believe Orion is currently the best exemplary journal for prose nature writing, but the Tennessee Conservationist is an excellent place to read exemplary nature journalism.
Mary Oliver’s book Upstream includes exemplary nature essays. Her nature poetry is also well worth a read. Her poem “Wild Geese” is an exemplary nature poem.
Review
The Outermost House
Henry Beston, 1928
Reviewed by Ray Zimmerman
The through the seasons approach is popular among nature writers from Aldo Leopold (A Sand County Almanac) to David George Haskell (The Forest Unseen). Although Beston starts with this approach, he adds a few twists. The bulk of the material is devoted to the fall and winter seasons, and on Cape Cod at that.
He devotes a substantial portion of his descriptions to bird life. My favorites appear in Chapter IX, "The Year at High Tide," the summer chapter. Though one of the shortest chapters, it includes a vivid description of the Common Terns nesting on the beach and attacking interlopers. These include a female Marsh Hawk, likely rearing young of her own. A description of the Least Tern, now endangered, rounds out descriptions of bird life. He opens chapter IX with a description on the olfactory delights of the beach. His words rival descriptions of the benefits of aromatherapy.
Beston also devotes portions of the book to the "Surfmen," Coast Guard personnel assigned to the shore stations and dedicated to finding shipwrecks and rescuing the victims. These hardy men were heirs to those in the United States Lifesaving Service, an agency merged with the Revenue Cutter Service to create the modern Coast Guard. The surfman no longer walk the beach, having been replaced by helicopters and technology, and receive scant notice in history.
Beston concludes his book with the rising of Orion on the morning dunes; the reappearance of his old friends Rigel and Betelgeuse. This is a fitting end to a great book from an all but forgotten literary naturalist
Excerpt from the Book
So runs, as far as it is possible to reconstruct it in general terms, the geological history of Cape Cod. The east and west arm of the peninsula is a buried area of the ancient plain, the forearm, the glaciated fragment of a coast. The peninsula stands farther out to sea than any other portion of the Atlantic coast of the United States; it is the outermost of outer shores. Thundering in against the cliff, the ocean here encounters the last defiant bulwark of two worlds.
Shameless Self Promotion
Several months ago, my article about Chattanooga poetry opportunities appeared in The Chattanooga Pulse.
http://www.chattanoogapulse.com/featu...
August 4, 2020
RayzReviewa1.16
Rayz Reviewz Volume 1 Number 16
Welcome to Rayz Reviewz. Past editions are archived on my web page. This week’s photo is a Fence Lizard photographed at Cloudland Canyon State Park on the last Sunday of July 2020. That story will appear in next week’s newsletter.
Opportunities
Swallow-tailed Kite viewing in Sequatchie Valley and online.
Thursday of last week, I crossed Signal Mountain from Chattanooga to the Sequatchie Valley in search of Swallow-tailed Kites. Finding the viewing spot on Stone Cave Road proved easy, with four vehicles pulled off and multiple people with binoculars close by. Nine birds circled over the fields and swooped for insects, which they are known to pick from vegetation while on the wing.
Although the Swallow-tailed Kite was once common in the southeast, they are now found primarily in coastal areas. The range map posted on the National Audubon Society web site shows these birds present in South Carolina, down the coast, and around to Louisiana and Texas. Though they may visit other inland locations after completing the nesting season, great numbers appear in the Sequatchie Valley.
As part of the National Audubon Society’s bird mural project, the artist known as Lunar New Year painted a Swallow-tailed Kite mural on a building just off 155th street, New York, New York. The mural overlooks the grave of John James Audubon in Trinity Church Cemetery. Although the Kite is most prominently depicted, the artist included several species of birds.
Additional information about Swallow-tailed Kites is available on the Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology web page “All About Birds.” This page includes an extensive collection of audio and video recordings as well a photos, maps, and descriptions.
The Missouri Review offers an editor’s prize for fiction, poetry and. nonfiction. I have never published anything in this fine journal, nor can I name any acquaintance who has, but it is excellent reading. October 1 is the deadline for the Missouri Review’s annual contest. According to their web site, the 2020 Jeffrey E. Smith Editors' Prize awards $5000 and publication in the spring issue to winners in each category.
Opportunities abound for poets who wish to create poems inspired by works of art. The Chattanooga Writer’s Guild offers a weekly ekphrastic challenge. Look for information on their Facebook page. The online publication Quill and Parchment offers a monthly Ekphrastic challenge as does Rattle Poetry, a print publication with a strong online presence.
Review
This review appeared in my column, “Nature’s Bookshelf” which was a regular feature in The Hellbender Press of Knoxville, Tennessee several years ago. I have gathered the columns into a booklet, also titled Nature’s Bookshelf. Hellbender Press is a publication of The Foundation for Global Sustainability.
Billy Watson’s Croker Sack, ISBN 0-8203-1999-6, University of Georgia Press
Franklin Burroughs
Reviewed by Ray Zimmerman in The Hellbender Press, Volume 7, Issue 7
November/December 2005
“It is always dangerous to question a college professor. They are paid to talk by the hour.” So begins the explanation that Franklin Burroughs gives of the term “croaker sack.” The explanation is really a postscript originally written for an editor unfamiliar with the term. As used in Burroughs’ writing, the croaker sack is a large cloth bag containing the results of a day's foraging the bounty of low country wetlands.
Despite this warning of long windedness, Franklin Burroughs is an accomplished essayist. His writing is equally eloquent whether he is describing his homeland in coastal South Carolina or his adopted home in Maine. The two disparate lands are not so much contrasted as joined by the striking narratives contained in this book.
The contents of a croaker sack are surprising and unpredictable, but the contents of this book are surprisingly delightful. In his work, Burroughs includes descriptions of fishermen, duck hunters, one moose hunter, and an aging bird dog to which he pays his final respects. These stories are an engaging tapestry woven together on a loom, which is the landscape itself.
When Mr. Burroughs spoke at the Conference on Southern Literature in Chattanooga earlier this year (2005), he delighted the audience with his humor and his love of the subject matter which shines through his writing. This love of the land is clearly illustrated by a short piece about his recuperation from a childhood illness. Unable to accompany his father on a duck hunting trip, he looks forward to his daddy’s return when he will see the results of the days hunt, and he reads voraciously. Among his books is Audubon’s Birds of America.
About the picture of a wood duck in this book, Burroughs says, “Once in Sunday school we were asked what we would have presented to the infant Jesus in the stable if we had gone there. The right answer turned out to be a pure heart or something along those lines, but I knew in my heart that it would be a pair of wood ducks, bright and friendly as the ones Audubon had painted.”
***********************
Afterword
Franklin Burroughs is a recipient of the John Burroughs Medal for Nature Writing and a regular contributor to Down East magazine, a publication devoted to his adopted home of Maine. https://downeast.com/author/fburroughs/
A brief biography and a critical description of his work appears on the web page Southern Nature. https://www.southernnature.org/writer...
Prompt
You probably don’t have a croaker sack filled with oysters, eels and other low country bounty, but you may own a cloth bag (or several) filled with shopping day bounty. Look at the objects included and see if there is a story behind one of them. If you have herbs or spices, what memories do the aromas bring to mind. Tell us about them.
Shameless Self Promotion
Now that I am finalizing my booklet, Nature’s Bookshelf I am pleased to offer free copies in PDF format. This is a collection of articles I wrote for the Hellbender Press of Knoxville, Tennessee several years ago. You can request a copy by email from znaturalist@gmail.com .
Welcome to Rayz Reviewz. Past editions are archived on my web page. This week’s photo is a Fence Lizard photographed at Cloudland Canyon State Park on the last Sunday of July 2020. That story will appear in next week’s newsletter.
Opportunities
Swallow-tailed Kite viewing in Sequatchie Valley and online.
Thursday of last week, I crossed Signal Mountain from Chattanooga to the Sequatchie Valley in search of Swallow-tailed Kites. Finding the viewing spot on Stone Cave Road proved easy, with four vehicles pulled off and multiple people with binoculars close by. Nine birds circled over the fields and swooped for insects, which they are known to pick from vegetation while on the wing.
Although the Swallow-tailed Kite was once common in the southeast, they are now found primarily in coastal areas. The range map posted on the National Audubon Society web site shows these birds present in South Carolina, down the coast, and around to Louisiana and Texas. Though they may visit other inland locations after completing the nesting season, great numbers appear in the Sequatchie Valley.
As part of the National Audubon Society’s bird mural project, the artist known as Lunar New Year painted a Swallow-tailed Kite mural on a building just off 155th street, New York, New York. The mural overlooks the grave of John James Audubon in Trinity Church Cemetery. Although the Kite is most prominently depicted, the artist included several species of birds.
Additional information about Swallow-tailed Kites is available on the Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology web page “All About Birds.” This page includes an extensive collection of audio and video recordings as well a photos, maps, and descriptions.
The Missouri Review offers an editor’s prize for fiction, poetry and. nonfiction. I have never published anything in this fine journal, nor can I name any acquaintance who has, but it is excellent reading. October 1 is the deadline for the Missouri Review’s annual contest. According to their web site, the 2020 Jeffrey E. Smith Editors' Prize awards $5000 and publication in the spring issue to winners in each category.
Opportunities abound for poets who wish to create poems inspired by works of art. The Chattanooga Writer’s Guild offers a weekly ekphrastic challenge. Look for information on their Facebook page. The online publication Quill and Parchment offers a monthly Ekphrastic challenge as does Rattle Poetry, a print publication with a strong online presence.
Review
This review appeared in my column, “Nature’s Bookshelf” which was a regular feature in The Hellbender Press of Knoxville, Tennessee several years ago. I have gathered the columns into a booklet, also titled Nature’s Bookshelf. Hellbender Press is a publication of The Foundation for Global Sustainability.
Billy Watson’s Croker Sack, ISBN 0-8203-1999-6, University of Georgia Press
Franklin Burroughs
Reviewed by Ray Zimmerman in The Hellbender Press, Volume 7, Issue 7
November/December 2005
“It is always dangerous to question a college professor. They are paid to talk by the hour.” So begins the explanation that Franklin Burroughs gives of the term “croaker sack.” The explanation is really a postscript originally written for an editor unfamiliar with the term. As used in Burroughs’ writing, the croaker sack is a large cloth bag containing the results of a day's foraging the bounty of low country wetlands.
Despite this warning of long windedness, Franklin Burroughs is an accomplished essayist. His writing is equally eloquent whether he is describing his homeland in coastal South Carolina or his adopted home in Maine. The two disparate lands are not so much contrasted as joined by the striking narratives contained in this book.
The contents of a croaker sack are surprising and unpredictable, but the contents of this book are surprisingly delightful. In his work, Burroughs includes descriptions of fishermen, duck hunters, one moose hunter, and an aging bird dog to which he pays his final respects. These stories are an engaging tapestry woven together on a loom, which is the landscape itself.
When Mr. Burroughs spoke at the Conference on Southern Literature in Chattanooga earlier this year (2005), he delighted the audience with his humor and his love of the subject matter which shines through his writing. This love of the land is clearly illustrated by a short piece about his recuperation from a childhood illness. Unable to accompany his father on a duck hunting trip, he looks forward to his daddy’s return when he will see the results of the days hunt, and he reads voraciously. Among his books is Audubon’s Birds of America.
About the picture of a wood duck in this book, Burroughs says, “Once in Sunday school we were asked what we would have presented to the infant Jesus in the stable if we had gone there. The right answer turned out to be a pure heart or something along those lines, but I knew in my heart that it would be a pair of wood ducks, bright and friendly as the ones Audubon had painted.”
***********************
Afterword
Franklin Burroughs is a recipient of the John Burroughs Medal for Nature Writing and a regular contributor to Down East magazine, a publication devoted to his adopted home of Maine. https://downeast.com/author/fburroughs/
A brief biography and a critical description of his work appears on the web page Southern Nature. https://www.southernnature.org/writer...
Prompt
You probably don’t have a croaker sack filled with oysters, eels and other low country bounty, but you may own a cloth bag (or several) filled with shopping day bounty. Look at the objects included and see if there is a story behind one of them. If you have herbs or spices, what memories do the aromas bring to mind. Tell us about them.
Shameless Self Promotion
Now that I am finalizing my booklet, Nature’s Bookshelf I am pleased to offer free copies in PDF format. This is a collection of articles I wrote for the Hellbender Press of Knoxville, Tennessee several years ago. You can request a copy by email from znaturalist@gmail.com .
July 25, 2020
Rayz Reviewz 1.15
This is the most recent edition of a newsletter I produce weekly. I plan to post it here from now on, in addition to posting it on my web page.
Rayz Reviewz Volume 1 Number 15
This edition marks a transition for my newsletter. I have renamed the announcements section “Opportunities,” and will feature links to workshops and other opportunities for nature enthusiasts and writers. A writing prompt will follow the review. Opportunities for other art forms such as visual arts and music may be included as they come to my attention, but the primary focus is on writing and nature. Past editions will continue to be archived on my web page. Thanks, Ray Zimmerman
Opportunities
I continue to see Great Egrets, Green Herons, and Great Blue Herons along the Curtain Pole Road section of the Tennessee Riverpark. Ospreys continue to be active at Chickamauga Dam, fishing early in the day. Some lovely flowers are blooming at Renaissance Park. Observation is mor comfortable early in the day before the heat moves in (7 to 9 AM).
The Porch Writer’s Collective of Nashville continues to offer a weekly writer’s prompt. The Porch will release their list of online fall classes for writers next week. For sign up information, look at their web page: https://the-porch-writers-collective....
The Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology offers an online Bird Photography class with Melissa Groo. They also have a Nature Journaling and Field Sketching class.
Rattle Poetry gives poets an opportunity to address current events with “Poets Respond.” Poets may submit poems written during the current week and the poems will be reviewed within the week. The winning poets will present their poems online during the Sunday YouTube program “Poets Respond.” Following these presentations, others who submitted work can participate in an online open mic. Rattle Poetry also offers a weekly Ekphrastic Challenge. Submission guidelines for Rattle are available through Submittable.com
The Chattanooga Writers’ Guild continues to offer a program on the second Tuesday of each month online. The August program is an open mic via zoom. The Guild offers additional programs, including a weekly Ekphrastic poetry challenge. Any member of the Chattanooga Writers Guild Facebook Group can participate.
The following is from the submissions page of The Sun
The next time you have work that’s ready to submit, why not send it to us?
The Sun is a reader-supported ad-free magazine. We’ve been described in many ways: celebratory, fierce, unflinching, thoughtful, truthful, dark, darkly funny, tender. Contributors tell us that after their work reaches more than 70,000 engaged Sun readers, they often hear from old friends and new admirers. To save your time and ours, we suggest you take a look at The Sun before submitting. We’ve provided some samples below. Several years ago, they published an interview on the Nature of Writing with National Book Award winner, Barry Lopez.
The following is from the submissions guidelines page of Orion magazine.
The editorial impulse of Orion lies at the nexus of ecology and the human experience. The magazine distinguishes itself from the din of common culture through its depth of inquiry, commitment to interdisciplinary thought, and an emphasis on insight and imagination alongside a big-picture approach to problem-solving
Review
This review appeared in my column, “Nature’s Bookshelf” which was a regular feature in The Hellbender Press of Knoxville, Tennessee several years ago. I have gathered the columns into a booklet, also titled Nature’s Bookshelf. Hellbender Press is a publication of The Foundation for Global Sustainability.
Saints at the River ISBN 0-8050-7487-2
Ron Rash
Reviewed by Ray Zimmerman in The Hellbender Press
Volume 7, Issue 7
November/December 2005
“He was dying, and the farm was dying with him.” Maggie, the protagonist in Ron Rash’s novel, observes her father and his farm while visiting her home in South Carolina. Maggie is a newspaper photographer, sent to her hometown to report on the attempt to recover the body of a girl drowned in a wild and scenic river. The body is trapped in a hydraulic, a powerful eddy under a rock. The river is unwilling to give up its dead.
The focus of Maggie’s visit home is a hearing in which various parties debate the best course of action for recovery of the body. Many local people believe that a dynamite stick, tossed into the eddy, will free the body. Luke, a kayak enthusiast, is so in love with the river that he envies the dead girl, cradled in its arms.
Mr. Kowalski, a captain of industry from another state, is the dead girls’ father. He favors construction of a temporary dam to divert the water while his daughter’s body is recovered for proper burial. Meanwhile, a real estate developer is closely watching the proceedings to see if any precedent setting violation of the river’s wild and scenic status takes place.
Like the wild river and the surrounding mountains, the characters are rugged and unyielding. The dynamic conflict between varying interest groups, and between Maggie and her father, builds until much of the tension in this dynamic book is released by a surprise ending.
In a way that would only be possible for a person who calls such country home, Mr. Rash reveals these personalities in a tapestry of narrative and conflict perhaps best illustrated by his comments on Billy, a minor character introduced early in the book. This small portion of the book was well received when Mr. Rash read at the Conference on Southern Literature in Chattanooga, earlier this year. (2005)
“Billy had a degree in agriculture from Clemson University and his family owned the biggest apple orchard in the valley, but he’d decided after college that his true calling was playing Snuffy Smith to fleece the tourists. He swore if could find a cross-eyed boy who could play banjo, he’d stick that kid on the porch and increase his business 25 percent.”
Saints at the River is Ron Rash’s second novel. It joins his volumes of poetry and short stories as he rises to the top of Southern Literature.
***********************
Ron Rash continues to write and publish prolifically. He has an author page on the Harper Collins website https://www.harpercollins.com/author/...
He has a Goodreads author page which lists major works. https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Prompt
Billy is but one of the colorful characters Ron Rash depicted in Saints at the River. Others are briefly mentioned in my review. Pick a person you know who is similarly colorful and create a fictional character that could appear in one of your books.
Shameless Self Promotion
Now that I am finalizing my booklet, Nature’s Bookshelf I am pleased to offer free copies in PDF format. This is a collection of articles I wrote for the Hellbender Press of Knoxville, Tennessee several years ago. You can request a copy by email from znaturalist@gmail.com .
Rayz Reviewz Volume 1 Number 15
This edition marks a transition for my newsletter. I have renamed the announcements section “Opportunities,” and will feature links to workshops and other opportunities for nature enthusiasts and writers. A writing prompt will follow the review. Opportunities for other art forms such as visual arts and music may be included as they come to my attention, but the primary focus is on writing and nature. Past editions will continue to be archived on my web page. Thanks, Ray Zimmerman
Opportunities
I continue to see Great Egrets, Green Herons, and Great Blue Herons along the Curtain Pole Road section of the Tennessee Riverpark. Ospreys continue to be active at Chickamauga Dam, fishing early in the day. Some lovely flowers are blooming at Renaissance Park. Observation is mor comfortable early in the day before the heat moves in (7 to 9 AM).
The Porch Writer’s Collective of Nashville continues to offer a weekly writer’s prompt. The Porch will release their list of online fall classes for writers next week. For sign up information, look at their web page: https://the-porch-writers-collective....
The Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology offers an online Bird Photography class with Melissa Groo. They also have a Nature Journaling and Field Sketching class.
Rattle Poetry gives poets an opportunity to address current events with “Poets Respond.” Poets may submit poems written during the current week and the poems will be reviewed within the week. The winning poets will present their poems online during the Sunday YouTube program “Poets Respond.” Following these presentations, others who submitted work can participate in an online open mic. Rattle Poetry also offers a weekly Ekphrastic Challenge. Submission guidelines for Rattle are available through Submittable.com
The Chattanooga Writers’ Guild continues to offer a program on the second Tuesday of each month online. The August program is an open mic via zoom. The Guild offers additional programs, including a weekly Ekphrastic poetry challenge. Any member of the Chattanooga Writers Guild Facebook Group can participate.
The following is from the submissions page of The Sun
The next time you have work that’s ready to submit, why not send it to us?
The Sun is a reader-supported ad-free magazine. We’ve been described in many ways: celebratory, fierce, unflinching, thoughtful, truthful, dark, darkly funny, tender. Contributors tell us that after their work reaches more than 70,000 engaged Sun readers, they often hear from old friends and new admirers. To save your time and ours, we suggest you take a look at The Sun before submitting. We’ve provided some samples below. Several years ago, they published an interview on the Nature of Writing with National Book Award winner, Barry Lopez.
The following is from the submissions guidelines page of Orion magazine.
The editorial impulse of Orion lies at the nexus of ecology and the human experience. The magazine distinguishes itself from the din of common culture through its depth of inquiry, commitment to interdisciplinary thought, and an emphasis on insight and imagination alongside a big-picture approach to problem-solving
Review
This review appeared in my column, “Nature’s Bookshelf” which was a regular feature in The Hellbender Press of Knoxville, Tennessee several years ago. I have gathered the columns into a booklet, also titled Nature’s Bookshelf. Hellbender Press is a publication of The Foundation for Global Sustainability.
Saints at the River ISBN 0-8050-7487-2
Ron Rash
Reviewed by Ray Zimmerman in The Hellbender Press
Volume 7, Issue 7
November/December 2005
“He was dying, and the farm was dying with him.” Maggie, the protagonist in Ron Rash’s novel, observes her father and his farm while visiting her home in South Carolina. Maggie is a newspaper photographer, sent to her hometown to report on the attempt to recover the body of a girl drowned in a wild and scenic river. The body is trapped in a hydraulic, a powerful eddy under a rock. The river is unwilling to give up its dead.
The focus of Maggie’s visit home is a hearing in which various parties debate the best course of action for recovery of the body. Many local people believe that a dynamite stick, tossed into the eddy, will free the body. Luke, a kayak enthusiast, is so in love with the river that he envies the dead girl, cradled in its arms.
Mr. Kowalski, a captain of industry from another state, is the dead girls’ father. He favors construction of a temporary dam to divert the water while his daughter’s body is recovered for proper burial. Meanwhile, a real estate developer is closely watching the proceedings to see if any precedent setting violation of the river’s wild and scenic status takes place.
Like the wild river and the surrounding mountains, the characters are rugged and unyielding. The dynamic conflict between varying interest groups, and between Maggie and her father, builds until much of the tension in this dynamic book is released by a surprise ending.
In a way that would only be possible for a person who calls such country home, Mr. Rash reveals these personalities in a tapestry of narrative and conflict perhaps best illustrated by his comments on Billy, a minor character introduced early in the book. This small portion of the book was well received when Mr. Rash read at the Conference on Southern Literature in Chattanooga, earlier this year. (2005)
“Billy had a degree in agriculture from Clemson University and his family owned the biggest apple orchard in the valley, but he’d decided after college that his true calling was playing Snuffy Smith to fleece the tourists. He swore if could find a cross-eyed boy who could play banjo, he’d stick that kid on the porch and increase his business 25 percent.”
Saints at the River is Ron Rash’s second novel. It joins his volumes of poetry and short stories as he rises to the top of Southern Literature.
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Ron Rash continues to write and publish prolifically. He has an author page on the Harper Collins website https://www.harpercollins.com/author/...
He has a Goodreads author page which lists major works. https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Prompt
Billy is but one of the colorful characters Ron Rash depicted in Saints at the River. Others are briefly mentioned in my review. Pick a person you know who is similarly colorful and create a fictional character that could appear in one of your books.
Shameless Self Promotion
Now that I am finalizing my booklet, Nature’s Bookshelf I am pleased to offer free copies in PDF format. This is a collection of articles I wrote for the Hellbender Press of Knoxville, Tennessee several years ago. You can request a copy by email from znaturalist@gmail.com .
April 12, 2020
Rereading Desert Notes and River Notes
Here are my comments on the first half.
In Desert Notes, Barry Lopez shows us a strange and magical place. I have perhaps visited such a place once in my lifetime, but that is another story, and I am not prepared to reveal the location.
When I first read the book Desert Notes, originally published as a separate volume from River Notes, I saw it as mere fantasy. I have since concluded that it is a fine example of magical realism.
The final story, “Directions,” gives us a key to the book’s meaning. Here, the reader encounters an enigmatic guide named Leon. One must encounter him as though meeting by chance and he will draw an excellent map on a napkin. There is more to Leon than his map, but I leave other readers to discover what that more may be for themselves.
Maps have a prominent place in other works by Lopez. His nonfiction book, Arctic Dreams, includes an appendix with numerous maps of the terrain. His short story collection, Light Action in the Caribbean includes a story about a mapmaker, one who uses older techniques and writes books about cities under a pen name.
The mapmaker uses older techniques and is thorough. He describes cities in layers beginning with the terrain, followed by infrastructure, pipes, culverts, electrical lines, streets, and buildings. He proceeds to the human description including government, the arts, etc. Modern mapmakers say he takes too long to complete a project. His results are much like GIS the modern Geographic Information System used by contemporary ecologists and geographers.
So, maps are important to Lopez, perhaps in the way that mirrors are to Jorge Louis Borges. So are directions. One story tells the perimeter of the desert with mythic symbols included. In the story, “Twilight,” the narrator lays out a Navajo blanket aligned to east and west. Only from the height of sitting on the blanket can he truly see the desert.
Another key appears in the introduction, which I once took as a metaphor for the writing process. Here, Lopez presents a struggle with no map, - Reach a roadblock. Rest. Try again. Leave. Come back. Take a different approach. It could describe any human endeavor.
Between the struggle of the introduction and the map at the end the reader encounters several people who come to terms, in one way or another, with the desert landscape.
For me, the most intriguing were the Blue Mound People who lived a life of plenty with various foods and a rich material culture. No one can determine how they acquired these things. It is explained that hunting a small antelope, their favorite food, was not practical given their resources.
The Blue Mound People lived in caves carved out of the walls of cliffs. They remind me of contemporary American urbanites who live with plenty. Few of them could explain the means of production by which that plenty arrives at their door. Wendell Berry used a similar analogy in his book Think Little, in which he said that a contemporary preteenager knows how to make a baby but by the age of 30 still will not know how to make a potato. Isaac Asimov drew an analogy of future dwellers in sky scrappers to cave dwellers in his first robot novel, The Caves of Steel,
In Desert Notes, Barry Lopez shows us a strange and magical place. I have perhaps visited such a place once in my lifetime, but that is another story, and I am not prepared to reveal the location.
When I first read the book Desert Notes, originally published as a separate volume from River Notes, I saw it as mere fantasy. I have since concluded that it is a fine example of magical realism.
The final story, “Directions,” gives us a key to the book’s meaning. Here, the reader encounters an enigmatic guide named Leon. One must encounter him as though meeting by chance and he will draw an excellent map on a napkin. There is more to Leon than his map, but I leave other readers to discover what that more may be for themselves.
Maps have a prominent place in other works by Lopez. His nonfiction book, Arctic Dreams, includes an appendix with numerous maps of the terrain. His short story collection, Light Action in the Caribbean includes a story about a mapmaker, one who uses older techniques and writes books about cities under a pen name.
The mapmaker uses older techniques and is thorough. He describes cities in layers beginning with the terrain, followed by infrastructure, pipes, culverts, electrical lines, streets, and buildings. He proceeds to the human description including government, the arts, etc. Modern mapmakers say he takes too long to complete a project. His results are much like GIS the modern Geographic Information System used by contemporary ecologists and geographers.
So, maps are important to Lopez, perhaps in the way that mirrors are to Jorge Louis Borges. So are directions. One story tells the perimeter of the desert with mythic symbols included. In the story, “Twilight,” the narrator lays out a Navajo blanket aligned to east and west. Only from the height of sitting on the blanket can he truly see the desert.
Another key appears in the introduction, which I once took as a metaphor for the writing process. Here, Lopez presents a struggle with no map, - Reach a roadblock. Rest. Try again. Leave. Come back. Take a different approach. It could describe any human endeavor.
Between the struggle of the introduction and the map at the end the reader encounters several people who come to terms, in one way or another, with the desert landscape.
For me, the most intriguing were the Blue Mound People who lived a life of plenty with various foods and a rich material culture. No one can determine how they acquired these things. It is explained that hunting a small antelope, their favorite food, was not practical given their resources.
The Blue Mound People lived in caves carved out of the walls of cliffs. They remind me of contemporary American urbanites who live with plenty. Few of them could explain the means of production by which that plenty arrives at their door. Wendell Berry used a similar analogy in his book Think Little, in which he said that a contemporary preteenager knows how to make a baby but by the age of 30 still will not know how to make a potato. Isaac Asimov drew an analogy of future dwellers in sky scrappers to cave dwellers in his first robot novel, The Caves of Steel,
