Ray Zimmerman's Blog, page 6
October 31, 2018
Eye of the Beholder
Eye of the Beholder
I rode in on the dirty dog, as they call the Greyhound bus, Ohio farm dirt still in my hair. At least I had the sense to clean the cow shit off my boots.
Then I briefly lost my luggage, or so I thought, standing there in the Port Authority of New York. They could call me any name in the book, or even a few that weren’t, but I was stubborn and would not get on that local to London, Connecticut, until I saw my duffle bag stuffed into the compartment underneath the bus.
Despite reassurances that my luggage would catch up with me, I remained steadfast until a man appeared driving the world’s smallest tractor. He pulled behind him a string of small carts with my duffle bag standing up in the first one. He just shook his head as he loaded it into the luggage compartment.
“Sit up front, son,” the driver said. “There aren’t that many passengers on Sunday Morning, not even at port authority. Keep your eyes peeled and I will show you one of the sights not on the official tour.” With those words, he backed the bus out and exited the bowels of that building through a grimy archway.
Born onto that city street, I shielded my eyes from the light and looked to my left. There they were, lined up as they must often beat the precinct. Number three, take one step forward and turn left.
The driver turned his speaker system to public address and said, “Good morning, ladies.” One of them smiled and waved, as the others glared. “They think I’m bad for business,” he said.
They were prettier than I would have expected, dressed in hot pants and leg warmers with the temperature not twenty degrees out. Now that’s dedication.
Commentary
The story is a performance piece, based on, but exaggerating actual events My writings identify me as a person most at home in the woods, but I have come to appreciate urban environments and realize that even the cityscapes are part of nature, what is sometimes called the “built environment.” Trees grow out of walls, nighthawks circle parking lots hunting insects, and migrating cranes sometimes circle downtown Chattanooga on their way to Hiwassee Wildlife Refuge. The book, Coming of Age at the End of Nature, with introduction by Bill McKibben and including essays by members of the millennial generation, addresses coming to peace with nature impacted by human activity.
For the Reader:
How do you respond to urban environments?
Where is wilderness in your world?
Do you see nature as ending or enduring?
I rode in on the dirty dog, as they call the Greyhound bus, Ohio farm dirt still in my hair. At least I had the sense to clean the cow shit off my boots.
Then I briefly lost my luggage, or so I thought, standing there in the Port Authority of New York. They could call me any name in the book, or even a few that weren’t, but I was stubborn and would not get on that local to London, Connecticut, until I saw my duffle bag stuffed into the compartment underneath the bus.
Despite reassurances that my luggage would catch up with me, I remained steadfast until a man appeared driving the world’s smallest tractor. He pulled behind him a string of small carts with my duffle bag standing up in the first one. He just shook his head as he loaded it into the luggage compartment.
“Sit up front, son,” the driver said. “There aren’t that many passengers on Sunday Morning, not even at port authority. Keep your eyes peeled and I will show you one of the sights not on the official tour.” With those words, he backed the bus out and exited the bowels of that building through a grimy archway.
Born onto that city street, I shielded my eyes from the light and looked to my left. There they were, lined up as they must often beat the precinct. Number three, take one step forward and turn left.
The driver turned his speaker system to public address and said, “Good morning, ladies.” One of them smiled and waved, as the others glared. “They think I’m bad for business,” he said.
They were prettier than I would have expected, dressed in hot pants and leg warmers with the temperature not twenty degrees out. Now that’s dedication.
Commentary
The story is a performance piece, based on, but exaggerating actual events My writings identify me as a person most at home in the woods, but I have come to appreciate urban environments and realize that even the cityscapes are part of nature, what is sometimes called the “built environment.” Trees grow out of walls, nighthawks circle parking lots hunting insects, and migrating cranes sometimes circle downtown Chattanooga on their way to Hiwassee Wildlife Refuge. The book, Coming of Age at the End of Nature, with introduction by Bill McKibben and including essays by members of the millennial generation, addresses coming to peace with nature impacted by human activity.
For the Reader:
How do you respond to urban environments?
Where is wilderness in your world?
Do you see nature as ending or enduring?
Eye if the Beholder
Eye of the Beholder
I rode in on the dirty dog, as they call the Greyhound bus, Ohio farm dirt still in my hair. At least I had the sense to clean the cow shit off my boots.
Then I briefly lost my luggage, or so I thought, standing there in the Port Authority of New York. They could call me any name in the book, or even a few that weren’t, but I was stubborn and would not get on that local to London, Connecticut, until I saw my duffle bag stuffed into the compartment underneath the bus.
Despite reassurances that my luggage would catch up with me, I remained steadfast until a man appeared driving the world’s smallest tractor. He pulled behind him a string of small carts with my duffle bag standing up in the first one. He just shook his head as he loaded it into the luggage compartment.
“Sit up front, son,” the driver said. “There aren’t that many passengers on Sunday Morning, not even at port authority. Keep your eyes peeled and I will show you one of the sights not on the official tour.” With those words, he backed the bus out and exited the bowels of that building through a grimy archway.
Born onto that city street, I shielded my eyes from the light and looked to my left. There they were, lined up as they must often beat the precinct. Number three, take one step forward and turn left.
The driver turned his speaker system to public address and said, “Good morning, ladies.” One of them smiled and waved, as the others glared. “They think I’m bad for business,” he said.
They were prettier than I would have expected, dressed in hot pants and leg warmers with the temperature not twenty degrees out. Now that’s dedication.
Commentary
The story is a performance piece, based on, but exaggerating actual events My writings identify me as a person most at home in the woods, but I have come to appreciate urban environments and realize that even the cityscapes are part of nature, what is sometimes called the “built environment.” Trees grow out of walls, nighthawks circle parking lots hunting insects, and migrating cranes sometimes circle downtown Chattanooga on their way to Hiwassee Wildlife Refuge. The book, Coming of Age at the End of Nature, with introduction by Bill McKibben and including essays by members of the millennial generation, addresses coming to piece with nature impacted by human activity.
For the Reader:
How do you respond to urban environments?
Where is wilderness in your world?
Do you see nature as ending or enduring?
I rode in on the dirty dog, as they call the Greyhound bus, Ohio farm dirt still in my hair. At least I had the sense to clean the cow shit off my boots.
Then I briefly lost my luggage, or so I thought, standing there in the Port Authority of New York. They could call me any name in the book, or even a few that weren’t, but I was stubborn and would not get on that local to London, Connecticut, until I saw my duffle bag stuffed into the compartment underneath the bus.
Despite reassurances that my luggage would catch up with me, I remained steadfast until a man appeared driving the world’s smallest tractor. He pulled behind him a string of small carts with my duffle bag standing up in the first one. He just shook his head as he loaded it into the luggage compartment.
“Sit up front, son,” the driver said. “There aren’t that many passengers on Sunday Morning, not even at port authority. Keep your eyes peeled and I will show you one of the sights not on the official tour.” With those words, he backed the bus out and exited the bowels of that building through a grimy archway.
Born onto that city street, I shielded my eyes from the light and looked to my left. There they were, lined up as they must often beat the precinct. Number three, take one step forward and turn left.
The driver turned his speaker system to public address and said, “Good morning, ladies.” One of them smiled and waved, as the others glared. “They think I’m bad for business,” he said.
They were prettier than I would have expected, dressed in hot pants and leg warmers with the temperature not twenty degrees out. Now that’s dedication.
Commentary
The story is a performance piece, based on, but exaggerating actual events My writings identify me as a person most at home in the woods, but I have come to appreciate urban environments and realize that even the cityscapes are part of nature, what is sometimes called the “built environment.” Trees grow out of walls, nighthawks circle parking lots hunting insects, and migrating cranes sometimes circle downtown Chattanooga on their way to Hiwassee Wildlife Refuge. The book, Coming of Age at the End of Nature, with introduction by Bill McKibben and including essays by members of the millennial generation, addresses coming to piece with nature impacted by human activity.
For the Reader:
How do you respond to urban environments?
Where is wilderness in your world?
Do you see nature as ending or enduring?
Eye if the Beholder
Eye of the Beholder
I rode in on the dirty dog, as they call the Greyhound bus, Ohio farm dirt still in my hair. At least I had the sense to clean the cow shit off my boots.
Then I briefly lost my luggage, or so I thought, standing there in the Port Authority of New York. They could call me any name in the book, or even a few that weren’t, but I was stubborn and would not get on that local to London, Connecticut, until I saw my duffle bag stuffed into the compartment underneath the bus.
Despite reassurances that my luggage would catch up with me, I remained steadfast until a man appeared driving the world’s smallest tractor. He pulled behind him a string of small carts with my duffle bag standing up in the first one. He just shook his head as he loaded it into the luggage compartment.
“Sit up front, son,” the driver said. “There aren’t that many passengers on Sunday Morning, not even at port authority. Keep your eyes peeled and I will show you one of the sights not on the official tour.” With those words, he backed the bus out and exited the bowels of that building through a grimy archway.
Born onto that city street, I shielded my eyes from the light and looked to my left. There they were, lined up as they must often beat the precinct. Number three, take one step forward and turn left.
The driver turned his speaker system to public address and said, “Good morning, ladies.” One of them smiled and waved, as the others glared. “They think I’m bad for business,” he said.
They were prettier than I would have expected, dressed in hot pants and leg warmers with the temperature not twenty degrees out. Now that’s dedication.
Commentary
The story is a performance piece, based on, but exaggerating actual events My writings identify me as a person most at home in the woods, but I have come to appreciate urban environments and realize that even the cityscapes are part of nature, what is sometimes called the “built environment.” Trees grow out of walls, nighthawks circle parking lots hunting insects, and migrating cranes sometimes circle downtown Chattanooga on their way to Hiwassee Wildlife Refuge. The book, Coming of Age at the End of Nature, with introduction by Bill McKibben and including essays by members of the millennial generation, addresses coming to piece with nature impacted by human activity.
For the Reader:
How do you respond to urban environments?
Where is wilderness in your world?
Do you see nature as ending or enduring?
I rode in on the dirty dog, as they call the Greyhound bus, Ohio farm dirt still in my hair. At least I had the sense to clean the cow shit off my boots.
Then I briefly lost my luggage, or so I thought, standing there in the Port Authority of New York. They could call me any name in the book, or even a few that weren’t, but I was stubborn and would not get on that local to London, Connecticut, until I saw my duffle bag stuffed into the compartment underneath the bus.
Despite reassurances that my luggage would catch up with me, I remained steadfast until a man appeared driving the world’s smallest tractor. He pulled behind him a string of small carts with my duffle bag standing up in the first one. He just shook his head as he loaded it into the luggage compartment.
“Sit up front, son,” the driver said. “There aren’t that many passengers on Sunday Morning, not even at port authority. Keep your eyes peeled and I will show you one of the sights not on the official tour.” With those words, he backed the bus out and exited the bowels of that building through a grimy archway.
Born onto that city street, I shielded my eyes from the light and looked to my left. There they were, lined up as they must often beat the precinct. Number three, take one step forward and turn left.
The driver turned his speaker system to public address and said, “Good morning, ladies.” One of them smiled and waved, as the others glared. “They think I’m bad for business,” he said.
They were prettier than I would have expected, dressed in hot pants and leg warmers with the temperature not twenty degrees out. Now that’s dedication.
Commentary
The story is a performance piece, based on, but exaggerating actual events My writings identify me as a person most at home in the woods, but I have come to appreciate urban environments and realize that even the cityscapes are part of nature, what is sometimes called the “built environment.” Trees grow out of walls, nighthawks circle parking lots hunting insects, and migrating cranes sometimes circle downtown Chattanooga on their way to Hiwassee Wildlife Refuge. The book, Coming of Age at the End of Nature, with introduction by Bill McKibben and including essays by members of the millennial generation, addresses coming to piece with nature impacted by human activity.
For the Reader:
How do you respond to urban environments?
Where is wilderness in your world?
Do you see nature as ending or enduring?
October 28, 2018
Bull 'Gators Lament with Introduction
Introduction
I am writing a series of blog posts which may become a short book of daily meditations on the natural world. Some of these entries began as short articles published in newsletters and periodicals. Some began as performance pieces read or recited to live audiences. In some cases, I learned the hard way how long was too long for a performance piece. I also learned that the tolerance for lengthy pieces varies from one audience to another in sometimes unpredictable ways. In the format of this blog, they invite reply. Here is the first.
Bull ’Gator’s Lament
What’s that man lookin’ at, down here in this cypress swamp, so thick with branches that sun barely gets through? He’s lookin’ at me, Old Bull ’Gator, and I’m lookin’ at him. Why don’t you come on over for dinner?
Speaking of dinner, you should have been here when I grabbed that turtle from his sunny spot over there by the water hyacinths. When I broke through to meat, those tourists thought a rifle shot had gone off. Fish, man, bird, or turtle, I get my dinner.
Sometimes, man eats us though. He’ll come down to this swamp and put a bullet in a ’gator’s brain. Those poachers don’t waste any time. They skin the ’gator out right here and cut up the tail meat for Cajun delight. The hide gets made into boots.
The poachers never got me though. Bigger ’gators missed their chance too. I had to be careful when I was young, because we been known to eat our own. But now, I’m king of this here swamp.
Springtime is my favorite time of year, with Spanish Moss fluttering in the breeze, like curtains in an old mansion house. That’s when I get to bellowing. My bellows echo off the cypress trunks and all through the swamp. Those lady ’gator’s bellow right back. When one of them judges Old Bull fit, we spin like two demons in a whirlpool.
Pretty soon, she will be building a nest out of mud and sticks. When the eggs hatch that fierce old momma ’gator hears those young’uns grunting She gently pulls the nest apart and tenderly frees the baby ’gators. That’s when she won’t want Old Bull around, because we’ve been known to eat our own.
Maybe I’ll just wonder off and watch those fishing boats go by. Perhaps one of them will flip over. Man, fish bird or turtle, I get my dinner.
Look over yonder at those little ’gators sunning themselves on their momma’s snout. I believe one of them is a baby bull. He will have to grow some before he can be king of my swamp.
Commentary:
Bull ’Gator’s Lament is a performance piece, generally well received by the audience. It was once much longer and is now shortened to a length that works better. I will continue to refine it as I present it at more venues. It is of course, pure fantasy. For a factual look an alligator’s habitat, read Everglades, River of Grass by Marjory Stoneman Douglass
For the Reader:
Though nature is sometimes portrayed in the cuddly realm of soft bunny rabbits and downy goslings, predators are a day to day reality. Some animals are downright frightening. How to you perceive the natural world?
Is it a resource for the creation of wealth through extraction of timber, coal etc.?
Is it a wilderness to be protected, or perhaps tamed?
Is it a place of solace and healing?
Do you value the world?
I am writing a series of blog posts which may become a short book of daily meditations on the natural world. Some of these entries began as short articles published in newsletters and periodicals. Some began as performance pieces read or recited to live audiences. In some cases, I learned the hard way how long was too long for a performance piece. I also learned that the tolerance for lengthy pieces varies from one audience to another in sometimes unpredictable ways. In the format of this blog, they invite reply. Here is the first.
Bull ’Gator’s Lament
What’s that man lookin’ at, down here in this cypress swamp, so thick with branches that sun barely gets through? He’s lookin’ at me, Old Bull ’Gator, and I’m lookin’ at him. Why don’t you come on over for dinner?
Speaking of dinner, you should have been here when I grabbed that turtle from his sunny spot over there by the water hyacinths. When I broke through to meat, those tourists thought a rifle shot had gone off. Fish, man, bird, or turtle, I get my dinner.
Sometimes, man eats us though. He’ll come down to this swamp and put a bullet in a ’gator’s brain. Those poachers don’t waste any time. They skin the ’gator out right here and cut up the tail meat for Cajun delight. The hide gets made into boots.
The poachers never got me though. Bigger ’gators missed their chance too. I had to be careful when I was young, because we been known to eat our own. But now, I’m king of this here swamp.
Springtime is my favorite time of year, with Spanish Moss fluttering in the breeze, like curtains in an old mansion house. That’s when I get to bellowing. My bellows echo off the cypress trunks and all through the swamp. Those lady ’gator’s bellow right back. When one of them judges Old Bull fit, we spin like two demons in a whirlpool.
Pretty soon, she will be building a nest out of mud and sticks. When the eggs hatch that fierce old momma ’gator hears those young’uns grunting She gently pulls the nest apart and tenderly frees the baby ’gators. That’s when she won’t want Old Bull around, because we’ve been known to eat our own.
Maybe I’ll just wonder off and watch those fishing boats go by. Perhaps one of them will flip over. Man, fish bird or turtle, I get my dinner.
Look over yonder at those little ’gators sunning themselves on their momma’s snout. I believe one of them is a baby bull. He will have to grow some before he can be king of my swamp.
Commentary:
Bull ’Gator’s Lament is a performance piece, generally well received by the audience. It was once much longer and is now shortened to a length that works better. I will continue to refine it as I present it at more venues. It is of course, pure fantasy. For a factual look an alligator’s habitat, read Everglades, River of Grass by Marjory Stoneman Douglass
For the Reader:
Though nature is sometimes portrayed in the cuddly realm of soft bunny rabbits and downy goslings, predators are a day to day reality. Some animals are downright frightening. How to you perceive the natural world?
Is it a resource for the creation of wealth through extraction of timber, coal etc.?
Is it a wilderness to be protected, or perhaps tamed?
Is it a place of solace and healing?
Do you value the world?
October 27, 2018
Healing and Conflict
This is a small run book and I don't expect it to be widely available, but here is its story.
I am pleased to announce my new poetry and color photography chap book Healing and Conflict which is available later this week. More than half of the poems are previously published in journals, including:
The Avocet (Fountain Hills, AZ)
Number One (Gallatin, TN)
Quill and Parchment (Online)
Weatherings Anthology (FutureCycle Press, Lexington, KY)
The author will assume primary distribution at readings, signings and open mic events.
Terrence Chouinard of The Wing and the Wheel Press contributed the perfect typography and design skills to this collection. The local Chattanooga printing company Wonder Press did an excellent job with production.
Fellow poets had this to say about the advance copy:
Ray Zimmerman’s collection of poems Healing and Conflict invites the reader outside: “go and watch/rain falling on parched earth. /see it come back to life.” His words, like that rain, are transformative to those who look and listen. Trees burn with ice, water cascades, booming, against mountain hardwoods. Most memorable are the birds. Warblers, hawks, barred owls, chickadees, and cranes provide this book’s unifying motif, and a delightful surprise, when the reader joins a flock of blackbirds in flight.
Marsha Mathews,
Author of Beauty Bound
“I have come to understand / that my poems are not poems…but the poetics of the earth” (“Intro Part I”). Ray Zimmerman explores nature through language and language through nature. With images and similes like “The winter snow arrived like a sonnet. / It reached the house in three waves, / capped by a couplet of ice” (“Winter Snow”), the reader becomes immersed in Zimmerman’s vivid landscape, both verbal and actual. Though he claims, “My poems are shadows on the wall” (“Intro Part II”), Zimmerman’s words intrigue the reader as she delves into the subtext of these poems, and they continue to haunt her long after the book is closed.
KB Ballentine
Almost Everything, Almost Nothing
In “Introduction, Part II, Zimmerman says “If you enjoy my poem about falling rain or about cranes in flight…go and watch rain falling on parched earth…listen to cranes trumpeting as they take to the air.” In Healing, these poems not only have a prayerful devotion to the natural world but use specific names, images and Zimmerman’s hard-won humor from handling hawks, eagles and owls. In Conflict, he reminds us of the massive plastic islands humans have left floating in the oceans, of trends of certain species’ depletions. Yet, this chapbook is a celebration of birds, amphibians, reptiles and mammals, of seasons and landscapes of planet earth, narrated with sensory details and a deeply personal voice.
--Bill Brown, The News Inside
I have planned a series of readings and signings here in Chattanooga and am in contact with possible hosts of readings or signings in Nashville. I also hope to arrange a reading or signing in Knoxville and the metro Atlanta area.
You may view some of the color images here, https://www.rayzimmermanauthor.com/
and here https://www.facebook.com/events/60939...
I am pleased to announce my new poetry and color photography chap book Healing and Conflict which is available later this week. More than half of the poems are previously published in journals, including:
The Avocet (Fountain Hills, AZ)
Number One (Gallatin, TN)
Quill and Parchment (Online)
Weatherings Anthology (FutureCycle Press, Lexington, KY)
The author will assume primary distribution at readings, signings and open mic events.
Terrence Chouinard of The Wing and the Wheel Press contributed the perfect typography and design skills to this collection. The local Chattanooga printing company Wonder Press did an excellent job with production.
Fellow poets had this to say about the advance copy:
Ray Zimmerman’s collection of poems Healing and Conflict invites the reader outside: “go and watch/rain falling on parched earth. /see it come back to life.” His words, like that rain, are transformative to those who look and listen. Trees burn with ice, water cascades, booming, against mountain hardwoods. Most memorable are the birds. Warblers, hawks, barred owls, chickadees, and cranes provide this book’s unifying motif, and a delightful surprise, when the reader joins a flock of blackbirds in flight.
Marsha Mathews,
Author of Beauty Bound
“I have come to understand / that my poems are not poems…but the poetics of the earth” (“Intro Part I”). Ray Zimmerman explores nature through language and language through nature. With images and similes like “The winter snow arrived like a sonnet. / It reached the house in three waves, / capped by a couplet of ice” (“Winter Snow”), the reader becomes immersed in Zimmerman’s vivid landscape, both verbal and actual. Though he claims, “My poems are shadows on the wall” (“Intro Part II”), Zimmerman’s words intrigue the reader as she delves into the subtext of these poems, and they continue to haunt her long after the book is closed.
KB Ballentine
Almost Everything, Almost Nothing
In “Introduction, Part II, Zimmerman says “If you enjoy my poem about falling rain or about cranes in flight…go and watch rain falling on parched earth…listen to cranes trumpeting as they take to the air.” In Healing, these poems not only have a prayerful devotion to the natural world but use specific names, images and Zimmerman’s hard-won humor from handling hawks, eagles and owls. In Conflict, he reminds us of the massive plastic islands humans have left floating in the oceans, of trends of certain species’ depletions. Yet, this chapbook is a celebration of birds, amphibians, reptiles and mammals, of seasons and landscapes of planet earth, narrated with sensory details and a deeply personal voice.
--Bill Brown, The News Inside
I have planned a series of readings and signings here in Chattanooga and am in contact with possible hosts of readings or signings in Nashville. I also hope to arrange a reading or signing in Knoxville and the metro Atlanta area.
You may view some of the color images here, https://www.rayzimmermanauthor.com/
and here https://www.facebook.com/events/60939...
September 6, 2018
A Page from my Field Notes
Sunday, August 25, 3:30 to 5:30 PM
Location: Guild Trail (Chattanooga) stating at St. Elmo access point.
Route: I walked NNE on the trail until I crossed the long bridge near Ruby Falls and returned by the same route.
Weather: 88 degrees F and mostly cloudy
40% humidity with winds E at 2 mph
Barometer 30.1 and steady
Visibility 10 mi
Habitat: Second growth forest – appears to be well drained – somewhat rocky
Vegetation: Ferns and late summer perennials were plentiful along the trail. Further back, shrubs and understory trees give way to oaks and hickories.
Species List
Pileated Woodpecker calling but not seen
Ebony spleenwort
Ironweed - blooming
Kudzu – blooming
Wild Sunflowers – blooming
Jewelweed – blooming
Ragweed and giant ragweed – blooming
Poke – in fruit
General Comments: This trail gets extensive use, primarily hiking and mountain biking, with a trailhead and parking area on Ochs Highway near the intersection with Tennessee Avenue. Hikers also access the trail at the north end from the Ruby Falls parking lot.
A portion of the trail abuts my residence and I have made more extensive wildlife sightings from there, including, but not limited to White Tailed Deer, Gray Fox, Raccoon, Bald Eagle, and Opossum, with Screech, Great Horned, and Barred owls calling on occasion. Migrating Sand Hill Cranes have passed over spring and fall.
The Chattanooga Chapter of the Tennessee Ornithological Society holds bird walks here in the spring with extensive warbler sightings.
Location: Guild Trail (Chattanooga) stating at St. Elmo access point.
Route: I walked NNE on the trail until I crossed the long bridge near Ruby Falls and returned by the same route.
Weather: 88 degrees F and mostly cloudy
40% humidity with winds E at 2 mph
Barometer 30.1 and steady
Visibility 10 mi
Habitat: Second growth forest – appears to be well drained – somewhat rocky
Vegetation: Ferns and late summer perennials were plentiful along the trail. Further back, shrubs and understory trees give way to oaks and hickories.
Species List
Pileated Woodpecker calling but not seen
Ebony spleenwort
Ironweed - blooming
Kudzu – blooming
Wild Sunflowers – blooming
Jewelweed – blooming
Ragweed and giant ragweed – blooming
Poke – in fruit
General Comments: This trail gets extensive use, primarily hiking and mountain biking, with a trailhead and parking area on Ochs Highway near the intersection with Tennessee Avenue. Hikers also access the trail at the north end from the Ruby Falls parking lot.
A portion of the trail abuts my residence and I have made more extensive wildlife sightings from there, including, but not limited to White Tailed Deer, Gray Fox, Raccoon, Bald Eagle, and Opossum, with Screech, Great Horned, and Barred owls calling on occasion. Migrating Sand Hill Cranes have passed over spring and fall.
The Chattanooga Chapter of the Tennessee Ornithological Society holds bird walks here in the spring with extensive warbler sightings.
August 9, 2018
Healing and Conflict
My designer is putting the finishing touches on my new chapbook, Healing and Conflict. Although the book is self published, more than half of the poems previously appeared in journals such as Number One (Gallatin, Tennessee) and The Avocet (Fountain Hills, Arizona). here are the back page blurbs.
in praise of
HEALING & CONFLICT
‘I have come to understand / that my poems are not poems . . . but the poetics of the earth’ (‘Introduction Part I’). Ray Zimmerman explores nature through language and language through nature. With images and similes like ‘The winter snow arrived like a sonnet. / It reached the house in three waves, / capped by a couplet of ice’ (‘Winter Snow’), the reader becomes immersed in Zimmerman’s vivid landscape, both verbal and actual. Though he claims, ‘My poems are shadows on the wall’ (‘Intro Part II’), Zimmerman’s words intrigue the reader as she delves into the subtext of these poems, and they continue to haunt her long after the book is closed.
KB Ballentine - Almost Everything, Almost Nothing
In ‘Introduction, Part II,’ Zimmerman says ‘If you enjoy my poem about falling rain or about cranes in flight . . . go and watch rain falling on parched earth . . . listen to cranes trumpeting as they take to the air.’ These poems not only have a prayerful devotion to the natural world but use specific names, images and Zimmerman’s hard won humor from handling hawks, eagles and owls. His sensory details and deeply personal voice enrich the poetic work in this new collection
Bill Brown
Ray Zimmerman’s collection of poems Healing and Conflict invites the reader outside: ‘go and watch/rain falling on parched earth. /see it come back to life.’ His words, like that rain, are transformative to those who look and listen. Trees burn with ice, water cascades, booming, against mountain hardwoods. Most memorable are the birds. Warblers, hawks, barred owls, chickadees, and cranes provide this book’s unifying motif, and a delightful surprise, when the reader joins a flock of blackbirds in flight.
Marsha Mathews Beauty Bound
in praise of
HEALING & CONFLICT
‘I have come to understand / that my poems are not poems . . . but the poetics of the earth’ (‘Introduction Part I’). Ray Zimmerman explores nature through language and language through nature. With images and similes like ‘The winter snow arrived like a sonnet. / It reached the house in three waves, / capped by a couplet of ice’ (‘Winter Snow’), the reader becomes immersed in Zimmerman’s vivid landscape, both verbal and actual. Though he claims, ‘My poems are shadows on the wall’ (‘Intro Part II’), Zimmerman’s words intrigue the reader as she delves into the subtext of these poems, and they continue to haunt her long after the book is closed.
KB Ballentine - Almost Everything, Almost Nothing
In ‘Introduction, Part II,’ Zimmerman says ‘If you enjoy my poem about falling rain or about cranes in flight . . . go and watch rain falling on parched earth . . . listen to cranes trumpeting as they take to the air.’ These poems not only have a prayerful devotion to the natural world but use specific names, images and Zimmerman’s hard won humor from handling hawks, eagles and owls. His sensory details and deeply personal voice enrich the poetic work in this new collection
Bill Brown
Ray Zimmerman’s collection of poems Healing and Conflict invites the reader outside: ‘go and watch/rain falling on parched earth. /see it come back to life.’ His words, like that rain, are transformative to those who look and listen. Trees burn with ice, water cascades, booming, against mountain hardwoods. Most memorable are the birds. Warblers, hawks, barred owls, chickadees, and cranes provide this book’s unifying motif, and a delightful surprise, when the reader joins a flock of blackbirds in flight.
Marsha Mathews Beauty Bound
June 14, 2018
Under the Sea Wind
Under the Sea Wind by Rachel CarsonMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
This was Rachel Carson's first book, published 20 years before Silent Spring. It is excellent nature writing, similar in style to Sally Carrighar and Vinson Brown. It did not do well when first released, but gained popularity with publication of her second book, The Sea Around Us which was phenomenally successful.
View all my reviews
May 16, 2018
Prodigal Summer
Review
Kingsolver’s work is always well crafted, and generally recognizes the landscape as an actor in the drama rather than mere backdrop. Three intertwined stories within this narrative show a multitude cross connections which become apparent to the characters as the story unfolds.
Meanwhile, the Characters Deanna, Lusa, Garnett, and Nannie face uncertain futures in a changing Appalachian landscape. Families are losing their farms and wondering why they cannot survive on the land as their ancestors did for generations. People move away in droves to work in factories, a factor which began a few generations ago. The debate between pesticide and organic production rages between neighbors, and several are concerned about the disappearance of pollinators. The disappearing American chestnut and red wolf become points of interest, as does the coyote and its range expansion into eastern states. Farming and ranching interests and the attempt to eradicate the coyote are subjects of hot debate. Two characters are female scientists and the discussion of human pheromones is frequent.
Against this backdrop, the dynamic of male - female relationships plays out in unexpected ways. Like the landscape of Appalachia, and its changing population, the characters face an uncertain future, and find surprising sources of strength and grace.
View all my reviews
Kingsolver’s work is always well crafted, and generally recognizes the landscape as an actor in the drama rather than mere backdrop. Three intertwined stories within this narrative show a multitude cross connections which become apparent to the characters as the story unfolds.
Meanwhile, the Characters Deanna, Lusa, Garnett, and Nannie face uncertain futures in a changing Appalachian landscape. Families are losing their farms and wondering why they cannot survive on the land as their ancestors did for generations. People move away in droves to work in factories, a factor which began a few generations ago. The debate between pesticide and organic production rages between neighbors, and several are concerned about the disappearance of pollinators. The disappearing American chestnut and red wolf become points of interest, as does the coyote and its range expansion into eastern states. Farming and ranching interests and the attempt to eradicate the coyote are subjects of hot debate. Two characters are female scientists and the discussion of human pheromones is frequent.
Against this backdrop, the dynamic of male - female relationships plays out in unexpected ways. Like the landscape of Appalachia, and its changing population, the characters face an uncertain future, and find surprising sources of strength and grace.
View all my reviews
April 30, 2018
Wandering Through Winter
Reading is inhaling; writing is exhaling. This is why I speak about reading in this blog.
Some comments on Wandering Through Winter by Edwin Way Teale:
On March 20, the Vernal Equinox, I set aside Edwin Way Teale’s book Wondering Through Winter, which I had been rereading and took up his now seasonally appropriate North with the Spring. I have now finished my first reading of that book and returned to finish Wandering Through Winter. These books are now out of print, but available from used book dealers, and I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of my copy of Journey into Summer. I plan to read all four books in the series, The American Seasons this year.
The whale descriptions are indeed fabulous. I have never seen Gray Whales, having never traveled to the west coast, but they evoked a time when I saw three Right Whales off the coast of Cape Cod. Only 300 Right Whales remain, so that was 1% of the world-wide population. I also enjoyed several sightings of Humpbacks. I saw a stranding of a pod of Pilot Whales. Not so enjoyable.
More info on the Right Whale:
http://ocean.si.edu/north-atlantic-ri...
The Nuttall's Poor Will to which he refers in the chapter "Desert Wind" has apparently been renamed Common Poorwill: https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/C...
I thoroughly enjoyed the chapter about Audubon's Salamander, set in Mill Grove Pennsylvania. What a delight to find such a creature in such a historical location.
The previous few chapters were great fun because they spoke of places I have visited. When my parents were still alive, I frequently drove to visit them near Cincinnati. I passed the Big Bone Lick State Park enough times that I finally visited it on my way. I returned more than once. One complete skeleton had been bronzed for some unknown reason. It is nevertheless, historically and prehistorically interesting.
I worked and lived in Peebles, Ohio for a short time years ago and visited the Serpent Mound effigy described in another chapter. The agency in charge had constructed a high steel tower which provided the only vantage point from which I could view the entire structure. The only place from which I could tell that the mound was indeed a serpent shaped.
I found myself wishing that they could have seen southern Ohio in spring when the Trillium grandiflorum covered the hillsides. I hope they have not all vanished with construction and development. It was as though dogwoods bloomed along the ground in a field of white flowers.
The trip east from Portsmouth on US highways 50 and 52 is a delightful drive through hills and valleys in a part of Ohio that is considered Appalachian. Spring floods continue to menace that land today.
The final chapters parallel the final chapters of North with the Spring. The trip which resulted in Wandering Through Winter began in Baja California and ended in New Brunswick, geographically close to the end of the trip which resulted in North with the Spring, beginning in Everglades and ending at Mount Washington.
Some comments on Wandering Through Winter by Edwin Way Teale:
On March 20, the Vernal Equinox, I set aside Edwin Way Teale’s book Wondering Through Winter, which I had been rereading and took up his now seasonally appropriate North with the Spring. I have now finished my first reading of that book and returned to finish Wandering Through Winter. These books are now out of print, but available from used book dealers, and I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of my copy of Journey into Summer. I plan to read all four books in the series, The American Seasons this year.
The whale descriptions are indeed fabulous. I have never seen Gray Whales, having never traveled to the west coast, but they evoked a time when I saw three Right Whales off the coast of Cape Cod. Only 300 Right Whales remain, so that was 1% of the world-wide population. I also enjoyed several sightings of Humpbacks. I saw a stranding of a pod of Pilot Whales. Not so enjoyable.
More info on the Right Whale:
http://ocean.si.edu/north-atlantic-ri...
The Nuttall's Poor Will to which he refers in the chapter "Desert Wind" has apparently been renamed Common Poorwill: https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/C...
I thoroughly enjoyed the chapter about Audubon's Salamander, set in Mill Grove Pennsylvania. What a delight to find such a creature in such a historical location.
The previous few chapters were great fun because they spoke of places I have visited. When my parents were still alive, I frequently drove to visit them near Cincinnati. I passed the Big Bone Lick State Park enough times that I finally visited it on my way. I returned more than once. One complete skeleton had been bronzed for some unknown reason. It is nevertheless, historically and prehistorically interesting.
I worked and lived in Peebles, Ohio for a short time years ago and visited the Serpent Mound effigy described in another chapter. The agency in charge had constructed a high steel tower which provided the only vantage point from which I could view the entire structure. The only place from which I could tell that the mound was indeed a serpent shaped.
I found myself wishing that they could have seen southern Ohio in spring when the Trillium grandiflorum covered the hillsides. I hope they have not all vanished with construction and development. It was as though dogwoods bloomed along the ground in a field of white flowers.
The trip east from Portsmouth on US highways 50 and 52 is a delightful drive through hills and valleys in a part of Ohio that is considered Appalachian. Spring floods continue to menace that land today.
The final chapters parallel the final chapters of North with the Spring. The trip which resulted in Wandering Through Winter began in Baja California and ended in New Brunswick, geographically close to the end of the trip which resulted in North with the Spring, beginning in Everglades and ending at Mount Washington.
