Appalachian Elegy: Poetry and Place (Kentucky Voices)

by Bell Hooks

No matter that they lived according to Appalachian values, they did not talk about themselves as coming from Appalachia. They did not divide Kentucky into East and West.

content to be self-defining and self-determining even if it meant living with less.

even if one lived in the hills where the close neighbors were white and hillbilly, black people did not see themselves as united with these folk, even though our habits of being and ways of thinking were more like these strangers than those of other black folks who lived in the city—

It was not until I went away to college that I was questioned about Appalachia, about hillbilly culture, and it was always assumed by these faraway outsiders that only poor white people lived in the backwoods and in the hills. No wonder then that black folks who cherish our past, the independence that characterized our backwoods ancestors, seek to recover and restore their history, their legacy.

Early on in my life I learned from those Kentucky backwoods elders, the folks whom we might now label “Appalachian,” a set of values rooted in the belief that above all else one must be self-determining. It is the foundation that is the root of my radical critical consciousness.

Folks from the backwoods were certain about two things: that every human soul needed to be free and that the responsibility of being free required one to be a person of integrity, a person who lived in such a way that there would...

While I do not claim an identity as Appalachian, I do claim a solidarity, a sense of belonging, that makes me one with the Appalachian past of my ancestors: black, Native American, white, all “people of one blood” who made homeplace in isolated landscapes where they could invent themselves, where they could savor a taste of freedom.

Ironically, the segregated world of my Kentucky childhood was the place where I lived beyond race.

Without evoking a naïve naturalism that would suggest a world of innocence, I deem it an act of counterhegemonic resistance for black folks to talk openly of our experiences growing up in a southern world where we felt ourselves living in harmony with the natural world.

Coming home to Kentucky hills was, for me, a way to declare allegiance to environment struggles aimed at restoring proper stewardship to the land.

In Longing For Running Water: Ecofeminism and Liberation, theologian Ivone Gebara contends: “The ecofeminist movement does not look at the connection between the domination of women and of nature solely from the perspective of cultural ideology and social st ructures; it seeks to introduce new ways of thinking that are more at the service of ecojustice.”

“I pay tribute to the past as a resource that can serve as a foundation for us to revision and renew our commitment to the present, to making a world where all people can live fully and well, where everyone, can belong.”

Those of us who dare to talk about the pain inflicted on red and black folks in this country, connecting that historical reality to the pain inflicted on our natural world, are often no longer silenced; we are simply ignored. It is the recognition of that pain that causes a constant mourning.

My cries of lamentation faintly echo the cries of freedom fighter Sojourner Truth, who often journeyed deep into the forest to loudly lament the pain of slavery, the pain of having no voice. Truth spoke to the trees, telling them, “when I cried out with a mother’s grief none but Jesus heard.”

they are who they really are). Chanting with a diverse group of ecofeminist friends, we called forth the ancestors, urging them to celebrate return migration with us. We spread sage, planted trees, and dug holes for blossoming rose bushes in the name of our mother Rosa Bell. I wanted to give her a place to rest in these hills, a place where I can commune with her spirit.

Psychohistory and the power of ways of knowing beyond human will and human reason all ow us to re-create, to reimagine.

a cardinal framed in the glass red light calling away despair eternal promise everything changes and ends

hard rain softens harder ground from solid rock to mud so thick feet go under making every step dirge and trial even as joy surfaces at last today we plant we hope

land invaded then left as though there were no other way to claim belonging

all fragments that remain remind us give thanks gather praise

23. bring Buddha to rest home in Kentucky hills that outside each window a light may shine not a guilt teaching tradition be balanced know loving kindness end suffering rejoice in the oneness of life then let go carry nothing on your back travel empty as you climb steep mountain paths

40. on hallowed ground I cast the circle that there may be haven for the lost refuge and sanctuary turning to the hills I place feet on steady ground letting earth hold me in praise of air I lift my hands to the heavens call down grace for blessings for anointed being turning toward water I let go remembered sins cleanse and purify burning sage I bring fire to warm and illuminate all around this body light moves a communion of gathered spirits

let earth testify they have the right to fall when life comes to an end to move in harmony with fate

green coming from seeds planted long ago draw from this winter death courage to go on

inside this dark heart a yearning to live as nature lives surrendering all

we long for rain for water to pour into our hearts an offering of radical grace

all old souls chant be tender walk soft the bodies of our dead lie here wildflowers red yellow white adorn memory pink purple blue lost in a world of green

spirit guides teach us offer always the promise of an eternal now

let them sleep forever sublime knowing that we have made a place that can sustain us a place of certainty and sanctuary

59. migrating birds come rest here teach us all life follows divine change find pattern in structure go true north follow organic spirit guided prophecy hidden among growing things that there may be hope in these hills that there be renewal that all living beings may rise up proclaiming pure delight beauty that restores beyond all manmade limitations be welcomed

64. daybreak night falling into blue shadow gray streaks as the trickster chases memory repeat tell the same stories until the past is left behind