It's the birthday of the novelist and essayist Thomas McGuane (1939), who said, "We have reached a point in the life of the planet, and humanity's demand upon it, when every fisherman will have to be a river-keeper, a steward of marine shallows, a watchman on the high seas. We are beyond having to put back what we have taken out. We must put back more than we have taken out."
It's the birthday of the novelist and poet, Jim Harrison (1937-2016), who said, "The only advice I can give to aspiring writers is don't do it unless you're willing to give your whole life to it. Red wine and garlic also helps." Here's a remembrance of Harrison that aired on PBS News Hour in 2016:
Sometimes, I hear a poem being read, and one line from it grabs my attention. I think, "Wait...what?" I return to the poem and read it to myself, to get the context for that one line. I find that the setting of that one line is even more intriguing.
Today, I heard Garrison Keillor read Wendell Berry's "The Want of Peace" and that one line was, "We sell the world to buy fire..." And a name came to mind--Prometheus. For it was Prometheus who stole fire from the gods and gave it to man. The name connotes art, science, and technology. It brings to mind another name, Frankenstein--the new Prometheus. And, to me, this name connotes scientific hubris. And my mind bends toward the darkness of industrialized war and murder.
"All goes back to the earth..." And so I seek to learn from the silence of tangled roots, their hold held by the dark earth. I yearn for the baptisms of rivers, to receive their saving grace.
The Want of Peace
by Wendell Berry
All goes back to the earth,
and so I do not desire
pride of excess or power,
but the contentments made
by men who have had little:
the fisherman’s silence
receiving the river’s grace,
the gardner’s musing on rows.
I lack the peace of simple things.
I am never wholly in place.
I find no peace or grace.
We sell the world to buy fire,
our way lighted by burning men,
and that has bent my mind
and made me think of darkness
and wish for the dumb life of roots.
From New Collected Poems, Counterpoint Press, 2012.
May I recommend this wonderful collection of Anishinaabe botanical teachings?
Above Pate Valley We finished clearing the last Section of trail by noon, High on the ridge-side Two thousand feet above the creek Reached ...
