Journalist and climate change specialist, Rod Oram (1950-2024)
New Zealand journalist Rod Oram’s answer in an interview on a question on willingness for individual action on climate change recorded a few months before his death March 19th, 2024:
I don’t think we’ll do enough until we care enough and I don’t think we will care enough until we have some kind of spiritual relationship with the living earth and creation. And you can express that whatever way is most meaningful to you. It could be a walk in the woods or bush and beach where you feel sometime kind of oneness, of kinship with nature. Or you could have very strong faith or spiritual relationship which transcends any organized religion or you can be very active in one of the great faiths of the world.
Rod Oram from The Religious Diversity Center Podcast, December 10th, 2023
American author and environmental activist Terry Tempest Williams.Image by Cheryl Himmelstein, © All Rights Reserved
If I choose not to become attached to nouns – a person, place or thing – then when I refuse a intimate’s love or hoard my spirit, when a known landscape is bought, sold and developed, chained or grazed to stubble, or a hawk is shot and hung by its feet on a barbed wire fence, my heart cannot be broken because I never risked giving it away.
But what kind of impoverishment is this to withhold emotion, restrain our passionate nature in the face of a generous life just to appease our fears? A man or woman whose mind reins in the heart when the body sings desperately for connection can only expect more isolation and greater ecological disease. Our lack of intimacy with each other is in direct proportion to our lack of intimacy with the land. We have taken our love inside and abandoned the world.
Terry Tempest Williams from Winter Solstice at the Moab Slough, Pantheon Books, 1994
Gentle Now, Don’t Add to Heartache
one
We come into the world.
We come into the world and there it is.
The sun is there.
The brown of the river leading to the blue and the brown of the
ocean is there.
Salmon and eels are there moving between the brown and the
brown and the blue.
The green of the land is there.
Elders and youngers are there.
We come into the world and we are there.
Fighting and possibility and love are there.
And we begin to breathe.
We come into the world and there it is.
We come into the world without and we breathe it in.
We come into the world and begin to move between the brown and
the blue and the green of it.
Juliana Spahr from WELL THERE THEN NOW, Black Sparrow Press, 2011 and Poetry Daily: What Sparks Poetry, April 8th, 2024
American poet Juliana Spahr
In the days and weeks since the tragic death of my beloved friend and celebrated New Zealand journalist Rod Oram I have been haunted by a remark above he made in Dubai during the COP 28 climate change conference. His assertion that we will not demand necessary changes to climate policy without having a spiritual connection to creation. (I know this is a long post. But I invite you to try to make it through. Especially to read Juliana Spahr’s long poem.)
And when I think of Rod’s quote I think of the Williams quote above and the first part of Juliana’s Spahr’s astonishing poem. I also think of a poem/prayer from Pádraig Ó Tuama’s new collection of prayers written for the Church of the Heavenly Rest in New York city. This poem has a specific Christian reference but its wisdom transcends all faiths!
Collect of the Day
Jesus of the beasts
you noticed foxes, birds, cattle sheep:
fish and humans, too.
Looking at other breathing things,
even trees,
may we see our place in this fragile family,
because unless we do
we’ll subdue them,
demeaning the value
of everything that lives
or moves
or has being.
Amen
Pádraig Ó Tuama from being here – Prayers for Curiosity, Justice and Love, William B. Erdmans Publishing Company, 2024
Poet and podcaster Pádraig Ó Tuama
Yes, Pádraig! …may we see our place in this fragile family/ because unless we do/ we’ll subdue them/ demeaning the value/ of everything that lives.
Rod had a remarkably balanced journalist’s take on issues especially climate change which through his research determined is indeed a real and dire emergency. His comment which he made only a few months before his untimely death on March 19th in a cycling accident reminded me of the quote by the American writer and activist Terry Tempest Williams that haunts me to this day. Especially:
A man or woman whose mind reins in the heart when the body sings desperately for connection can only expect more isolation and greater ecological disease. Our lack of intimacy with each other is in direct proportion to our lack of intimacy with the land. We have taken our love inside and abandoned the world.
And when I think of this Williams quote I am haunted by the words of a developer on Bowen Island, offshore west Vancouver, B.C., who, while defending a major development on a unique waterfront property on Bowen Island, told me: It’s just rock, dirt and trees.
And yet, and yet this precious world is so much more than rock, dirt and trees. No short form. A long form of richness and complexity and inter-connectedness. And that’s where poetry plays such a role in awakening me to the spiritual nature of the climate crisis. My deep connection to the world. And that’s why Juliana Spahr’s remarkable five part long poem published on April 8th in Poetry Daily brought me up short.
Not only is it a hymn of praise, naming countless living things, especially smaller creature like insects, but it also says William’s assertion that intimacy with other human beings is not enough to bring us back to a love for the earth. We need a direct connection to it. These searing words from part five:
What I did not know as I sang the lament of what was becoming lost
and what was already lost was how this loss would happen.
I did not know that I would turn from the stream to each other.
I did not know I would turn to each other……………..
I turned to each other.
Ensnared, bewildered, I turned to each other and from the stream.
I turned to each other and I began to work for the chemical
factory and I began to work for the paper mill and I began to work
for the atomic waste disposal plant and I began to work at
keeping men in jail.
I turned to each other.
I didn’t even say goodbye elephant ear, mountain madtorn, butterfly,
harelip sucker, white catspaw, rabbitsfoot, monkeyface, speckled
chub, wartyback, ebonyshell, pirate perch, ohio pigtoe, clubshell.
I put a Streamline Tilt Mirror in my shower and I kept a crystal
Serenity Sphere with a Winter Stream view on my dresser.
I didn’t even say goodbye elephant ear, mountain madtorn, butterfly,
harelip sucker, white catspaw, rabbitsfoot, monkeyface, speckled
chub, wartyback, ebonyshell, pirate perch, ohio pigtoe, clubshell.
I bought a Gulf Stream Blue Polyester Boat Cover for my 14-16 Foot
V-Hull Fishing boat with beam widths up to [sixty-eight feet] and I
talked about value stream management with men in suits over a desk.
………………………………..
There is something heartbreaking for me in the reality of these words from part five. The reality of how all of us are so complicit in the stresses we continue to add to the environment. Some, perhaps, getting close to unfixable. All the countless beauty, the creatures, the things, in the stream, yet I began to work for the chemical company… I bought a Gulf Stream Blue Polyester Boat Cover….I I talked about value stream management management with me in suits over a desk. I could add my own words: went to work as an oil analyst.. bought my 18 foot aluminium runabout…etc…etc.
The horror that the speaker turns to her fellow humans and forgets the stream. I did not sing…I did not sing.
Now, the full version of Juliana’s necessary and devastating poem:
Gentle Now, Don’t Add to Heartache
one
We come into the world.
We come into the world and there it is.
The sun is there.
The brown of the river leading to the blue and the brown of the
ocean is there.
Salmon and eels are there moving between the brown and the
brown and the blue.
The green of the land is there.
Elders and youngers are there.
We come into the world and we are there.
Fighting and possibility and love are there.
And we begin to breathe.
We come into the world and there it is.
We come into the world without and we breathe it in.
We come into the world and begin to move between the brown and
the blue and the green of it.
two
We came into the world at the edge of a stream.
The stream had no name but it began from a spring and flowed
down a hill into the Scioto that then flowed into the Ohio that then
flowed into the Mississippi that then flowed into the Gulf of Mexico.
The stream was a part of us and we were a part of the stream and we
were thus part of the rivers and thus part of the gulfs and the oceans.
And we began to learn the stream.
We looked under stones for the caddisfly larvae and its adhesive.
We counted the creek chub and we counted the slenderhead darter.
We learned to recognize the large, upright, dense, candle-like
clusters of yellowish flowers at the branch ends of the horsechestnut
and we appreciated the feathery gracefulness of the drooping, but
upturning, branchlets of the larch.
We mimicked the catlike meow, the soft quirrt or kwut, and the
louder, grating ratchet calls of the gray catbird.
We put our heads together.
We put our heads together with all these things, with the caddisfly
larva, with the creek chub and the slenderhead darter, with the
horsechestnut and the larch, with the gray catbird.
We put our heads together on a narrow pillow, on a stone, on a
narrow stone pillow, and we talked to each other all day long
because we loved.
We loved the stream.
And we were of the stream.
And we couldn’t help this love because we arrived at the bank of the
stream and began breathing and the stream was various and full of
information and it changed our bodies with its rotten with its cold
with its clean with its mucky with fallen leaves with its things that
bite the edges of the skin with its leaves with its sand and dirt with
its pungent at moments with its dry and prickly with its warmth with
its mushy and moist with its hard flat stones on the bottom with its
horizon lines of gently rolling hills with its darkness with its dappled
light with its cicadas buzz with its trills of birds.
three
This is where we learned love and where we learned depth and
where we learned layers and where we learned connections
between layers.
We learned and we loved the black sandshell, the ash, the american
bittern, the harelip sucker, the yellow bullhead, the beech, the great
blue heron, the dobsonfly larva, the water penny larva, the birch, the
redhead, the white catspaw, the elephant ear, the buckeye, the king
eider, the river darter, the sauger, the burning bush, the common
merganser, the limpet, the mayfly nymph, the cedar, the turkey
vulture, the spectacle case, the flat floater, the cherry, the red tailed
hawk, the longnose gar, the brook trout, the chestnut, the killdeer,
the river snail, the giant floater, the chokeberry, gray catbird, the
rabbitsfoot, the slenderhead darter, the crabapple, the american
robin, the creek chub, the stonefly nymph, the dogwood, the
warbling vireo, the sow bug, the elktoe, the elm, the marsh wren,
the monkeyface, the central mudminnow, the fir, the gray-cheeked
thrush, the white bass, the predaceous diving beetle, the hawthorn,
the scud, the salamander mussel, the hazelnut, the warbler, the
mapleleaf, the american eel, the hemlock, the speckled chub,
the whirligig beetle larva, the hickory, the sparrow, the caddisfly
larva, the fluted shell, the horse chestnut, the wartyback, the white
heelsplitter, the larch, the pine grosbeak, the brook stickleback, the
river redhorse, the locust, the ebonyshelf, the giant water bug, the
maple, the eastern phoebe, the white sucker, the creek heelsplitter,
the mulberry, the crane fly larva, the mountain madtom, the oak,
the bank swallow, the wabash pigtoe, the damselfly larva, the
pine, the stonecat, the kidneyshell, the plum, the midge larva, the
eastern sand darter, the rose, the purple wartyback, the narrow-
winged damselfly, the spruce, the pirate perch, the threehorn
wartyback, the sumac, the black fly larva, the redside dace, the
tree-of-heaven, the orange-foot pimpleback, the dragonfly larva,
the walnut, the gold fish, the butterfly, the striped fly larva, the
willow, the freshwater drum, the ohio pigtoe, the warmouth, the
mayfly nymph, the clubshell.
And this was just the beginning of the list.
Our hearts took on many things.
Our hearts took on new shapes, new shapes every day as we went to
the stream every day.
Our hearts took on the shape of well-defined riffles and pools, clean
substrates, woody debris, meandering channels, floodplains, and
mature streamside forests.
Our hearts took on the shape of the stream and became riffled and
calmed and muddy and clean and flooded and shrunken dry.
Our hearts took on the shape of whirligigs swirling across the water.
We shaped our hearts into the sycamore trees along the side of the
stream and we let into our hearts the long pendulous polygamous
racemes of its small green flowers, the first-formed male flowers
with no pistil and then the later arriving hairy ovary with its two
curved stigmas.
We let ourselves love the one day of the adult life of the mayfly as it
swarms, mates in flight, and dies all without eating.
And we shaped our hearts into the water willow and into the eggs
spawned in the water willow.
Our hearts took on the brilliant blues, reds, and oranges of breeding
male rainbow darter and our hearts swam to the female rainbow
darter and we poked her side with our snout as she buried herself
under the gravel and we laid upon her as she vibrated.
We let leaves and algae into our hearts and then we let the mollusks
and the insects and we let the midge larvae into our heart and then
the stonefly nymph and then a minnow came into our heart and with
it a bass and then we let the blue heron fly in, the raccoon amble by,
the snapping turtle and the watersnake also.
We immersed ourselves in the shallow stream. We lied down on the
rocks on our narrow pillow stone and let the water pass over us and
our heart was bathed in glochida and other things that attach to the
flesh.
And as we did this we sang.
We sang gentle now.
Gentle now clubshell,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now warmouth, mayfly nymph,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now willow, freshwater drum, ohio pigtoe,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now walnut, gold fish, butterfly, striped fly larva,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now black fly larva, redside dace, tree-of-heaven, orange-
foot pimpleback, dragonfly larva,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now purple wartyback, narrow-winged damselfly, spruce,
pirate perch, threehorn wartyback, sumac,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now pine, stonecat, kidneyshell, plum, midge larva, eastern
sand darter, rose,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now creek heelsplitter, mulberry, crane fly larva, mountain
madtom, oak, bank swallow, wabash pigtoe, damselfly larva,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now pine grosbeak, brook stickleback, river redhorse, locust,
ebonyshelf, giant water bug, maple, eastern phoebe, white sucker,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now whirligig beetle larva, hickory, sparrow, caddisfly larva,
fluted shell, horse chestnut, wartyback, white heelsplitter, larch,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now white bass, predaceous diving beetle, hawthorn, scud,
salamander mussel, hazelnut, warbler, mapleleaf, american eel,
hemlock, speckled chub,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now stonefly nympth, dogwood, warbling vireo, sow bug,
elktoe, elm, marsh wren, monkeyface, central mudminnow, fir,
gray-cheeked thrush,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now longnose gar, brook trout, chestnut, killdeer, river snail,
giant floater, chokeberry, gray catbird, rabbitsfoot, slenderhead
darter, crabapple, american robin, creek chub,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now king eider, river darter, sauger, burning bush, common
merganser, limpet, mayfly nymph, cedar, turkey vulture, spectacle
case, flat floater, cherry, red tailed hawk,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now black sandshell, ash, american bittern, harelip sucker,
yellow bullhead, beech, great blue heron, dobsonfly larva, water
penny larva, birch, redhead, white catspaw, elephant ear, buckeye,
don’t add to heartache.
Gentle now, we sang,
Circle our heart in rapture, in love-ache. Circle our heart.
four
It was not all long lines of connection and utopia.
It was a brackish stream and it went through the field beside our
house.
But we let into our hearts the brackish parts of it also.
Some of it knowingly.
We let in soda cans and we let in cigarette butts and we let in pink
tampon applicators and we let in six pack of beer connectors and
we let in various other pieces of plastic that would travel through
the stream.
And some of it unknowingly.
We let the run off from agriculture, surface mines, forestry, home
wastewater treatment systems, construction sites, urban yards,
and roadways into our hearts.
We let chloride, magnesium, sulfate, manganese, iron, nitrite/
nitrate, aluminum, suspended solids, zinc, phosphorus, fertilizers,
animal wastes, oil, grease, dioxins, heavy metals and lead go
through our skin and into our tissues.
We were born at the beginning of these things, at the time of
chemicals combining, at the time of stream run off.
These things were a part of us and would become more a part of us
but we did not know it yet.
Still we noticed enough to sing a lament.
To sing in lament for whoever lost her elephant ear lost her
mountain madtom
and whoever lost her butterfly lost her harelip sucker
and whoever lost her white catspaw lost her rabbitsfoot
and whoever lost her monkeyface lost her speckled chub
and whoever lost her wartyback lost her ebonyshell
and whoever lost her pirate perch lost her ohio pigtoe lost her
clubshell.
five
What I did not know as I sang the lament of what was becoming lost
and what was already lost was how this loss would happen.
I did not know that I would turn from the stream to each other.
I did not know I would turn to each other.
That I would turn to each other to admire the softness of each
other’s breast, the folds of each other’s elbows, the brightness
of each other’s eyes, the smoothness of each other’s hair, the
evenness of each other’s teeth, the firm blush of each other’s lips,
the firm softness of each other’s breasts, the fuzz of each other’s
down, the rich, ripe pungency of each other’s smell, all of it, each
other’s cheeks, legs, neck, roof of mouth, webbing between the
fingers, tips of nails and also cuticles, hair on toes, whorls on
fingers, skin discolorations.
I turned to each other.
Ensnared, bewildered, I turned to each other and from the stream.
I turned to each other and I began to work for the chemical
factory and I began to work for the paper mill and I began to work
for the atomic waste disposal plant and I began to work at
keeping men in jail.
I turned to each other.
I didn’t even say goodbye elephant ear, mountain madtorn, butterfly,
harelip sucker, white catspaw, rabbitsfoot, monkeyface, speckled
chub, wartyback, ebonyshell, pirate perch, ohio pigtoe, clubshell.
I replaced what I knew of the stream with Lifestream Total
Cholesterol Test Packets, with Snuggle Emerald Stream Fabric
Softener Dryer Sheets, with Tisserand Aromatherapy Aroma-
Stream Cartridges, with Filter Stream Dust Tamer, and Streamzap PC
Remote Control, Acid Stream Launcher, and Viral Data Stream.
I didn’t even say goodbye elephant ear, mountain madtorn, butterfly,
harelip sucker, white catspaw, rabbitsfoot, monkeyface, speckled
chub, wartyback, ebonyshell, pirate perch, ohio pigtoe, clubshell.
I put a Streamline Tilt Mirror in my shower and I kept a crystal
Serenity Sphere with a Winter Stream view on my dresser.
I didn’t even say goodbye elephant ear, mountain madtorn, butterfly,
harelip sucker, white catspaw, rabbitsfoot, monkeyface, speckled
chub, wartyback, ebonyshell, pirate perch, ohio pigtoe, clubshell.
I bought a Gulf Stream Blue Polyester Boat Cover for my 14-16 Foot
V-Hull Fishing boat with beam widths up to [sixty-eight feet] and I
talked about value stream management with men in suits over a desk.
I didn’t even say goodbye elephant ear, mountain madtorn, butterfly,
harelip sucker, white catspaw, rabbitsfoot, monkeyface, speckled
chub, wartyback, ebonyshell, pirate perch, ohio pigtoe, clubshell.
I just turned to each other and the body parts of the other suddenly
glowed with the beauty and detail that I had found in the stream.
I put my head together on a narrow pillow and talked with each other
all night long.
And I did not sing.
I did not sing otototoi; dark, all merged together, oi.
I did not sing groaning words.
I did not sing otototoi; dark, all merged together, oi.
I did not sing groaning words.
I did not sing o wo, wo, wo!
I did not sing I see, I see.
I did not sing wo, wo!
Juliana Spahr from WELL THERE THEN NOW, Black Sparrow Press, 2011 and Poetry Daily: What Sparks Poetry, April 8th, 2024