Ecopoetics in a Time of Climate Crisis (+ 18 Lit Mags that Publish Environmental Writing)
Responding to the climate crisis as writers: what does it mean to care about the Earth and write towards change?
“For those of us who find ourselves asking the question, “What does it mean to love this place?” perhaps writing for this place, for the love of it and the preservation of it, is an answer.”
“It’s a constant question for me every time I’m entranced by the beauty of this world: what does it mean to love this place? What does it mean to love anyone or anything in a world whose vanishing is accelerating, perhaps beyond our capacity to save the things that we love most? We still have the chance to make the space for hope- to act in such a way that hope might exist for others who come after us. Not everyone can focus on this work- many people are too full up with the difficulties of their daily lives...But if you can, then the world needs you, and it needs you right now, because anything that we do this year or next is worth ten of the same thing ten years from now.”
— from LOVING A VANISHING WORLD by Emily N. Johnston
The above quote is one of my favorites—I turn to it often, when reports come out detailing how 2023 was the hottest year on record; how the 1.5 degree temperature target meant to limit the most catastrophic effects of climate change is unlikely to be met; when they name the species we have lost to extinction or list the human deaths from climate-related droughts, famines, and weather events. I turn to this quote often because it forces me to ask myself the question: What can I do?
Ayana Elizabeth Johnson, co-editor of the book All We Can Save: Truth, Courage and Solutions for the Climate Crisis, created a venn diagram for climate action. The three circles ask different questions: What brings you joy? What are you good at? What work needs doing? And at the center, where all three circles overlap is: “Your Climate Action.”
As writers, there’s a good chance that what we are good at and what brings us joy are both the act of writing (although yes, sometimes writing can be a struggle! And yes, I hope we all have other things that we are good at and that bring us joy too). When it comes to the question of what work needs doing, though, perhaps we pause. Maybe some of us have additional skills in politics, green technology, sustainable engineering, etc. Unfortunately, that’s not me—my brain shuts down with calculations beyond basic arithmetic, I barely know how to troubleshoot a malfunctioning piece of technology beyond turning it off and hoping a miracle occurs when I turn it back on, and as for politics…let’s not get into that right now. In short, that’s not the kind of work I can competently contribute towards.
I’ve spent many years considering how I want to channel my environmental activism beyond the personal choices I make in my day-to-day life, and I’ve learned there is a need for writers to use their skills for storytelling around the climate crisis. Something I can contribute to is this work of climate storytelling, of making climate change relatable and personal. I can weave together research, emotion, and experience. I can craft stories that encourage empathy and understanding, that take a stance against apathy and ignorance.
The “Earth” theme for our Poem of the Month series is especially close to my heart for this very reason. We have received hundreds of submissions from poets all over the world, writing about the Earth from their own perspectives, imaginations and experiences. It’s a beautiful and powerful collection of words and stories. I wish we could publish every single one of them.
To give a bit of history, according to the Poetry Foundation, “ecopoetics rose out of the late 20th-century awareness of ecology and concerns over environmental disaster.” Its origins are rooted in activism. It is poetry with a purpose, even if that purpose is touched on only subtly and with the finesse of beautiful and captivating language.
For those of us who find ourselves asking the question, “What does it mean to love this place?” perhaps writing for this place, for the love of it and the preservation of it, is an answer. We can write for the Earth, for the ocean, for the sandhill crane, the monarch butterfly, the oak tree, and the species and people who are suffering and have suffered from climate change and environmental degradation. We can even write for the tiny patch of grass that we walk past in the city, or the sparrow that visits our backyard.
The important thing, I think, is to write.
And, of course, this same thought process applies not just to the climate crisis but to the plethora of issues we may feel compelled to address in this complicated, messy and at times disappointing world.
For those interested in ecopoetry, I recommend picking up a copy of “The Ecopoetry Anthology” edited by Ann Fisher-Wirth and Laura-Gray Street. It is a massive, 500+ page anthology that spent many nights on my bedside table as I slowly read through each page. A smaller, more travel-friendly collection is “What Nature” edited by Timothy Donnelly, BK Fischer, and Stefania Heim. And for those ambitious readers who want a deep-dive into the climate crisis written by women at the forefront of the climate movement (hello, my ecofeminists!), the All We Can Save anthology combines essays, poetry and artwork that inspire contemplation, inspiration and action.
It’s important to note as well that the act of writing for the Earth is not limited to ecopoetry—climate fiction is a growing genre, and nonfiction books on the topic abound.
Whatever genre we write in, read in, think in—there is a place for the Earth if we decide to make that space.
I’ll leave you with one of my favorite eco-poems by drew dellinger:
hieroglyphic stairway
it's 3:23 in the morning and I'm awake because my great great grandchildren won't let me sleep my great great grandchildren ask me in dreams what did you do while the planet was plundered? what did you do when the earth was unraveling? surely you did something when the seasons started failing? as the mammals, reptiles, birds were all dying? did you fill the streets with protest when democracy was stolen? what did you do once you knew? I'm riding home on the Colma train I've got the voice of the milky way in my dreams I have teams of scientists feeding me data daily and pleading I immediately turn it into poetry I want just this consciousness reached by people in range of secret frequencies contained in my speech I am the desirous earth equidistant to the underworld and the flesh of the stars I am everything already lost the moment the universe turns transparent and all the light shoots through the cosmos I use words to instigate silence I'm a hieroglyphic stairway in a buried Mayan city suddenly exposed by a hurricane a satellite circling earth finding dinosaur bones in the Gobi desert I am telescopes that see back in time I am the precession of the equinoxes, the magnetism of the spiraling sea I'm riding home on the Colma train with the voice of the milky way in my dreams I am myths where violets blossom from blood like dying and rising gods I'm the boundary of time soul encountering soul and tongues of fire it's 3:23 in the morning and I can't sleep because my great great grandchildren ask me in dreams what did you do while the earth was unraveling? I want just this consciousness reached by people in range of secret frequencies contained in my speech
The final question then becomes: what will you do?
Quick Bonus!
Jane Hirshfield, C.D. Wright, & Arthur Sze on the Contemporary Practices of Ecopoetics.
18 Literary Magazines Publishing Environmental Writing:
Poem of the Month: Earth
The Eco-Poetry Workshop w/ Matty Layne Glasgow: Sun April 7, 12pm via Zoom (2 spots left!)
As writers or as individuals, what do you believe your responsibility is towards the climate crisis? Do you think storytelling around climate change can make a difference?
The Dark Mountain Project is another great one!