Place
Based Writing
This piece
previously appeared in the Dade County
Sentinel and the Chattanoogan.com.
As I
sit at a picnic table overlooking the Tennessee River, just below the Raccoon
Mountain Pumped Storage Plant, the ripples of the river exude power. The ridge
on the far side is marked by two cliffs, one above the other, which run most of
the length. Each is tall and clearly visible above the trees. The river is
quite deep here, with Nickajack dam not far below, but this flooded valley was
once home to a much shallower river with rapids and shoals.
I
cannot write much of that flooded valley, short of a time machine to go back
and visit it. I know that boats leaving Chattanooga encountered “The Suck,” a
place where the river narrowed and objects, sometimes even people, were pulled
into the water below. Submerged objects
came to the surface further downstream at “The Pot,” where water bubbled up to
the surface from those deeps. Further down, an obstacle known as “The Frying
Pan,” caused more havoc for river traffic. To tell the full story of this
section of river though, I would have to have visited it.
Years
ago, Kentucky author Wendell Berry fully explored a place before writing of it. He hiked, canoed, and waded
the Red River Gorge, and wrote a book titled The Unforeseen Wilderness.
The
Army Corps of Engineers planned to flood this gorge, displacing a few scattered
farmers and ending its natural state. Ironically, the dam which would flood the
valley was proposed in the name of “Flood Control.”
Berry
visited a farm only accessible by foot path or tractor during high water, and
recorded the people’s connection to the land. He also recorded the beauty of
the landscape with the insight and acumen his readers have come to expect in
his writings about his rural homeland. He spent five years on the project, and
may have originated the term “place based writing.” His words, and the
photographs by Gene Meatyard, tell a story of incredible beauty.
I may
someday visit the Red River Gorge, which remains without submersion, thanks to
its designated status under the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act. Protection of the
gorge was signed into law by President Bill Clinton.
Even if
I visit, I cannot write its story, for this land is not mine. I would write as
a man who viewed the gorge as scenery, or photograph it as one who stops at a
scenic overlook and takes a snapshot. Berry warns of the dangers of scenery in
his book.
My own
experience of place based writing came about with a poem titled “Glen Falls
Trail.” Glen Falls is near my current residence on the side of Lookout Mountain.
I have lived in this area for years, and hiked the trail numerous times. One
day I noticed the graffiti, “George Loves Lisa,” painted on the rock face in an
archway above the falls. I wrote my poem about the beauty of this place, but
included a speculation on the various possibilities of that relationship:
I wonder, did he ever tell her?
Did she know or think of him at all,
raise a brood of screaming children?
Did they kiss near wild ginger
above the stony apse?
The
poem won a prize from the Tennessee Writers Alliance, including a substantial
(to me at least) cash award. It was later included in the Southern Poetry Anthology: Volume VI, Tennessee (University of
Texas Press).
I am
convinced to this day that the success of this particular poem resulted from my
association with the place where it is based. I am no Wendell Berry, nowhere
near his phenomenal success of more than fifty books in print, but I agree with
his belief that the best writing is placed based.
Ray Zimmerman is the Senior Editor of the
anthology Southern Light: Twelve
Contemporary Southern Poets, and author of the Poetry Chapbook, First Days. His poetry, nonfiction, and
photography have appeared in regional and national publications. He has
appeared as a storyteller and a performance poet in numerous Chattanooga area
events. He is particularly pleased that his poem “Glen Falls Trail” received an
award from the Tennessee Writers Alliance and appeared in The Southern Poetry Anthology: Volume VI, Tennessee (University of
Texas Press).
