Hence the verses are generally short, rich in metaphors, intuitive, symbolic, following Baudelaire’s lesson that the whole universe, and the natural universe above all, is a “forest of symbols”.
At the same time, the ecopoet is fully aware of his or her own responsibilities as a human being towards nature and its protection. He or she is therefore a “committed” poet. The ecopoet identifies emotionally and spiritually with the tortured animal, the uprooted centuries-old tree, the whole Earth, which sends out messages of alarm and pain. These are messages that the poet, in this sense also a “civic” poet, is called upon to amplify and spread.
So far we have used the word “poet” in the masculine, but many exponents of the ecopoetic movement are women.
For example the English poet Helen Moore, who significantly writes:
«May Gaia our Great Mother, speak through me... may I be a channel, a conduit for Nature's words!»
«May Gaia, our Great Mother, speak through me, may I be a channel, a conduit for the words of Nature!»
The poet thus also becomes a philosopher, because with his or her vision he or she contributes to the shift from an anthropocentric to a biocentric perspective.
It is precisely this double channel of poetic-lyrical intuition and civic and political reasoning that makes ‘Ecopoetry’ a form of poetic discourse powerfully attuned to the reality of our times.
In this connection, ecopoets speak of ‘reparative thinking’, that is, an interconnected way of thinking and feeling capable of engaging reason and emotions at the same time, so that the work of art operates on multiple levels and, ultimately, regains its classic role as collector and vehicle of collective emotions.
The aim is that of “a poetry that aspires to be a living genre capable of creating meaningful emotions... useful to remind us that history is lived only in the first person and to teach us that this first person is implicated in reality and has ethical responsibilities”.
‘Ecopoetry’ is widespread above all in the Anglo-Saxon world, which has always been particularly sensitive to environmental issues. The United States, India, Australia and Canada are the countries that give life to the “network” of ecopoets. It is in Canada, at ‘Brandon University’, that the first chair in ‘Post-postmodern Ecopoetry and Poetry’ was established.
One of the precursors, if not indeed the “father” of Ecopoetry, can rightly be considered the great American poet Gary Snyder. A protagonist of the beat generation – although somewhat removed from more famous names such as Ginsberg and Kerouac – and already a key character in Kerouac’s celebrated novel The Dharma Bums, in which he appears under the pseudonym Japhy Ryder, Snyder, at the ripe age of 93, is still a point of reference for the whole American environmentalist movement and particularly for its literary version.
His book of poems ‘Turtle Island’, winner of the Pulitzer Prize in 1975, is to be regarded, besides being a splendid poetic collection in its own right, as a sort of “Bible” of environmentally inspired poetry.
Among the other exponents of Ecopoetry, one should also mention the American poet Mary Oliver, whose poetry of Nature is among the most inspired. Also the British poet and scientist of Italian origin Mario Petrucci; John Burnside and Alice Oswald.
In the Italian scene, the poet Chandra Livia Candiani can be considered the closest to the themes and atmospheres of an “ecopoetry”.
There are also literary journals, the best known and most widely read of which is ‘Ecopoetics’, edited by Jonathan Skinner.
Among the critical texts on the subject, one worth noting is ‘Ecopoetry – A Critical Introduction’ by Scott Bryson, lecturer in English literature at ‘Mount St. Mary’s College’ in Los Angeles. He is currently preparing a new anthology of ecopoems and biographies of ecopoets.
GARY SNYDER
For the children
The high mountains, the ridges
of statistics
are before our eyes.
The steep climb
of everything, goes up,
up, while we all go down.
In the next century,
or the one after that,
they say,
there will be valleys, pastures
where we shall meet in peace,
if we make it.
To climb these peaks,
a piece of advice for you,
for you
and for your children:
stay together,
learn the flowers,
go light
For the Children
The rising hills, the slopes,
of statistics
lie before us.
the steep climb
of everything, going up,
up, as we all
go down.
In the next century
or the one beyond that,
they say,
are valleys, pastures,
we can meet there in peace
if we make it.
To climb these coming crests
one word to you, to
you and your children:
stay together
learn the flowers
go light
MARY OLIVER
Summer day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan and the brown bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean, the one who leapt out
of the grass,
who is eating the sugar from my hand,
who moves her jaws back and forth instead of up and down
and gazes around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale little forelegs and carefully cleans her face.
Now she snaps her wings open and flies away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is;
I know how to pay attention, how to fall into the grass,
how to kneel in the grass,
how to be blissfully idle, how to wander through the meadows,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what do you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
THE SUMMER DAY
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-- the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
