PLEASE STAND BY

PROFIT

I'm reading a truly wonderful book written by the poet Mary Ruefle. By wonderful I mean intelligent and engaging, humble and erudite. It is a collection of lectures titled Madness, Rack, and Honey (Wave Press 2012). 

In the lecture she calls "Fear," she asks us to consider John Berger's "succinct and frightening sentence." 

"Everywhere these days more and more people knock their heads against the fact that the future of our planet, and what it will offer or deny to its inhabitants, is being decided by boards of men who control more money than all the governments in the world, who never stand for election, and whose sole criterion for every decision they take is whether or not it increases or is prone to increase Profit."

My first encounters with questioning the costs and benefits of Profit came during my high school years, during the 1970s, but not in high school itself. These encounters came at church. 

One Sunday, Brother Moody, also known as Dr. Moody, a professor of agricultural economics at Arizona State University--the university down the street from my high school I would later attend--cautioned against "too much profit." Dr. Moody warned that this pursuit was harmful to the Economy, writ large.

Meanwhile, during my zero-hour seminary classes, held across the street from my high school in a church-owned building, I was trying to understand what it was Jesus was trying to teach us. 

Among the several lessons that have stuck with me was a philosophical question that went something like this: What is a man profited if he gains the whole world but loses his own soul?

Right now, extreme efforts are underway by a consortium of two of the world's largest multi-national mining corporations--London-based Anglo-American and Canada's Northern Dynasty--to get US government-approval to build the Pebble Mine. 

This mine would be one of the world's largest open-pit copper, gold, and molybdenum mines and would be located at the headwaters of Bristol Bay--at the Kvichak and Nushagak Rivers--one of the most productive wild salmon habitats in the world. 

Not only is the area environmentally sensitive, it is seismically sensitive, and would include the world's largest earthen dam, a dam which scientists claim may not withstand a seismic event of a magnitude of the 1964 Anchorage earthquake. What are we willing to risk for Profit? 

Daily, it seems, I ask myself if today is the day we humans will snap out from under the spell of the large and small Profits that cause all of us to put our ecosystems--and their sustainability--at risk. It seems that day will always be tomorrow, and for someone else. 

Here in Northern California, we've made life all but unsustainable for salmon and steelhead in the once-prolific Russian River, one minor--or major--diversion of water at a time. Globally, our minor and major actions have radically, perhaps irreversibly, altered our atmosphere.  

So why the photograph of Mono Lake? To remind myself that Soul sometimes prevails over Profit, and how it is done.

Margaret Mead: "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world: indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."

FISH ON! LEES FERRY

My nephew and I enjoyed our second annual summer road trip to Lees Ferry and a day on the Colorado with Mick Lovett, owner and operator of Marble Canyon Outfitters. 

As was the case last year, we were talking about next year's trip by mid-morning. We had also stopped counting the fish we'd caught as we were well into the double digits. Follow this hyperlink to Mick's blog and photos of three vibrant rainbows my nephew caught. 

I also had the opportunity to present Mick with a contributor's copy of Spillway No. 20 in which my poem, "Marble Canyon," appears. The poem is dedicated to the memory of his father, Rocky, and the place both he and Mick love so much. 

FULL MOON. SUNRISE. LEES FERRY.

HAPPY CAMPER

WILD BROWN

BISHOP CREEK

Wake up. It's time to fish.

JOSHUA TREE

A TAI CHI STORY

Most mornings, mornings when the steelhead aren't running in the local river, I practice a simple tai chi set in a local park. 

Last Wednesday I arrived much later than usual. I'd been celebrating the culmination of my Poem On! arts residency at ArtSpace Gallery in Placerville the night before. 

At 9:00 am the park was full of kindergarteners out on some kind of foray with their teachers. I practiced as far away from them as possible but knew I'd draw attention. 

Pretty soon a group of boys was sneaking towards me, darting from tree to tree. I heard one of them whisper, That man's dancing. I did my best to stay focused during the set and keep a straight face. 

I noticed one boy pick up some berries. Clearly, he was deciding whether or not to throw them at me.  

Quietly, I said, Don't do that. 

The other boys all whispered, He said, don't do that. 

One of the boys sat down and started drawing. I'm going to draw the dancing man, he told his friends. 

When I finished the set the boys gathered around me. I turned and started walking toward their teacher and the boys followed me, single file, like the goslings one can see along the American River right now, trying out their legs and wings. I ambled in a snake-like way and when I stopped suddenly the boys piled up against me and started laughing. 

I asked them if they knew what I was doing. 

Dancing? 

Sort of. Have you heard of tai chi? 

Karate! one boy yelled. Then all the boys started punching and kicking the air. 

All except the boy who'd made the drawing. I asked him if I could see the drawing he'd made. 

This is you, he said. He'd drawn a tree with a solid trunk and limber, flowing branches. 

You've drawn a metaphor, I said. Does anyone know what a metaphor is? 

The boys shook their heads no. 

It's when you draw something that means something else. In this case, your friend drew a tree to represent me. Very intelligent. Sophisticated. 

The boys looked at me blankly.

EL DORADO COUNTY'S STUDENTS ARE WRITING EN PLEIN AIR DURING NATIONAL POETRY MONTH

April rains did not dampen Union Mine High School's creative writing students' enthusiasm for writing en plein air on the Cronan Ranch Preserve. In the photograph, above, young writers describe the sounds and smells of the South Fork of the American River as it runs and eddies through land held in trust by the American River Conservancy.

Creative writing and environmental literature teacher Rich Kientz conceived this arts-integration project in which the process of writing poetry is used to explore the environmental concepts of watershed, and to help the students gain a greater sense of place. Rich garnered support for this residency from the American River Conservancy's Innovations in Environmental Education Fund and the El Dorado Arts Council.

On a personal level, this project provides me with an exciting opportunity. It allows me to integrate my own interests, education, and professional experience in the arts and environmental science.

Accompanying us on our poetry hike was the Conservancy's Environmental Education Specialist Lindsay Raber. She described not only the physical features of the landscape we were viewing but also the history of the place, including the peoples who lived here and how they interacted with the land, and the Conservancy's restoration efforts.

The following day it was Gold Trail Elementary's sixth graders who were writing outdoors, under the umbrella of an ancient oak on the Wakamatsu Colony Site.

This tea and silk colony was established on the Gold Hill Ranch by Japanese immigrants in 1869 and is immediately adjacent to the Gold Trail campus. The colony site was recently placed on the National Register of Historical Places at the level of "National Significance."

Borrowing a phrase from renowned poet Pablo Neruda, this was a day for the students to be "poets of the world," increasing and honing their sensory perception skills through direct observation of nature.

This arts residency is a collaboration between sixth-grade teacher Bill Beveridge, artist Andie Thrams and myself. It is supported by the El Dorado Arts Council and is part of the California Poets in the Schools' Poem On program.

I am both thrilled and honored to be the visiting poet for both of these residencies.

Under the leadership of the El Dorado Arts Council's Deb Jensen and Moira Magneson, the art of poetry is thriving in the foothills during National Poetry Month. Visit their website for a full listing of POEMPALOOZA Events. 

All of these exciting poetry activities come on the heels of another exceptional season of Poetry Out Loud: National Recitation Contest.

El Dorado County's county-level winner, Connor Ricketts, recited his way to a First Runner Up finish in California's statewide contest. Quite an achievement. 

HAVASU FALLS

THE SUTTER BUTTES

Viewed from the Gray Lodge Wildlife Area. 

DRIFT

SUNRISE

BIRTHDAY FISH

My friend and fellow fisher-poet Danyen Powell was kind enough to join me, before the crack of dawn, in chasing winter-run steelhead on our local waters to celebrate my birthday. He was rewarded with a spectacular fish.

WOMEN

There are a record number of women in the new Congress and I found it a pleasing coincidence that the Winter 2013 issue of Trout Unlimited's Trout Magazine features what may be a record number of women writers: Erin Block, Susie Warner Leeson, Nelli Williams, and Samantha Carmichael.

According to Chris Wood, speaking in his From the President page, "Half the featured authors are women. That wasn't planned. It simply reflects reality."

One of those featured authors I'd like to direct your attention to is Erin Block. Her bio describes her as "a librarian by day, writer by night, and avid fly angler on her days off." When you get a chance, check out her blog and enjoy a new voice in the long literary conversation between anglers; a woman's voice. 

There, you'll also find a link to Whitefish Press and new her book, The View From Coal Creek: Reflections on Fly Rods, Canyons and Bamboo. 

I'm going to order a copy to share with my niece, the young woman in the photo above, hips-deep in the American at sunrise on Thanksgiving morning; smiling. 

A POEM IS A RORSCHACH TEST

"Never explain," Basil Bunting told his students, "the reader is as smart as you are."

This summer, Ted Kooser was kind enough to feature my poem, "The Silver Fish," in his column American Life in Poetry. 

None of my poems have enjoyed so much exposure. Which also means, none of my poems have received so much criticism.

Here's the poem.

THE SILVER FISH

I killed a great silver fish.

cut him open with a long

thin knife. The river carried

his heart away. I took his

dead eyes home. His red flesh

sang to me over the fire I built

in my backyard. His taste

was the lost memory of my

wildness. Behind amber clouds

of cedar smoke, Orion

drew his bow. A black moon rose

from the night's dark waters,

a sliver of its bright face

reflecting back into the universe. 

Being someone accustomed to toiling in obscurity, I was both grateful and perplexed by the responses my poem received. 

There is one exchange, in particular, I want to share, from Google Answers. I came across it by doing a Google search on "The Silver Fish."

I hope these comments bring you a smile, too. 

Here's the link:

KYLIE posted this: "I cannot understand 'The Silver Fish' by Shawn Pittard." 

I must say from the 5th stanza onward. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/244034

In response to KYLIE'S posting, PATRICK explicates the poem's meaning this way.

To me, one of the themes of the poem is the relation of living thing (the titular silver fish) to the four classical elements (water, earth, fire, air), and its eventual transcendence. The fish lives in the water and is taken from it, is killed by a metal from the earth, is burned on a fire, and rises into the air in the smoke. Compare the "silver fish" to the "sliver" of the moon reflecting back into the universe: 

A black moon rose
from the night’s dark waters,

a sliver of its bright face
reflecting back into the universe.

It makes sense, in this interpretation, that the poet invokes the Greek myth Orion, for the classical elements were a foundation of Greek science.

...Behind amber clouds / of cedar smoke, Orion / drew his bow...

So, what do the Greeks say about amber? Amber was the tears of the Heliades, the "children of the sun" - the daughters of Helios (the sun) and an Oceanid called Clymene (also called Merope, which means "with face-turned" - reference again the moon's "face reflecting"). One myth has it that the hunter Orion courted Merope, and was her lover, at some point.

When the Heliades' "brother Phaethon was struck from the chariot of the sun by Zeus, they gathered around his smoky grave on the banks of the River Eridanos and in their unrelenting grief were transformed into poplar-trees and their tears into golden amber." (see Heliades.html)

So, the poem is actually a multi-layered reverse allegory of the metamorphosis of the Heliades (they came from the fire and air (the sun in the sky), and metamorphosed into earth (trees) at the water (the River Eridanos), whereas the fish came from the water and earth, and metamorphosed into fire and air). Neat!

On the other hand, SYNOPSIS sees it like this:

Shawn Pittard has been fishing. He takes the fish home and cooks it in his back yard, and daydreams about being a famous ancient hunter (instead of an old guy in spectacles who makes his living teaching Creative Writing).

The amber smoke rising from the campfire (which Shawn has build in his backyard) reminds Shawn of all the savage hunters in the old days who used to cook fish they caught themselves on their campfires (out in the forest, surrounded by wild animals). As he daydreams about what a mighty hunter he is (with his $500 fishing-pole and his SUV) he looks up at the sky where he can see the constellation Orion. (In Greek mythology Orion was a mighty hunter who was turned into a constellation by the gods when he was stung to death by a scorpion).

A lot of contemporary US poetry is old fat guys (and old fat girls) daydreaming about how much cooler it would have been to be real people back in heroic times.

It's kind of sad - but then, most poetry is.

CHASING STEELHEAD: A THANKSGIVING TRADITION

My niece was game for a 5:30 a.m. start on Thanksgiving Day, eager to chase the wild steelhead I've led her to believe are the Holy Grail of fly fishing. Like her brother, she is a delightful companion, easy-going and good-natured, and not afraid of a little cold water.

We eased into the river, marveling at the quiet, the egrets, and the sunlight sparkling in the morning fog. We made our way over and around the river bottom's Dali-esque clayheads, mossy rocks, and the debris common to our urban river, those ubiquitous chunks of concrete and rebar, golf balls and metal cans.

Once in casting range of our target run, we settled into the rhythm that makes swinging such a satisfying method of fly fishing. Taking turns with the spey rod, we took a morning walk down the middle of the river.

I found myself hoping we'd begun a Thanksgiving tradition.

This morning, there was an e-mail waiting in my in-box from Trout Unlimited. As is so often the case, it contained the right words to describe yesterday's experience. John Muir's words.

"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where Nature may heal and cheer and give strength to body and soul alike."

We were home by mid-morning, frozen toes and all, and joined in the rhythm of the kitchen and the oven, the cutting board and the grill; greeted the aunties and the uncles and the grandparents bearing food and wine and good will. Tradition.

SAVAGE BEAUTY

AUTUMN RETURNS TO THE AMERICAN