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PLETHODON CINEREUS | TOVLI SIMIRYAN
PLETHODON CINEREUS | TOVLI SIMIRYAN
The Eastern Red-backed Salamander
Another note, you hiking alone,
in/out of cyber-space near some campsite in West Virginia,
moving slowly along a nameless creek, eventually closing in on Ohio.
So I print…so I have paper thoughts now,
folded for weeks inside my LL Bean kangaroo pocket,
a soft hunk of fluff; not the brittle leaves you crush as
fall arrives beneath your boots, dust filling cavities—
something to guess at…or, better still, declare humbling.
Just send me a picture—the Red-backed Salamander, for example,
before it forms a crust against leaves and gravel.
I hear its red striped skin is forever—a tattoo of belonging,
social monogamy and defended homelands.
Sounds like something you’re looking for, doesn’t it?
Anyway, I’ve stopped guessing, or better still everything I own
is an envelope licked, sealed shut and tasted—the hollow places filled
with living beings, or some plastic bottle tossed aside, now part of
a tattooed reptile’s habitat. Everything has its little place whether discarded,
remembered or born…
that’s it, birth; I am born deeper and deeper
and looking up, there are so many eyes, so many suns—
every piece the darkened forest transcending an upheaval of principle,
the little creek with no name and, then your footprints floating against the water;
spinning in the air. There you are—drowning in the earth;
hanging on precariously of course—see how much we’ve loved you?
All images come from iNaturalist. Authors are referred to data from the 2016 BioBlitz at Cuyahoga Valley National Park. Photo 37676276, (c) jance, some rights reserved (CC BY-NC).
Prompt: Observation and Direct Address
Prompt: Observation and Direct Address
"The Eastern Red-backed Salamander," by Tovli Simiryan, engages with the act of writing, and observation's influence on our writing. Simiryan considers ownership—what is and isn't named, occupied, and defended—and the ways we treat what we believe we own. This poem also plays with size and perspective in the difference of space the speaker occupies vs. the space the salamander occupies, resulting in an interrogation about the relationship between person and creature.
Questions:
This poem directly engages with the act of writing. How can writing about/toward something affect our relationship with it?
What does the speaker observe about the salamander's habitat? How does the poet use specific images and sensory details to craft these observations?
How does the speaker occupy space? What about the salamander?
How can we leave space for the creatures who become the subjects of our poems?
Prompt:
Write a poem that directly addresses the subject. Use the second-person "you." Describe the subject, ask them questions. You might pull in research about the subject, including its hibernation or migration practices, its appearance, its contribution to the ecosystem, etc. Allow space for closeness and intimacy. Use specific details and images to craft your poem.
Write a poem about the subject's habitat. Consider how the habitat looks now vs. how it might have looked before humans moved in. How does the subject navigate their habitat? What do they look like/sound like in their navigation? Focus on sensory details and specific imagery to craft your poem.
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