Tuesday, November 27, 2018

The current issue of Canarya literary journal of the environmental crisis, contains two of my poems. Here's one:


Whales at Night
by Marybeth Holleman
they come
after the day’s
fishing fleet
has gone to anchor
awaken us
with a sigh
that sounds human
but is whale-breath
the long exhale
after a deep dive
sprays dappling
concentric rings
left by their arcs
into air
on an otherwise
silent and glassy
sea




Tuesday, August 21, 2018

                      Red-throated loon pair with chick on a small lake near Nome, Alaska.


My essay, "Other Nations," is included in the new anthology WRITING FOR ANIMALS. Below is a Q&A between me and the book editor, Midge Raymond, first published on the Ashland Creek blog.



Midge: In what ways has your writing changed as your knowledge and awareness of animals has evolved?
Marybeth: It’s become more challenging, and more interesting. The more I learn and experience the more-than-human world, the more I see the need, as a writer, to be a conduit for them — for my writing to speak for them, in some way. This became very clear to me following the 1989 Exxon Valdez oil spill in Prince William Sound. This was a terrible industrial disaster that took thousands of wild lives, threatened generations more, and permanently degraded a huge swath of coastal wilderness. I witnessed the way humanity considered this disaster as compared to a disaster in which it was human lives that were lost. I realized then that the best I could do was try to give voice to these nonhuman lives, as best I can and in full awareness of the filters I carry as a human.
It’s very challenging, for they’re not like us, and yet, in ways, they are…how to write that? Not by being overly anthropomorphic, which is a disservice to other animals’ true selves, but also not by being anthropocentric, which is also a disservice and a lie. They are not, regardless of the unfortunate legacy of Descartian thinking, mere machines. And it’s fascinating, as a writer, to lean in on that, to step beyond the convenience of either/or thinking, to question pat answers, and to really witness the truths of their lives. In early June on the Kenai River, my husband and I watched salmon jump. Why, I asked my biologist husband, do salmon jump out of the water? He starting to recite theories – to loosen the eggs, to rid of parasites…Well, we don’t really know. And I love that; I love that we don’t always have some clear and constant explanation for what another being is doing. The salmon jumping: What if it’s just for fun, or just for the rush? What if there’s no reason at all, except joy?

Midge: What is the most important thing you feel writers should keep in mind as they write about animals?
Marybeth: Balance. Standing in the middle. Embracing both/and rather than seeing things as either/or. We wield great power when we write about nonhuman lives; it’s easy for stories about animals to be dismissed as overly romantic or anthropomorphic or complete fantasy. If we want our stories to reach as many people as possible, we must be prepared to straddle beauty and terror, loss and life, differences and similarities. We have to balance our own humility and authority.
Humility. We must remember that our human knowledge will always be limited, regardless of how deeply we try to understand other lives. They are, as Henry Beston wrote, “not brethren, not underlings: they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth.” For example, just because I’ve published a book about wolves doesn’t mean I know wolves. Even if I spent years living with wolves, even then, I would not claim to know what it’s like to be a wolf. In fact, what I’ve found to be true in writing about the more-than-human world is that the more I learn, the more I see how little I know. How little all humans know.
Authority. We must root our writing in unmediated experience. Spend time with the animals we’re writing about; write about what we actually see, hear, smell, feel. Do tons of research, read all the scientific information we can, but be sure to root our words in direct, actual experience. Then embrace the authority of our own experience and knowledge. In The Heart of the Sound, I described watching a mountain goat swim from Culross Island to the mainland. Scientists later told me there were no goats on Culross Island, and goats do not swim in saltwater. But I know what I saw. And I know, from that, that as much as science can teach us about the world, it is always —always — an incomplete picture.

Midge: Which authors/books do you feel do a good job of realistically and compassionately portraying the lives of animals?
Marybeth: Ursula LeGuin’s short story “The Author of the Acacia Seeds.” Yes, it’s science fiction, and fantastical, but it makes you think about language among nonhumans in a different light. It translates to reality. Then there’s Gretchen Primack’s poetry collection Kind, and Lisa Couturier’s amazing essay collection The Hopes of Snakes and lovely poetry collection Animals/Bodies. Nancy Lord has a great short story on a wolf-dog called “Recall of the Wild.” And there’s Annie Dillard’s “Living Like Weasels,” which is a brilliant description of one of those brief moments of unmediated connection with the nonhuman world.

Midge: You rerouted your career from environmental policy work to creative writing. In what ways do you feel this is more effective and/or rewarding?
Marybeth: Oh, so much more rewarding! Effective in a longer-lasting way. Policy can be undone quickly, as we’re seeing right now with many regulations that took decades to put in place. We’d like to think policy is done with a rational, reasoned, careful approach, but it’s just not. When I began work in environmental policy, I learned fast that the problem wasn’t, as I’d naively assumed as a college student, some lack of information transmittal, some failure of communication between scientists and politicians. No, it’s a fundamental difference in intention and values and process. The political realm, in its present form, is fraught with poor decisions with no basis in scientific knowledge or rational thinking…much less the kind of both/and openness that I spoke of above. For example, here in Alaska, the state put in place a no-kill buffer for wolf protection along the boundary of Denali National Park…and then took it away simply out of spite over an unrelated political spat.
Writing, on the other hand, lasts. We still read stories — unabridged, unmediated — that are hundreds of years old. Writing can reach people on a deeper level, a subtle plane, one they may not even consciously recognize. Story bypasses the analytical mind and aims straight for memory and imagination. Story has power; it makes people more empathetic, more able to enter the world of the Other. It is transcendent in its potential to effect change.
The downside is that, with policy work, you can see the effects of your work — whether success or failure — very clearly and sometimes quickly. When they put the wildlife buffer in place, wolves stopped being killed, and more wolves were seen in the park. With writing, you can’t, for the most part, see the effects. There are exceptions, of course: consider Silent Spring. But mostly we writers, and really, all artists, rarely witness any far-reaching effects from our work. Every now and then I’ll get a note from some reader that confirms what I’ve hoped — that my work is reaching people, is having an effect on their view of the world. But mostly I just have to have faith in what I cannot, and likely will never, see—in the ripple effect of my words as they find their way out into the world.

Cover Writing for Animals

Monday, June 18, 2018



In honor of the season, here's a reprint of my essay recently published in River Teeth's Beautiful Things...


The Petals of Summer

They lie like bits of tissue on the bathroom floor rug, caught in the fibers; I bend to pick them up and see the yellow and pink threadworn veins, dry and broken and translucent pieces of geranium and nasturtium. Flower petal parts carried in on the soles of feet, bits I thank for summer’s beauty and drop into the trash. Outside, the deck on which they grew is bare and still, frozen and dusted with the season’s first thin layer of snow. Dead plants are piled on the compost, their pots stacked, garden chairs put away in the shed. White that gilds every twig and fallen leaf brightens the sky, and my room, all night a light sifting in the windows, keeping me awake, thin refraction of summer’s endless night. Seasons change but each holds in it the others, each reflects all the rest, same face turned another angle, same light falling, same colors pouring down from the sky to turn petals pink or yellow, petals I take from the trash and sow like winged seeds on the ground covered with white, covered with all the colors at once.


Click here to read the original post on Beautiful Things. 

Tuesday, January 2, 2018








That I am part of the earth my feet know perfectly, and my blood is part of the sea. There is 

not any part of me that is alone and absolute except my mind, and we shall find that the

mind has no existence by itself, it is only the glitter of the sun on the surfaces of the water.                                                                                                      
                                                                                                         ~D. H. Lawrence




Tuesday, November 21, 2017

How to be Fearless (and even Happy) in Frightening Times



For decades I’ve worked to shift the world toward peace and environmental harmony. It’s uphill work, and this past year I’ve seen the biggest setbacks yet. So, I created what I needed: a list of strategies for overcoming compassion-resistance fatigue.

It's just been published in Kosmos; click on this title to read the full list: How to be Fearless (and even Happy) in Frightening Times.

 

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

Banff Moments: Guest Post by Amar Athwal

A few years ago, a wildlife activist in Alberta forwarded an email called "Moment" from a photographer in Banff, British Columbia. I got on his email list and started getting, every so often, another "Moment" in my inbox: one of his gorgeous photos accompanied by a brief description. The photographer, Amar Athwal, is this entry's guest blogger. ~ Marybeth
 
 
Photography is my way of engaging with nature, my way of finding balance in life, my way of having a creative outlet and most important my way of sharing how amazing nature is. Everything in nature is my photography subject, from flora, fauna, landscapes, night sky, and more. Here are four examples:
 

 Blackpoll Warbler



We experienced a great spring bird migration this year; one of the reasons for that was seeing this male Blackpoll Warbler. A rare sight in our neck of woods. Few years back a study was conducted with these warblers, a half gram tracker was placed on the back of these 12 gram birds before they made their southern migration journey. Out of the 37 birds that were tracked, five were recovered the following year. From the information the trackers were able to gather, those five birds averaged 2,540 kilometers non-stop flight in roughly 62 hours, over the Atlantic Ocean. Just amazing.
 
 
Wood Lily

 
 
During the summer the colours are everywhere in the mountains and the western wood lilies play a big role in that. But only for about a month their beauty is on display, which is well worth stopping for (and for me well worth fighting the mosquitoes to get few good pictures). A quick picture is not good enough, I will walk around until I find the right flower with the right background. And if you don’t come back with dirt on your knees and elbows, then you did not try hard enough to get the best picture possible.
 
 
 
Grizzly
 


This large male grizzly was  busy during the mating season. At the start of the season he was following a female in the Lake Louise area. Then few weeks later he decided to cover about 60 kms over few days to see another female. Then he was back near Lake Louise with another different female. And only he knows what he was up to during the times he has not been spotted between those three encounters. He has been busy, covering the distance and keeping ahead of the larger males to mate with a willing female. And he still has few weeks to go before the mating season is over. Just a small window into the life of a male grizzly bear.
 
 
 
Rufous Hummingbird
 

I came across an active Rufous Hummingbird nest during the latter part of July, normally when the hummingbirds are done with nesting and enjoying the summer until they make their way to Mexico for the summer. During the summer the Rufous Hummingbirds can be found as far north as Alaska. No other hummingbird breeds farther north then the rufous. One way travel from their winter home Mexico to Alaska is about 6400 kilometres, not bad work for a very small but feisty 8 cm long bird. 
 
 
Peyto Lake
 
 
For raw beauty, it's hard to beat Peyto Lake area. After watching a beautiful sunset at Peyto lake, I decided to sit down among the rocks and watch the sky get darker and the stars make an appearance. Only sounds I could hear as the brighter stars were making their appearance, was of the vehicles when they would go over the rumble strips on the road in the distance, the water making its way down from Peyto Glacier and, more than likely, a pika moving among the rocks near me in the dark. I was still able to see some of the warm colours from the setting sun in the distance, in the clouds and in the fire smoke from the west. In the sky I could also see a glow, just a hint of  northern lights. Once my camera had taken the pictures I had planned, I packed up and made my way to the car. Half way there, a small owl flew front of me. Nice way to end the trip.
 
 
 
 
To see more of Amar's photos -
Website: banffmoments.com.
Facebook: Banff Moments.
Instagram: naturebyamar
 
 
 

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Adrienne Rich: My heart is moved by all I cannot save



 
 
 
                   My heart is moved by all I cannot save:
                   so much has been destroyed

                   I have to cast my lot with those
                   who age after age, perversely,

                   with no extraordinary power,
                   reconstitute the world.
 
                                                  ~ Adrienne Rich, Dreams of a Common Language