The origin of my writing desire is obscure. There was no childhood epiphany, no early need to express myself through the written word, no family influence to credit or blame. The writing bug didn’t so much bite as burrow, so that by the time I finished graduate school it had tunneled into my mind.
How exactly has it come to pass that Memphis, more than any of the places I have lived, speaks to me the loudest? Why exactly has Memphis gotten in my blood?
It’s impossible for humans to know the end from the beginning, whether writing a poem or attending a solemn ceremony.
Fifty years ago, Richard Nixon concluded his farewell speech with advice he probably wished he’d heeded. “Always remember,” he said, putting away his prepared remarks and looking out at the supporters whose trust he had betrayed, “others may hate you, but those who hate you don’t win unless you hate them, and then you destroy yourself.”
For You Are Here: Poetry in the Natural World, U.S. Poet Laureate Ada Limón commissioned 50 American poets to reflect on their unique place in the world, wherever they are and however they see it. Sara Beth West reflects on her journey with the collection.
“What secret Morse is whispered root to stalk to root? What tremorous mystery is alive underground, even when leaves above brown and wither and branches snap at the touch? We forget how intricately we are all connected, even to our yards’ wind-tossed beings that explode pink in April and bronze in October.” Poet, playwright, and essayist Linda Parsons will appear at Addison’s Books in Knoxville on September 7.
