"Autobiographies of great nations are written in three manuscripts – a book of deeds, a book of words, and a book of art. Of the three, I would choose the latter as truest testimony." - Sir Kenneth Smith, Great Civilisations

"I must write each day without fail, not so much for the success of the work, as in order not to get out of my routine." - Leo Tolstoy

I have never believed that one should wait until one is inspired because I think the pleasures of not writing are so great that if you ever start indulging them you will never write again. - John Updike

"The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it." - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations." - Lawrence Ferlinghetti


[Note - If any article requires updating or correction please notate this in the comment section. Thank you. - res]


Friday, August 21, 2020

Wendell Berry - That Distant Land: Biography & Books In Date Order



Author, Environmentalist Wendell Berry | Photo by Dan Carraco



"Port William had little written history. Its history was its living memory of itself,
which passed over the years like a moving beam of light. It had a beginning
that  it had forgotten, and would have an end that it did not yet know. It 
seemed to have been there forever." - Jayber Crow



Wendell Berry



Poet, novelist, and environmentalist Wendell Berry lives in Port Royal, Kentucky near his birthplace, where he has maintained a farm for over 40 years. Mistrustful of technology, he holds deep reverence for the land and is a staunch defender of agrarian values. He is the author of over 50 books of poetry, fiction, and essays. His poetry celebrates the holiness of life and everyday miracles often taken for granted. In 2016, Berry was awarded the Ivan Sandrof Lifetime Achievement Award by the National Books Critics Circle. In 2010, Barack Obama awarded him with the National Humanities Medal. Berry’s other honors include the T.S. Eliot Prize, the Aiken Taylor Award for poetry, the John Hay Award of the Orion Society, and the Richard C. Holbrooke Distinguished Achievement Award of the Dayton Literary Peace Prize. Berry’s poetry collections include This Day: Collected & New Sabbath Poems (2014), Given (2005), A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997Entries: Poems (1994), Traveling at Home (1989), The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry (1988), Collected Poems 1957-1982 (1985), Clearing (1977), There Is Singing Around Me (1976), and The Broken Ground (1964).

Critics and scholars have acknowledged Wendell Berry as a master of many literary genres, but whether he is writing poetry, fiction, or essays, his message is essentially the same: humans must learn to live in harmony with the natural rhythms of the earth or perish. His book The Unsettling of America: Culture and Agriculture (1977), which analyzes the many failures of modern, mechanized life, is one of the key texts of the environmental movement. Berry has criticized environmentalists as well as those involved with big businesses and land development. In his opinion, many environmentalists place too much emphasis on wild lands without acknowledging the importance of agriculture to our society. Berry strongly believes that small-scale farming is essential to healthy local economies, and that strong local economies are essential to the survival of the species and the wellbeing of the planet. In an interview with New Perspectives Quarterly editor Marilyn Berlin Snell, Berry explained: “Today, local economies are being destroyed by the ‘pluralistic,’ displaced, global economy, which has no respect for what works in a locality. The global economy is built on the principle that one place can be exploited, even destroyed, for the sake of another place.”








Berry further believes that traditional values, such as marital fidelity and strong community ties, are essential for the survival of humankind. In his view, the disintegration of communities can be traced to the rise of agribusiness: large-scale farming under the control of giant corporations. Besides relying on chemical pesticides and fertilizers, promoting soil erosion, and causing depletion of ancient aquifers, agribusiness has driven countless small farms out of existence and destroyed local communities in the process. In a New Perspectives Quarterly interview Berry commented that such large-scale agriculture is morally as well as environmentally unacceptable: “We must support what supports local life, which means community, family, household life—the moral capital our larger institutions have to come to rest upon. If the larger institutions undermine the local life, they destroy that moral capital just exactly as the industrial economy has destroyed the natural capital of localities—soil fertility and so on. Essential wisdom accumulates in the community much as fertility builds in the soil.”

Berry’s themes are reflected in his life. As a young man, he spent time in California, Europe, and New York City. Eventually, however, he returned to the Kentucky land that had been settled by his forebears in the early 19th century. He taught for many years at the University of Kentucky, but eventually resigned in favor of full-time farming. He uses horses to work his land and employs organic methods of fertilization and pest control; he also worked as a contributing editor to New Farm Magazine and Organic Gardening and Farming, which have published his poetry as well as his agricultural treatises.


It was as a poet that Berry first gained literary recognition. In volumes such as The Country of Marriage (1973), Farming: A Handbook (1970), Openings: Poems (1968), and The Broken Ground (1964), he wrote of the countryside, the turning of the seasons, the routines of the farm, the life of the family, and the spiritual aspects of the natural world. Reviewing Collected Poems, 1957-1982New York Times Book Review contributor David Ray called Berry’s style “resonant” and “authentic,” and claimed that the poet “can be said to have returned American poetry to a Wordsworthian clarity of purpose. ... There are times when we might think he is returning us to the simplicities of John Clare or the crustiness of Robert Frost. ... But, as with every major poet, passages in which style threatens to become a voice of its own suddenly give way, like the sound of chopping in a murmurous forest, to lines of power and memorable resonance. Many of Mr. Berry’s short poems are as fine as any written in our time.”

It is perhaps Berry’s essays that have brought him the greatest broad readership. In one of his most popular early collections, The Unsettling of America: Culture and Agriculture, he argues that agriculture is the foundation of America’s greater culture. He makes a strong case against the U.S. government’s agricultural policy, which promotes practices leading to overproduction, pollution, and soil erosion. Dictionary of Literary Biography contributor Leon V. Driskell termed The Unsettling of America “an apocalyptic book that places in bold relief the ecological and environmental problems of the American nation.”

Another essay collection, Recollected Essays, 1965-1980, has been compared by several critics to Henry David Thoreau's Walden. Charles Hudson, writing in the Georgia Review, noted that, “like Thoreau, one of Berry’s fundamental concerns is working out a basis for living a principled life. And like Thoreau, in his quest for principles Berry has chosen to simplify his life, and much of what he writes about is what has attended this simplification, as well as a criticism of modern society from the standpoint of this simplicity.”

In Sex, Economy, Freedom, and Community: Eight Essays (1993), Berry continues to berate those who carelessly exploit the natural environment and damage the underlying moral fabric of communities. David Rains Wallace observed in the San Francisco Review of Books, “There’s no living essayist better than Wendell Berry. His prose is exemplary of the craftsmanship he advocates. It’s like master cabinetry or Shaker furniture, drawing elegance from precision and grace from simplicity.” Wallace allowed that at times, “Berry may overestimate agriculture’s ability to assure order and stability,” yet he maintained that the author’s “attempts to integrate ecological and agricultural thinking remain of the first importance.”

Life Is a Miracle: An Essay against Modern Superstition (2000) addresses the assumption, held by many, that science will provide solutions to all the world’s problems and mysteries. Berry conceived this book as a rebuttal to prominent Harvard University biologist Edward O. Wilson’s Consilience, which put forth as a thesis the overarching power of science. Wilson Quarterly contributor Gregg Easterbrook called Berry’s book “a nuanced and thought-provoking critique,” while Washington Monthly reviewer Bill McKibben observed that “Berry offers a rich variety of responses, never intimidated by the scientific prowess of his rival.” Jonathan Z. Larsen suggested in the Amicus Journal, though, that perhaps “Wilson has [been] made too convenient a whipping boy,” and noted that Wilson and Berry have taken some similar stands, with both voicing great concern about the environment. Larsen also maintained that Berry needs to provide more detailed prescriptions for achieving his ideal society, one filled with reverence for one’s land and community. Larsen had praise for the book as well, especially for Berry’s writing style, which works at “winning the reader over almost as much through poetry as through logic.”

Berry’s Citizenship Papers (2003) characteristically focuses on agrarian concerns, but also turns its attention to the post-9/11 world in several of its 19 essays. “A Citizen’s Response to the New National Security Strategy” focuses on the U.S. government’s response to terrorist threats via the Patriotism Act; originally published in the New York Times, the four-part statement “probes the definitions of terrorism and security; the role of a government in combating evil; national security based on charity, civility, independence, true patriotism, and rule of law; and the failure of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam to reject war as a vehicle to peace,” explained Sojourners contributor Rose Marie Berger. In Booklist Ray Olson dubbed the author “one of English’s finest stylists, as perspicuous as T.H. Huxley at his best and as perspicacious as John Ruskin at his.” While Olson maintained that Berry adopts an approach to America’s ills “embracing life and community,” a Kirkus contributor wrote that in the “clangor of worries” echoing in Citizenship Papers Berry presents readers with “the antidotes of civility, responsibility, curiosity, skill, kindness, and an awareness of the homeplace.”

Farming and community are central to Berry’s fiction as well as his poetry and essays. Most of his novels and short stories are set in the fictional Kentucky town of Port William. Like his real-life home town, Port Royal, Port William is a long-established farming community situated near the confluence of the Ohio and Kentucky Rivers. In books such as Jayber Crow: The Life Story of Jayber Crow, Barber, of the Port William Membership (2000), The Wild Birds: Six Stories of the Port William Membership (1986), Nathan Coulter: A Novel (1985), and A Place on Earth: A Novel (1983), Berry presents the lives of seven generations of farm families. Although Fidelity: Five Stories (1992) examines Port William in the early 1990s, most of Berry’s narratives about the community take place in the first half of the 20th century; as Dictionary of Literary Biography contributor Gary Tolliver explained, “This represents the final days of America’s traditional farm communities just prior to the historically critical period when they began to break apart under the influence of technological and economic forces at the end of World War II.” Connecting all the stories is the theme of stewardship of the land, which Tolliver said is “often symbolized as interlocking marriages between a man and his family, his community, and the land.” What emerges, Los Angeles Times Book Review contributor Noel Perrin commented, “is a wounded but still powerful culture.”


Jayber Crow, dealing in part with the title character’s unrequited love for a married woman, also “strives for something greater, becoming nothing less than a sad and sweeping elegy for the idea of community, a horrifying signal of what we lost in the 20th century in the name of economic and social progress,” related Dean Bakopoulos in the ProgressiveWorld and I reviewer Donald Secreast observed that this novel’s “basic building block is the recurring metaphor of place as character, a concern that also dominates Berry’s nonfiction and poetry. ... The relationship between landscape and personality is the core concern of Berry’s campaign to make people more responsible, more accountable for the effects their lifestyles have on local environments.” A flaw Secreast saw in Jayber Crow is the sketchy characterization of women and the lack of importance attached to their role in the community. While rural societies have traditionally been male-dominated, Secreast noted, Berry’s Port William seems to be less a reflection of rural life as it once existed than a portrayal of rural life as it should be, or should have been. “So if he’s not being nostalgic, why should he be bound by the actual dynamics of a real rural community?” Secreast wrote. “Why must Jayber Crow, despite his sensitivity, insist upon his marginalization from the womanhood of Port William?”

Amazon Link

(2000) “This is a book about Heaven,” says Jayber Crow, “but I must say too that . . . I have wondered sometimes if it would not finally turn out to be a book about Hell.” It is 1932 and he has returned to his native Port William to become the town's barber.
Orphaned at age ten, Jayber Crow’s acquaintance with loneliness and want have made him a patient observer of the human animal, in both its goodness and frailty.
He began his search as a "pre-ministerial student" at Pigeonville College. There, freedom met with new burdens and a young man needed more than a mirror to find himself. But the beginning of that finding was a short conversation with "Old Grit," his profound professor of New Testament Greek.
"You have been given questions to which you cannot be given answers. You will have to live them out―perhaps a little at a time."
"And how long is that going to take?"
"I don't know. As long as you live, perhaps."
"That could be a long time."
"I will tell you a further mystery," he said. "It may take longer."
Wendell Berry’s clear-sighted depiction of humanity’s gifts―love and loss, joy and despair―is seen though his intimate knowledge of the Port William Membership.

Amazon Link

(2004) Hannah Coulter is Wendell Berry’s seventh novel and his first to employ the voice of a woman character in its telling. Hannah, the now-elderly narrator, recounts the love she has for the land and for her community. She remembers each of her two husbands, and all places and community connections threatened by twentieth-century technologies. At risk is the whole culture of family farming, hope redeemed when her wayward and once lost grandson, Virgil, returns to his rural home place to work the farm.


Amazon Link

(1960) Nathan Coulter, Wendell Berry’s first book, was published in 1960 when he was twenty-seven. In his first novel, the author presents his readers with their first introduction to what would become Berry’s life’s work, chronicling through fiction a place where the inhabitants of Port William form what is more than community, but rather a “membership” in interrelatedness, a spiritual community, united by duty and bonds of affection for one another and for the land upon which they make their livelihood.
When young Nathan loses his grandfather, Berry guides readers through the process of Nathan's grief, endearing the reader to the simple humanity through which Nathan views the world. Echoing Berry's own strongly held beliefs, Nathan tells us that his grandfather's life "couldn't be divided from the days he'd spent at work in his fields." Berry has long been compared to Faulkner for his ability to erect entire communities in his fiction, and his heart and soul have always lived in Port William, Kentucky. In this eloquent novel about duty, community, and a sweeping love of the land, Berry gives readers a classic book that takes them to that storied place.

On the other hand, Hannah Coulter: A Novel (2004) centers fully on Port William life from a woman’s perspective. In the style of a memoir, Hannah muses on her life in a countryside that she never expected to change. Hannah’s first marriage in 1940 leaves her a widow of World War II and a single mother. Her subsequent marriage to farmer Nathan Coulter ensues, enriching her life with additional children, none of whom remain on the land to work the family farm. Will Nathan’s death mark the end of life as Hannah knew it and as she presumed it would remain? A Publishers Weekly contributor complimented Berry for his “delicate, shimmering prose” and recommended the novel as “an impassioned, literary vision of American rural life and values.” In similar fashion, a Kirkus Reviews writer called Hannah Coulter “a kind of elegy for the starkly beautiful country life that ... faded into history, victim of economic and social change.”

For a more general overview of life in Port William, readers can immerse themselves in That Distant Land: The Collected Stories of Wendell Berry. The stories, which include four not previously published, span a century in the life of the fictional farming community. The locale connects its diverse inhabitants—man, woman, farmer, teacher, lawyer, each struggling in his or her own way to maintain the simple lifestyle of times almost gone by. “Berry is an American treasure,” wrote Ann H. Fisher in Library Journal review of the collection. A contributor to Publishers Weekly observed that the author’s “feel for the inner lives of his quirky rural characters makes for many memorable portraits.”


Family Trees of Port William Families


"The town of Port William stands less than a mile from the river on an upland deeply grooved
by branching valleys and hollows. The human geography of the countryside around it is
inscribed by roads winding out along open ridges that give way at their edges to wooded
bluffs, and by roads winding through the valleys of the larger streams." - Andy Catlett



Port William Map


Berry’s writing style varies greatly from one book to the next. Nathan Coulter, for example, is an example of the highly stylized, formal, spare prose that dominated the late 1950s, while A Place on Earth was described by Tolliver as “long, brooding, episodic” and “more a document of consciousness than a conventional novel.” Several critics have praised Berry’s fiction, both for the quality of his prose and for the way he brings his concerns for farming and community to life in his narratives. As Gregory L. Morris stated in Prairie Schooner, “Berry places his emphasis upon the rightness of relationships—relationships that are elemental, inherent, inviolable. ... Berry’s stories are constructed of humor, of elegy, of prose that carries within it the cadences of the hymn. The narrative voice most successful in Berry’s novels ... is the voice of the elegist, praising and mourning a way of life and the people who have traced that way in their private and very significant histories.”

Considering Berry’s body of work, Charles Hudson pointed out the author’s versatility and commended him for his appreciation of the plain things in life. “In an age when many writers have committed themselves to their ‘specialty’—even though doing so can lead to commercialism, preciousness, self-indulgence, social irresponsibility, or even nihilism—Berry has refused to specialize,” Hudson wrote in the Georgia Review. “He is a novelist, a poet, an essayist, a naturalist, and a small farmer. He has embraced the commonplace and has ennobled it.”


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AMAZON'S WENDELL BERRY HOME PAGE


          



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Publication Order of Port William Books

Nathan Coulter(1960)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Wild Birds(1986)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Remembering(1988)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
A World Lost(1996)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Two More Stories of the Port William Membership(1997)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Jayber Crow(2000)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
That Distant Land(2002)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Hannah Coulter(2004)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Andy Catlett(2006)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
A Place in Time(2012)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle

Publication Order of Port William Membership Books

A Place on Earth(1967)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Memory of Old Jack(1974)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle

Publication Order of Standalone Novels

To Know the Dark(1989)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Sonata At Payne Hollow(2001)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Stand By Me(2019)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle

Publication Order of Collections

November Twenty Six Nineteen Hundred Sixty Three, A Poem (poems)(1963)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Broken Ground (poems)(1964)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Openings (poems)(1968)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Rise (poems)(1968)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Findings (poems)(1969)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Farming : A Handbook (poems)(1970)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Country of Marriage (poems)(1973)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Horses (poems)(1975)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Kentucky River (poems)(1975)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Sayings and Doings; And, an Eastward Look (poems)(1975)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
There Is Singing Around Me (poems)(1976)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Three Memorial Poems (poems)(1977)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Clearing(1977)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Gift of Gravity (poems)(1979)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Salad (poems)(1980)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Wheel (poems)(1980)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
A Part (poems)(1980)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Selected Poems (poems)(1985)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Wild Rose (poems)(1986)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
I Go from the Woods Into the Cleared Field (poems)(1987)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Landscape of Harmony (poems)(1987)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Sabbaths (poems)(1987)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Traveling At Home (poems)(1989)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Fidelity(1992)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Storm (poems)(1994)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Entries (poems)(1994)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Watch With Me(1994)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Farm (poems)(1995)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Three On Community (poems) (with Carole Koda and Gary Snyder)(1996)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
January, Nineteen Seventy-five (poems)(1998)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
A Timbered Choir (poems)(1998)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Pattern of a Man(2001)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Given (poems)(2005)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Window Poems (poems)(2007)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Mad Farmer (poems)(2008)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Leavings (poems)(2009)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Poetry of William Carlos Williams of Rutherford (poems)(2011)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
New Collected Poems (poems)(2012)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
This Day (poems)(2013)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Terrapin (poems)(2014)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
A Small Porch (poems)(2016)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle

Publication Order of Short Stories/Novellas

Whitefoot(2008)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Discovery of Kentucky(1991)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
How Ptolemy Proudfoot Lost a Bet(1992)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle

Publication Order of Non Fiction Books


The Long-legged House(1969)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Hidden Wound(1970)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Unforeseen Wilderness(1971)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
A Continuous Harmony(1973)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Agricultural Crisis(1977)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Unsettling of America(1977)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Standing By Words(1980)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Recollected Essays 1965 1980(1981)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Gift of Good Land(1981)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Meeting the Expectations of the Land (with Wes Jackson)(1985)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Preserving Wildness(1986)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Home Economics(1987)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Another Turn of the Crank(1988)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
What Are People For(1990)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Harlan Hubbard(1990)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Standing On Earth(1991)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Late Harvest (with Edward Abbey, Carolyn Chute, Annie Dillard, William Gass, Garrison Keillor, Bobbie Ann Mason and Wallace Stegner)(1992)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Sex, Economy, Freedom & Community(1993)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
A Place Not Forgotten(1999)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Life Is a Miracle(2000)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
In the Presence of Fear: Three Essays for a Changed World(2001)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Art of the Commonplace(2002)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Citizens Dissent: Security, Morality, and Leadership in an Age of Terror(2003)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Citizenship Papers(2004)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Tobacco Harvest(2004)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Blessed Are the Peacemakers(2005)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The Way of Ignorance(2005)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Conversations with Wendell Berry(2007)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Bringing It to the Table(2009)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Imagination in Place(2010)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
What Matters?(2010)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
It All Turns on Affection(2012)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Distant Neighbors (2014) (with Gary Snyder)(2014)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
Our Only World(2015)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle
The World-Ending Fire(2017)Hardcover  Paperback  Kindle


Why Wendell Berry is the Modern-Day Thoreau


Free radical: Wendell Berry in Henry County, Kentucky, in the 1970s

FARMER, ACTIVIST, ECONOMIST, SEER:
Why Wendell Berry is the Modern-Day Thoreau

by Andrew Marr
January 28, 2017


In the age of Donald Trump, we should all be
reading this radical American nature writer


Without topsoil, the thin layer between the Earth’s scores-of-miles-deep crust, and the atmosphere we breathe, we could not exist. The historian J R McNeill describes topsoil thus: 
“It consists of mineral particles, organic matter, gases and a swarm of tiny living things. It is a thin skin, rarely more than a hip deep, and usually much less. Soil takes centuries or millennia to form. Eventually it all ends up in the sea through erosion. In the interval between formation and erosion, it is basic to human survival.”
The subject of topsoil is only for cranks. A serious political and literary journal such as this one knows it’s the kind of thing that balding, warty old chaps in tweed jackets like to bore on about; a Duke of Cornwall kind of thing. But turn to Ali Smith’s new novel, Autumn – which I take to be about our human autumn and not simply the seasonal one – and you find this epigraph, taken from a Guardian article published last July: “At current rates of soil erosion, Britain has just 100 harvests left.”

~ ~ ~ ~
This is the essential starting point for the introduction of Wendell Berry to a British audience. A Kentucky tobacco farmer, environmental activist, novelist, poet, essayist and economist, he is unlike anybody else writing today. He annoys the left because he is a socially quite conservative Christian and he infuriates the right with his lifelong opposition to the economic and political system of modern America.
[Berry's] best work is contained in his frequent salvos of essays, which I have been collecting during trips to America for much of my adult life. I first came across his work in a bookshop in Devon, where I was struck by a slim volume with the brutal title What Are People For?. It’s impossible not to wonder about the answer, so I read on and slowly accumulated a small library of books with names such as Standing by WordsThe Long-Legged House and Another Turn of the Crank (Berry is drily aware of his reputation).
He writes at least as well as George Orwell and has an urgent message for modern industrial capitalism, which he considers to be a machine based on greed and short-termism that produces grotesque unfairness and waste – and will lead us, before long, to disasterIt is an apocalyptic message but conveyed with a gentle humour and defiant belief in the possibility of social reform that keep you turning the pages. Yet he can be a difficult sod, fiercely independent and, as the Americans would say, ornery. Back in the 1990s, I wrote to Berry asking him to allow me to edit a selection of his writing to be published for a British audience, preferably by Penguin. He said no. For one thing, he did not want to be published by any of the big houses – he had a strong loyalty to the small, independent San Francisco publisher North Point Press. And there was no question of him coming here to do interviews or publicity or anything like that: he won’t travel by aircraft.
The project died. And now, with Berry in his vigorous eighties, the writer and environmentalist Paul Kingsnorth has finally teamed up with a Penguin imprint to produce an excellent selection of his essays, The World-Ending Fire.
So here, from that book, is Berry on topsoil, first from an essay titled “The Work of Local Culture”. He has come across an old bucket hanging from a fence, and inside it there are leaves.
Rain and snow have fallen into it, and the fallen leaves have held the moisture and so have rotted. Nuts have fallen into it, or been carried into it by squirrels; mice and squirrels have eaten the meat of the nuts and left the shells; they and other animals have left their droppings; insects have flown into the bucket and died and decayed; birds have scratched it and left their droppings or perhaps a feather or two. This slow work of growth and death, gravity and decay, which is the chief work of the world, has by now produced in the bottom of the bucket several inches of black humus. I look into that bucket with fascination because I am a farmer of sorts and an artist of sorts, and I recognise there an artistry and a farming far superior to mine, or to that of any human.
Berry is an attentive, close-watching writer whose rhythms are slow, seasonal and patient. In an essay about his native land, he walks and meditates on his death – and yes, talks about topsoil as well, this time calling it “Christlike” in its beneficence and the penetrating energy that issues out of it:
“It increases by experience, by the passage of seasons over it, growth rising out of it and returning to it, not by ambition or aggressiveness. It is enriched by all things that die and enter into it. It keeps the past, not as history or as memory, but as richness, new possibility. Its fertility is always building up out of death into promise. Death is the bridge or the tunnel by which its past enters its future.”
As a farmer, he observes the terrifying speed at which soil across America – as across Europe and Asia – is being washed into the ocean and lost. The crucial thing about Berry is that he didn’t move. As a young man, he had the opportunity to relocate to New York or one of the other big cities and become an academic writer. That would have been the “sensible” thing to do, as moving away is the “sensible” thing for all country people to do. (Remember that the biggest migration in human history is going on now and it is the migration from rural parts of the planet to the cities.) Instead, he returned to north-eastern Kentucky, where his family had lived for generations, reading and writing and farming.
The conclusion of his life, as well as of his essays, is that we must return to cherish and look after the soil we depend on. The scale of the devastation all around us is such that his cause must seem impossible. To which he replies:
“Our destructiveness has not been, and it is not, inevitable. People who use that excuse are morally incompetent, they are cowardly, and they are lazy. Humans don’t have to live by destroying the sources of their life. People can change; they can learn to do better. All of us, regardless of party, can be moved by love of our land to rise above the greed and contempt of our land’s exploiters.”
Berry is a radical, even an extremist. In one notorious essay, he wrote that he would never buy a computer (notorious because his wife, it turned out, did the typing for him); he is a militant critic of US wars; and he farms using horses, not tractors. In some ways, he is like a modern Thoreau and although he mistrusts movements and any violent threat to systems, he vigorously defends civil disobedience. Like John Berger, he has championed the cause of migrant workers, and he is one of the most compelling writers on racism in America.
Yet [Berry] is the least joyless of writers, a great celebrator of poetry in general and Shakespeare and T S Eliot in particular; a luminous lover of nature and a man of robust appetites. His essay on the pleasures of eating is a rare example of political writing that makes you salivate.
After Donald Trump’s election, we urgently need to rediscover the best of radical America – that of Mark Twain, Gary Snyder and Edward Abbey. An essential part of that story is Wendell Berry. It is axiomatic that such a bold and questioning writer should be an uncomfortable writer and difficult to swallow whole. Few of us can live, or even aspire to, his kind of life. But nobody can risk ignoring him.

Amazon Link

 The World-Ending Fire by Wendell Berry
Introduced by Paul Kingsnorth | Published by Allen Lane

"America's greatest philosopher on sustainable life and living." ―Chicago Tribune

In a time when our relationship to the natural world is ruled by the violence and greed of unbridled consumerism, Wendell Berry speaks out in these prescient essays, drawn from his fifty-year campaign on behalf of American lands and communities.
The writings gathered in The World-Ending Fire are the unique product of a life spent farming the fields of rural Kentucky with mules and horses, and of the rich, intimate knowledge of the land cultivated by this work. These are essays written in defiance of the false call to progress and in defense of local landscapes, essays that celebrate our cultural heritage, our history, and our home.
With grace and conviction, Wendell Berry shows that we simply cannot afford to succumb to the mass-produced madness that drives our global economy―the natural world will not allow it.
Yet he also shares with us a vision of consolation and of hope. We may be locked in an uneven struggle, but we can and must begin to treat our land, our neighbors, and ourselves with respect and care. As Berry urges, we must abandon arrogance and stand in awe.


Wendell Berry - For Want of Silence


For Want of Silence - re slater



Accept what comes from silence.

Make the best you can of it.

Of what little words that come

out of the silence, like prayers

prayed back to the one who prays,

make a poem that does not disturb

the silence from which it came.


- Wendell Berry



* * * * * * * * * * *



“It is maybe most of all... silence... that they are so intent to guard themselves against.
And there is indeed a potential terror in it. It raises, still, all the old answerless questions
of origins and ends. It asks a man what is the use and the worth of his life.”

- Wendell Berry



* * * * * * * * * * *



Nathan Coulter: A Novel (Port William) by [Wendell Berry]
Amazon Link


By the end, Nathan begins a long silence that will last the rest of his life... 

Nathan Coulter, Wendell Berry’s first book, was published in 1960 when he was twenty-seven. In his first novel, the author presents his readers with their first introduction to what would become Berry’s life’s work, chronicling through fiction a place where the inhabitants of Port William form what is more than community, but rather a “membership” in interrelatedness, a spiritual community, united by duty and bonds of affection for one another and for the land upon which they make their livelihood.

When young Nathan loses his grandfather, Berry guides readers through the process of Nathan's grief, endearing the reader to the simple humanity through which Nathan views the world. Echoing Berry's own strongly held beliefs, Nathan tells us that his grandfather's life "couldn't be divided from the days he'd spent at work in his fields." Berry has long been compared to Faulkner for his ability to erect entire communities in his fiction, and his heart and soul have always lived in Port William, Kentucky. In this eloquent novel about duty, community, and a sweeping love of the land, Berry gives readers a classic book that takes them to that storied place.


* * * * * * * * * * *


The Silence by Wendell Berry

Essay by Kristine Janson

Wendell Berry has worked as a farmer for over 40 years on his own land using horses and organic methods – he is also an author of over 50 books and writes poems, essays, novels, and he’s been an important voice in the environmental movement. (The Poetry Foundation has given a good size overview of his life). I find myself a bit fascinated by him, whether listening to an interview with him or reading about his life – or stumbling upon a (to me) new poem from his hand.

[Berry's poem on Silence] particularly resonated with me after I’d ventured into the Pentland hills for the first time since lockdown for a midsummer solo adventure of wandering through its hills and valleys, with the simple intention to find my way there as well as in my life. There are many sounds in the Pentlands in summer: bleating of sheep, crows playing on the wind, the wind (and frequent rain) flapping about my ears, as well as one of my favourite sounds in all the world: the jubilant songbursts of skylarks. And in between, ‘my head is loud with the labor of words’ as Wendell says here… Like in any retreat setting, the absence of words around me give such volume to the ones inside. And at the same time, every moment is the invitation to turn out, to hear the ‘song whose lines I cannot make or sing’, to rest in the bigness of the moment, of space.

And after a while, the loudness in my head gets a bit quieter, my attention again and again drawn into the richness of the world around me and as the space between my thoughts increases, so does the clarity, the knowing. Such a gift… and as silence in my day to day life of family and work is confined to patches, the benefits of a retreat day here and there are all the greater, whether it’s a sitting or a walking one.

Solstice blessings to you, and may the harvest of the seeds planted in the first half of the year ‘be rich with fruit’!




The Silence
by Wendell Berry


Though the air is full of singing
my head is loud
with the labor of words.

Though the season is rich
with fruit, my tongue
hungers for the sweet of speech.

Though the beech is golden
I cannot stand beside it
mute, but must say

'It is golden,' while the leaves
stir and fall with a sound
that is not a name.

It is in the silence
that my hope is, and my aim.
A song whose lines

I cannot make or sing
sounds men's silence
like a root. Let me say

and not mourn: the world
lives in the death of speech
and sings there.


Wendell Berry

* * * * * * * * * * *


Thomas Merton

Wendell Berry

     








Work and Prayer: The Brief Friendship of
Thomas Merton and Wendell Berry

by Dan Rattelle
June 19, 20205

Leeds, MA. In 1965 Thomas Merton, after long waiting, moved into his hermitage on the grounds of Our Lady of Gethsemani monastery near Bardstown, Kentucky, where he had lived since 1942. A few months earlier and eighty miles north, Wendell Berry took apart a cabin that had belonged to his uncle and rebuilt it as his writing place, a kind of hermitage of his own, which James Baker Hall describes as “not just a quiet place, it was a place of quiet.”

Merton and Berry met, it seems, at least once—on December 10, 1967, exactly one year before Merton’s death. Wendell and his wife Tanya, poet Denise Levertov, the photographer Ralph Eugene Meatyard, and his wife Madelyn all met at Gethsemani for lunch. The meeting seems to have been pleasant but exhausting for Merton, who wrote in his journal for that day “I am hoping this next week will be quiet—a time of fasting and retreat. Too many people here lately.” It is possible that they met before this, as their letters display a certain familiarity—Berry mentions that he had his publisher send a copy of one of his books (possibly Openings) to the hermitage. Berry addresses his first letter to Fr. Louis, Merton’s religious name, which suggests any earlier meeting may have been under more formal circumstances.


The other letters are mostly to do with Merton’s magazine Monk’s Pond, which Berry had sent some poems to. “Maybe I am losing all my friends by failure to answer about Monks Pond. . . .” Merton writes in his journal, “Must write Jonathan Greene, Wendell Berry, etc. etc. Will try to get the second number lined up today. First is stalled in Cassian’s printshop. Liturgy choking every press.” He dates Berry’s letter a day earlier, saying he’d run most of the poems in the next two issues and had done some toggling with others. “This is probably a hell of a way to edit a magazine,” he says. A picnic at Gethsemani is suggested for around Easter—Merton, by the way, had been looking forward to the solitude of that Lent. Berry, however, would be on the West Coast, he says, and can’t make it. They would never meet again.

Berry wrote in one of his letters to Merton that “you are one of the few whose awareness of what I’m doing here would be of value to me.” He is acknowledging that he and Merton lead lives of similar mission, lives shaped by work and silence. Given the enormous development in Merton between The Seven Story Mountain and Zen and The Birds of Appetite (which he was finishing when he met Berry) who knows how he would have changed further if he had lived longer. Throughout the 1960s, though, he and Berry were truly co-laborers. The work of both writers narrates the problem of "Man in Mass Society," which Merton describes in Marxist terms as a problem of alienation. Man is alienated from his work. He works for others and does not get or even see the product of his labor. Instead of revolution, Merton gives this solution:

"Work that is productive, properly organized, and remains in contact with nature, work that is truly physical and manual outdoor work, work that is properly managed and well done, work that is managed and taught on a human and monastic level, and not carried out like factory-type drudgery or office routines— such work can do much to help the young monk find his identity and grow in Christ, by teaching him to accept himself, work in harmony with others, and feel himself fully part of a world made by a loving father in which his own work has a redemptive and sanctifying quality because it is united with the labor and sacrifice of the Incarnate Son of God."

Though seldom invoking dogma in this way, you can find this kind of thing on almost every page of Berry. In one instance, in his book on William Carlos Williams, he criticizes those “numerous people to whom ‘the Word was made flesh’ was no more than an idea.” Recall also how anti-platonic the Merton of Seven Story Mountain is. This resistance to abstraction is partly what led Merton to Zen in the first place. We live abstracted lives. We flip a switch and we have light. We open a package and we have dinner. We cast our images onto the internet. We look at other people’s bodies through a screen. Think of how companies like Zoom have abstracted and commodified basic human interaction. In his hermitage, Merton felt he was encountering real life and was therefore capable of giving himself to God more fully. This privileging of the concrete world of disembodied ideas, for both Merton and Berry, is rooted in the incarnation. Because the word has been made flesh “there are no unsacred places.” Berry illustrates this point well in “A Native Hill” from 1969: “A path is little more than a habit that comes with knowledge of a place.” A path is the incarnation of a people’s idea of the place, while the road is almost pure abstraction whose “tendency is to translate place into space in order to traverse it with the least effort.” Elsewhere, Berry describes his commute from Lexington, where he taught, to the long-legged house as a journey from the abstract into the concrete:

"It was always a journey from the sound of public voices to the sound of a private quiet voice rising falteringly out of the roots of my mind, that I listened carefully in the silence to hear. It was a journey from the abstract collective life of the university and the city into the intimate country of my own life. It is only a country that is well known, full of familiar names and places, full of life that is always changing, that the mind goes free of abstractions, and renews itself in the presence of the creation, that so persistently eludes human comprehension and human law."

Merton describes the hermitage in similar terms, saying that the hermit’s life “should bear witness to the fact that certain basic claims about solitude and peace are in fact true. And in doing this, it will restore people’s confidence, first in their own humanity and beyond that in the grace of God.”

Merton makes this point, that grace is not opposed to nature, in an attempt to redefine the monk’s position toward the world. For him, the point of the monastic life is not a rigid turning away from ‘the world,’ an escape from the flesh but an opportunity to get more in touch with what it means to be fully human in a world that dehumanizes us. The monk works with his body and seeks silence and solitude so that “his mind and heart can relax and expand . . . there too he can hear the word of God and meditate on it more quietly, without strain, without forcing himself, without being carried away in useless speculations.”

Silence, apart from farming, is Berry’s other major preoccupation. Think of how Burley keeps reminding Nathan that “It doesn’t pay to talk too much about your business” in Nathan Coulter, how the novel’s would-be climax of the huge catfish is spoiled for Burley by too much chatter, and how, by the end, Nathan begins a long silence that will last the rest of his life. Encouraging the reader to get rid of the television set, Berry says “the ensuing silence is an invitation to our homes, to our own places and lives, to come into being.”

On finding one’s own place Merton writes “this implies a kind of mysterious awakening to the fact that where we actually are is where we belong.” This means that I belong at this desk, in this room, on this acre of woods at the edge of a much larger forest, and not anywhere the computer that is on my desk can take me. Silence for Merton, as a monk, is of course connected to prayer. So it seems with Berry:

"Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of what little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came."



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