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Tag: Nature Writing

Challenging Mother Nature through the Feminised Imagery of the Moon: An Ecofeminist Reading of Ann Radcliffe and Sylvia Plath

Photograph taken by Artist on Unsplash

This essay explores the ecofeminist characteristics of Ann Radcliffe and Sylvia Plath’s poetry. Employing an ecofeminist lens offers a novel approach to studying their shared vision of nature across literary movements. This essay centres on how the poets challenged the essentialist link between nature and women through Radcliffe’s “Sunset” (1791) and Plath’s “The Moon and the Yew Tree” (1961). Both poems explore empowerment and control of the environment through the feminised imagery of the Moon.

While critics such as Jane Stabler and Alison Milbank have started to unpack the impact of Radcliffe’s poetry, the ecofeminist characteristics of her verses have remained relatively unaddressed in recent scholarship. In his eco-critical reading of Radcliffe’s novels, Christopher Hitt states that “the visionary is apprehended only in fleeting glimpses, obliquely and indefinitely” (139). The feminised Moon in Radcliffe’s verses, especially the “pale orb” in “Sunset”, is one such example of a “fleeting” and “oblique” symbol of motherhood and the natural world. “Sunset” is a poem narrated by the heroine Adeline in The Romance of the Forest.The twenty-two line single verse poem begins with the onset of Twilight, a soft, obscuring and nurturing female force, characteristic perhaps of an “Edenic Evening” (Milbank 147). The first twelve lines of the poem are devoted to establishing “Ev’ning’s dome”, a space seemingly constructed by female figures who control the transition into the night (Radcliffe 297).

The appearance of the Moon contrasts with the shadow-casting of Meek Twilight. Countering the gloomy “purple” and “gray” hues, the Moon relights the earth by “throwing her radiance wide” (Radcliffe 297). Her power is concentrated in a sharp and bright “line”, which is at odds with the inky “curling tide”. The “pale orb” ushers in an unpredictable flow of syllables, couplets, and a triplet:

Or the Moon’s pale orb appear,
Throwing her line of radiance wide,
Far o’er the lightly-curling tide,
That seems the yellow sands to chide. (Radcliffe 297)

The unbalanced succession of ‘-ide’ rhymes speaks to wildness in nature. The water commanded by the gravitational force of the moon “chides”, or rather “scolds” the sand, suggestive of raising a child (Johnson 365-6). Radcliffe gives the impression that the guiding hand of the maternal Moon shapes the coast, but this mother figure is not necessarily a gentle force. Her “chiding” juxtaposes the sweep of Meek Twilight’s “shadows” over the landscape. However, the final disruption of the scene comes not from the stars, Moon, or shadowy female figures who have established a silence, but from the distant activities of sailors and oars on the surface of the water. These sounds, which ride the “dying wave,” hail in a masculine gothic presence, immiscible with the evening space (Milbank 147, Passey 194).

Like Radcliffe’s poetry, ecocriticism remains an under-researched area in Plath’s work, with only a handful of critics, such as Tracy Brain, Scott Knickerbocker, and Irena Ragaišienė, engaging with the ecological aspects of her writings. The figure of the Moon in Plath’s “The Moon and the Yew Tree” challenges the essentialist link between women and nature. Plath wrote the poem in October 1961 in Devon. She reflects on a tree growing next to a churchyard, visible from her office window. The material existence of the tree that still stands in the village of North Tawton highlights that without the natural tree, there are no “trees of the mind” that dominate the speaker’s imagination (Plath 172). “The Moon and the Yew Tree” not only rejects the essentialist view of ‘Mother Nature’ but removes the dominant structure of patriarchy altogether. The four seven-line stanzas are characterised by gothic imagery and isolation. In this ambiguous, feminised landscape, the Yew appears as a death-tree, and the Moon represents the antithesis of the nurturing Christian mother. Christina Britzolakis argues that Plath “inverts Romantic lunar symbolism and refuses empathetic identification” (126). Other critics like Judith Kroll noted the influence of Robert Graves’s The White Goddess in Plath’s Moon-Muse, particularly the Moon as a Triple Goddess, such as Hecate (Kroll 44).

The use of the female pronoun personifies the Moon and singles it out as the only living subject. The Moon “is bald and wild. / And the message of the yew tree is blackness—blackness and silence” (Plath 173). Here, Plath portrays the Moon as a violent supernatural entity that humans cannot control. Escaping from a male-dominated society symbolised by the physical presence of the church, the speaker desires the ambiguous maternal Moon and the ominous presence of the yew tree. The poem contrasts the Christian religious setting of the churchyard with a pagan Moon-mother, which challenges anthropocentric views of nature: “The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary. / Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls. / How I would like to believe in tenderness –––” (Plath 173). Here, the Moon signifies the freedom of nature as she’ releases’ the flying creatures into the night. The speaker longs for a mutually respectful and intimate connection, similar to what she perceives to be between the Moon and nature. She questions the legitimacy of the Christian mother figure and prefers the non-hierarchical and authentic maternalism of the Moon, suggesting an ecofeminist reading of the human and nonhuman relationship.

In Radcliffe and Plath’s poems, the “pale orb” or “White as a knuckle” face of the Moon represents an empowered female force in a gothicised landscape. Although these poets are part of different literary movements, both use a maternal Moon figure to symbolise a challenge to patriarchal structures. Radcliffe achieves this through an environment under female control, where the Moon relights and reshapes the darkened earth. On the other hand, Plath expresses an interest in nature without a dominant human presence, counters the simplicity of a ‘motherly’ Mother Nature, and presents the ambiguous Moon and the deathly Yew as independent entities.

Works Cited:

Brain, Tracy. The Other Sylvia Plath. Harlow: Longman, 2001.

Britzolakis, Christina. “‘Gothic Subjectivity’.” Sylvia Plath. Edited by Harold Bloom. New York: Bloom’s Literary Criticism, 2007. 115-146.

Hitt, Christopher. “Ecocriticism and the Long Eighteenth Century.” College Literature, vol. 31, no. 3, 2004, pp. 123–47, http://www.jstor.org/stable/25115211. Accessed 19 Apr. 2022.

Johnson, Samuel. A Dictionary of the English Language: In Which the Words Are Deduced from Their Originals, and Illustrated in Their Different Significations by Examples from the Best Writers. To Which Are Prefixed, A History of the Language, and An English Grammar. 3rd ed., vol. 1, London: Various, 1765, https://link-gale-com.liverpool.idm.oclc.org/apps/doc/CB0131375552/GDCS?u=livuni&sid=bookmark-GDCS&xid=4e749f2d&pg=365.

Knickerbocker, K. ““Bodied Forth in Words”: Sylvia Plath’s Ecopoetics.” College Literature 36.3 (2009): 1-27.

Kroll, Judith. Chapters in a Mythology: The Poetry of Sylvia Plath. Stroud: Sutton Publishing, 2007.

Milbank, Alison. “Milton, Melancholy and the Sublime in the ‘Female’ Gothic from Radcliffe to Le Fanu.” Women’s Writing, vol. 1, no. 2, 1994, pp. 143–60.

Passey, Joan. “Sound and Silence: The Aesthetics of the Auditory in the Novels of Ann Radcliffe.” Horror Studies, vol. 7, no. 2, Oct. 2016, pp. 189–204, doi:10.1386/host.7.2.189_1.

Plath, Sylvia. The Collected Poems. Edited by Ted Hughes. New York: HarperCollins, 2008.

Radcliffe, Ann. The Romance of the Forest. Edited by Chloe Chard, Oxford University Press, 2009.

Ragaišienė, I. “‘I am not a Tree with my Root in the Soil’: Ecofeminist Revisions of the Tree/Root Dialectics in Sylvia Plath’s Poetry.” Journal of Ecocriticism 1.2 (2009): 31-41.

Stabler, Jane, ‘Ann Radcliffe’s Poetry: The Poetics of Refrain and Inventory’, in Ann Radcliffe, Romanticism and the Gothic, ed. by Angela Wright and Dale Townshend (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), pp. 185–202 <https://doi.org/DOI: 10.1017/CBO9781139507448.015>

Authors:

Dorka Tamás has submitted her PhD thesis at the University of Exeter, which explores the supernatural themes in Sylvia Plath’s poetry. Her research interest includes literary representations of magic and witchcraft and the relationship between the natural environment and supernatural subthemes across literature and culture.

Roslyn Irving is a PhD candidate co-supervised by the University of Liverpool and XJTLU. Her research centres on Ann Radcliffe’s third novel, The Romance of the Forest and the author’s eighteenth-century socio-political environment.

October 19, 2022
The Experience of Environmental Epiphany in the Lives of A. Leopold, T. Hill, and A. Schweitzer

Can a very short event change one’s outlook on the natural environment? Environmental awareness can be attained through formal and non-formal education, as well as through active engagement in environmental activities. However, a number of historical figures witnessed a change in their outlooks in the blink of an eye. This contribution explores the impact on environmental epiphanies on humans in a human/non-human encounter by showing their role in triggering powerful emotions and a long-lasting change in the character of three environmentalist figures from the 20^th century: Aldo Leopold, Thomas Hill, Jr., and Albert Schweitzer.

A number of definitions have been given to environmental epiphanies. According to Joanne Vining and Melinda S. Merrick, they are “experiences in which one’s perception of the essential meaning of their relationship to nature shifts in a meaningful manner”.[i] Emmanuel Levinas refers to these experiences when he states that a sudden encounter with a nonhuman may cause unexpected ethical obligation on the part of the agent. These are occasions when we become inadvertently ethically responsible for an agonizing nonhuman. This responsibility emanates from our corporeal response to its suffering (body agency); it takes places before any rational decision on our part (pre-reflexivity); it is characterized by immediate rather mediated communication (immediacy), and it makes the agent lose control in the presence of the nonhuman (loss of control).[ii] In brief, Levinas’s theory suggests that we do not always resort to rationalization in order to sympathize with nonhumans. What is missing in Levinas’s view is that before environmental epiphanies can create an ethical obligation, they stir strongly felt emotions. And after they create the ethical obligation, their impact becomes long-lasting.

I began reflecting upon environmental epiphanies during a group forest walk in a natural park in Oujda, Morocco (the picture above). After walking for some time in the park, my friends and I decided to take a short break. The topic of our discussion shifted towards the ways in which our lived experiences with the natural environment were similar to those of various leading environmentalists. When it was my turn, I started talking about the life of American environmentalist Aldo Leopold, his experience with the forest, and how a single epiphanic event turned his outlook upside down. Leopold loved hunting deer, but more predators in his region meant fewer of them. That was the main reason for his decision to kill wolves, bears and other animals. The turning point in his life was when he shot a grey wolf and saw a “fierce green fire dying in her eyes”. This brief scene was so powerful that he “realized then that there was something new to [him] in those eyes – something known only to her and to the mountain”.[iii] Although that new thing remained unexplained in the rest of his essay,[iv] he seems to suggest that the gaze in the wolf’s eyes stirred up his emotions and had a lasting effect on his philosophy. This could be noticed in Leopold’s pioneering role in the shift of American environmentalism towards a more holistic policy based on the importance of preserving predators as necessary regulators of biodiversity.

Leopold was not the only person to have had such an epiphanic experience based on a single event. American professor of philosophy, Thomas Hill Jr. underwent a similar experience that affected his emotions and reshaped his approach with the natural environment. Seeing his “wealthy eccentric”[v] neighbour cut down a lovely tree to pave his way with asphalt as an economical strategy made Hill wonder “what sort of person would do that?” rather than “whose rights have been violated?” or “how has this action minimized overall happiness?”.[vi] It was the first time Hill questioned the character of a human being in regard to a nonhuman entity rather than just considering the possible justifications for such unmindful action. The environmental epiphany of seeing the tree being cut down left him “puzzled over how to explain his own intuitions regarding the wrongness of such situation”,[vii] and marked a long-lasting change in his personality. Small as it might seem, that scene made Hill conjure up memories of human alteration of the Appalachian wilderness.[viii] This was so unexpected that it further deepened his reflection upon the question of human character and the environment for the rest of his life.

A final example of “Aha” moments[ix] activating new environmental mindsets can be found in the life of the German-French religious philosopher Albert Schweitzer. While travelling upriver on a barge in Africa, “at the very moment when, at sunset, we were making our way through a herd of hippopotamuses, there flashed upon my mind, unforeseen and unsought, the phrase reverence for life”.[x] As Desjardins further explains the concept, that epiphanic moment triggered in Schweitzer a spiritual mix of wonder and awe at nature. Translated from the German phrase Ehrfurcht vor dem Leben, reverence for life – as Schweitzer conceives of it – is based on the compulsion to value all other organisms which are capable of development by preserving them and promoting their well-being.[xi] His search for a connection between the affirmative attitude of life and ethics vanished with that mind-blowing more-than-human scene because he finally found that the feeling of reverence for life was the missing link.[xii] Schweitzer was mindful of the natural environment even before this scene. Still, his realization that we can become ethical only when we consider life as such as sacred to us, and only when we devote ourselves to supporting all life in need of help was new, gained through this epiphanic encounter.[xiii]

To conclude,these reflections on environmental epiphanies came at a time when international parties were meeting at the COP26 conference in Glasgow[xiv] to make sure that the promises of the Paris agreement were kept. Still, inspiring global climate action needs a particular type of awareness which does not occur only through official meetings and detailed action plans, but may also arise through unexpected encounters with the natural environment that are just as vital for us to meet the big challenges of the 21^st century. In this light, despite the influences of social and educational factors on the attitudes of Leopold, Hill, and Schweitzer as environmentally responsible citizens,[xv] their exposure to the natural world was substantial in making a great leap in their lives.[xvi] What about you? Have you ever come across a strong unexpected scene, like the view of a heart-breaking animal, a creeping wildfire or the fall of a giant tree which has categorically reshaped your attitude about nature?[xvii] If so, please write your comments below.[xviii]

[i] Storie and Vining, “From Oh to Aha: Characteristics and Types of Environmental Epiphany Experiences”, Human Ecology Review, ANU Press, 2018, 157, https://www.jstor.org/stable/26506666 (Accessed 1 November 2021).

[ii] Marais, Michael, “Impossible Possibilities: Ethics and Choice in JM Coetzee’s The Lives of Animals and Disgrace”, English Academy Review, 2012, 118-23. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1080/10131752.2012.695480 (Accessed: 1 November 2021).

[iii] Leopold, Aldo, A Sand County Almanac and Sketches Here and There, Oxford University Press, 1968 [1949], 130.

[iv] Leopold’s essay “Thinking Like a Mountain” is included in his collection A Sand County Almanac.

[v] Hill, Thomas, Jr. “Ideals of Human Excellence and Preserving Natural Environments”, Environmental Ethics, 1983, 1. Available at: https://dx.doi.org/enviroethics19835327 (Accessed: 1 November 2021).

[vi] Cafaro, Philip, “Environmental Virtue Ethics” in Lorraine Besser-Jones and Michael Slote (eds.), The Routledge Companion to Virtue Ethics, Routledge, 2015, 1-2. Available at: https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203071755 (Accessed: 1 November 2021).

[vii] Cafaro, Philip, “Environmental Virtue Ethics” in Lorraine Besser-Jones and Michael Slote (eds.), The Routledge Companion to Virtue Ethics, Routledge, 2015, 1-2. Available at: https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203071755 (Accessed: 1 November 2021).

[viii] Hill, Thomas, Jr. “Ideals of Human Excellence and Preserving Natural Environments”, Environmental Ethics, 1983, 1.

[ix] “Aha” is a German and English exclamatory expression of surprise at discovering something. Melinda Storie and Joanne Vining call it a “lightbulb” moment, which is also synonymous with an “epiphany” moment (168). For further details, kindly see Storie and Vining, “From Oh to Aha: Characteristics and Types of Environmental Epiphany Experiences”, Human Ecology Review, ANU Press, 2018, 155–80, https://www.jstor.org/stable/26506666 (Accessed 1 November 2021).

[x] Schweitzer qtd. in Joseph, R., Desjardins, Environmental Ethics: An Introduction to Environmental Philosophy. Fifth edition. Belmont, Calif: Wadsworth, 2013 [2001], 133.

[xi] Schweitzer qtd. in Joseph, R., Desjardins, Environmental Ethics: An Introduction to Environmental Philosophy. Fifth edition. Belmont, Calif: Wadsworth, 2013 [2001], 133.

[xii] Schweitzer, Albert, Out of My Life and Thought: An Autobiography. Trans. Antje Bultmann Lemke, The John Hopkins University Press, 1998 [1930], 154.

[xiii] Schweitzer, Albert, Out of My Life and Thought: An Autobiography. Trans. Antje Bultmann Lemke, The John Hopkins University Press, 1998 [1930], 157-8.

[xiv] The Conference Of the Parties (COP26) took place from October 31^st to November 12^th, 2021.

[xv] An example of that is Leopold’s dissatisfaction with the nearly worldwide ecological short-sightedness in the 1930s and 1940s (see Harold Fromm, The Nature of Being Human, The Natural of Being Human: from Environmentalism to Consciousness, John Hopkins University Press, 2009, 81).

[xvi] Similarly, Storie and Vining recommend that educators among others should “provide opportunities for Environmental Epiphanies by ensuring that the public continues to have access to natural areas with room for solitary contemplation.” (2018, 175).

[xvii] A study of 50 American adults revealed that 80% of them reported drastic changes in their attitudes, values, or behaviour after experiencing environmental epiphanies (See Storie and Vining 2018, 164).

[xviii] This contribution might pave the way for new lines of thought, namely the generalizability or culture-specificity of unexpected environmentalism as well as ages at which one is most likely to experience it, and the importance of exposing youth to the natural environment in order to open their minds to unexpected possibilities of sympathy and care for the nonhuman.

December 4, 2021
Birches like Barcodes

Art by Nick Hayes / Poem by Robert Macfarlane

Writing Nature in the Anthropocene: Responses to Robert Macfarlane’s Masterclass, in Conversation with Joanna Dobson (Creative Writing Masterclass Series at Sheffield Hallam University, 18 November 2020)

Response by Katharina Maria Kalinowski

How do “we” respond to the many Anthropocenes in times of accelerated ecological crisis? Is it possible to write the legible strata of the earth? Do we need new forms of writing to register invisible and incomprehensible layers of a world that exceeds the limits of our understanding (hasn’t it always)? At the borders of language, how can writing and activism intersect? Are “we”, humankind, “good ancestors” for generations to come?

Given the current state of the ecosphere, I’d be inclined to answer the last question with “no”. However, viewing humankind from a species point of view is problematic if we consider how explosive disparities shape the living conditions of the current generation on a daily basis. Following the argument that climate change is not so much anthropogenic as “sociogenic”,[1] the question concerning our heritage pushes against a homogenous humankind and opens up to a microcosm of stories with more-than-humankind/ness.

The entanglement of these stories in a larger system is encapsulated in the last line of Macfarlane’s intricate poem “Heartwood”: “Have you heartwood, cutter? / Have those who sent you?” Dedicated to trees facing “unjust felling”, the poem, part charm, part song, part wood, can be seen as a piece of lyrical activism that enchants without euphemising and interrogates without scapegoating.

One of the dangers of the (geochronologic) Anthropocene is its tendency to naturalise violent social and economic divisions and present the state of the world as inevitable. Here’s where writing can complicate, diversify, and wager on alternative scenarios; here’s where poetry can make something happen: what stuck with me most is Macfarlane’s cautious, yet unfalteringly urgent belief in the spell-binding potential of writing to re-invent form and to observe, to question, to touch, to affect, to change. Investigating what may be framed as the “golden spike” of the Environmental Humanities, namely the ever-present question whether poetry, or literature in general, can “save the earth”,[2] he offered an insightful response, unsurprisingly starting with “no” (again).

For Macfarlane, the “golden spike”-question needs revising; it should really be asking: can literature join forces with other movements and creative arts to contribute to political changes? The answer to this is, finally: yes, of course! Macfarlane’s “Heartwood”, which became part of the Sheffield tree felling protests, is only one of many examples of how writing can challenge the status quo and create a shared space to imagine other voices and other worlds. Generating sets of new, unexpected relations, his texts make me wonder about the connection between (natural?) birches and (artificial?) bar codes, and how we poetically embody nature as more than a consumable good changing ownership through a red-light beep.

In this sense, Macfarlane’s suggestion to “wearily embrace” anthropomorphic modes reminds me of Jane Bennett’s notion of vital materialism, in which “a touch of anthropomorphism” can “catalyse a sensibility” to a re-enchanted world filled with variously composed animate materialities vibrantly alive.[3] It further prompts critical reflection on anthropocentric assumptions determining what counts as human – and therefore as anthropomorphic – in the first place: it is arguably easier to categorise something as human-like than to categorise the human as something-like, as one among many unique beings that share their vulnerable lives in the Anthropocene.

Literature cannot afford to choose the easier way. Embedded in a socio-cultural, political continuum, writing is one among many active and expressive forms that can make the world not only more comprehensible but also more liveable. It is neither separate from other forms of activism, nor does it exclude them – literature is shaped by its ability to both amplify and make silence for other voices. Nothing sums this up better than the following comment posted in the Zoom chat, one of many words that stayed with me long after clicking on “leave meeting”:

Sometimes you have to tie yourself in knots about anthropomorphism and sometimes you have to spend your weekend dressed as a frog at the nature reserve open day to engage people and there’s space for both I think!

By Rachel Dowse, sent in the Zoom chat

[1] Andreas Malm and Alf Hornborg, “The Geology of Mankind? A Critique of the Anthropocene Narrative”, The Anthropocene Review, vol. 1, no. 1, 2014, pp. 62-69 (66).

[2] The phrase is borrowed from John Felstiner’s book Can Poetry Save the Earth? A Field Guide to Nature Poems, Yale UP, 2010. Question to the reader: What would poetry have to be exchanged with in this phrase to prompt a “yes” response?

[3] Jane Bennett, Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things, Duke UP, 2010, p. 99.

Response by Melina Lieb

I no longer remember why, but I had felt a bit down on the day of the masterclass, and logged into Zoom hoping it would cheer me up. Instead, it left me even more pensive, though in a strangely reassuring way. I know that the world is in a precarious state, but often I don’t know how to cope with the anxiety caused by this knowledge. I suppose others feel the same, but I usually cannot hear them in the echo chamber of my own head. Talking or listening to people talk about the subject helps a lot. It might not immediately solve problems, but hearing your own thoughts and feelings reflected by others makes them more endurable. You are not alone. And as the saying goes: Every dripping wears the stone.[1]

Macfarlane found very fitting words for the feeling I’ve described: “The world has begun to make nonsense of realism”. The times we’re living in just are eerie and gothic. And this distortion is being recognised by literature. In Underland, Macfarlane pursues the question: “Are we being good ancestors?”. As Katharina highlights above, the answer too often is “no”. Driving through birch forests like barcodes, Macfarlane arrives at the only place where he would say that people have done a good – or at least, the best possible – job of being good ancestors. This place is Onkalo, the world’s first permanent repository for nuclear waste, on the Finnish island of Olkiluoto.[2] On hearing the name, I remembered watching a film about this place, years ago. It was called Into Eternity: A Film for the Future. I remember a match being lit in a dark cave, illuminating a man with a yellow helmet, talking in a solemn voice. I don’t remember his exact words, but he might have said what is stated on one of the movie posters: “We need you to know that this place should not be disturbed. You should stay away from this place. Then you will be safe”.

When the people who built and filled the storage are no longer there, the place will speak for itself. Will it seem as eerie to our descendants as it already seems to me now?

Speaking about speaking places, Macfarlane describes another potentially eerie site, though despite its “chilling” atmosphere, it has a fascinating charm to him. Orford Ness, a shingle spit on England’s Suffolk coast was a nuclear testing site but has now been given back to the wild and is protected by the National Trust. Inspired by this landscape, Macfarlane published Ness, his attempt at a different version of a medieval play on nature lashing back against the military-industrial complex. “Superheroes” of different genders, composed partly of organic matter, partly of the detritus of capitalism and consumerism – “speaking in swifts”, with “bones of plastic” – rush to the peninsula. Macfarlane recites, ending each verse with a warning: “Look, here he comes. – Look, here she comes. – Look, here they come. – Look, here as comes”.

The power of these words still remains with me. It is one of Macfarlane’s great strengths to send powerful words out into the world, spells, songs, charms, chants. They are simultaneously an ushering and inspiration, intended to be spoken and extended by as many voices as possible – especially young voices, children and teenagers, our descendants. May they find a new way of speaking, of getting over the eeriness of our times, together.

[1] This is a translation of the common German idiom “Jeder Tropfen höhlt den Stein.” A more common phrasing in English might be “Constant dripping wears the stone.” In this case, though, I wanted to place the emphasis on “every” drop.

[2] See also: https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2017/10/what-lies-beneath/537894/

Authors:

Katharina Maria Kalinowski is a bilingual poet and EUmanities fellow at the Universities of Cologne and Kent. Her creative-critical PhD project focuses on ecopoetics, the Anthropocene, and expanded forms of translation. Her publications include Magma, Epizootics, and the Journal of British and Irish Innovative Poetry.

Melina Lieb is a PhD candidate and lecturer at the Faculty of Translation Studies, Linguistics and Cultural Studies at the Johannes Gutenberg-Universität Mainz/Germersheim, Germany. Her research focus is on 21^st-century British Nature Writing, ecocriticism and ecopoetry. In her dissertation she considers the role of the “common” in this field of literature, including aspects such as the everyday, the ordinary and the familiar as well as the shared and the political. Melina also writes her own prose and poetry inspired by the natural world, both in English and German.

January 22, 2021
Lehrprojekt: Nature Writing und Übersetzung

Image by Sarah Brown on Unsplash

— This post is also available in English, please click here to read the English version —

Das Sommersemester 2020 war in mehrerlei Hinsicht ein ungewöhnliches. Der zwölfwöchige Bachelor-Kurs, den ich unterrichtete, war mein erster, noch dazu im Online-Format, und ich hatte vor, ihn direkt mit einem kreativen Lehrexperiment zu beginnen. Es ging um die Übersetzung von aktuellem britischen Nature Writing, insbesondere von Auszügen aus Mark Cockers A Claxton Diary: Further Field Notes from a Small Planet (2019). Bevor es an die tatsächlichen Übersetzungen ging, bekamen die Studierenden eine kreative Schreibaufgabe, bei der sie ihr eigenes Stück Nature Writing verfassen sollten. Ursprünglich hatte ich das als Gruppenunternehmung geplant, zu der wir während einer Sitzung alle gemeinsam nach draußen gehen würden. Doch da aufgrund des Lockdowns nur Online-Unterricht möglich war, beauftragte ich die Studierenden, die Aufgabe individuell in ihren jeweiligen Umgebungen auszuführen.

In diesem Artikel möchte ich die Ergebnisse dieser Aufgabe vorstellen. Zuerst werde ich die Aufgabenstellung erläutern und die Texte der Studierenden skizzieren. Dann werde ich die Ergebnisse einer Umfrage beleuchten, in der es um die Auswirkungen und den positiven Nutzen der Aufgabe ging. Schließlich werden einige Beispiele der studentischen Texte präsentiert.

Die Aufgabe

Die Aufgabenstellung lautete wie folgt: „Nehmen Sie sich mindestens eine halbe Stunde Zeit, die Sie mit der Natur verbringen. Das kann im Garten sein, in Wald, Feld oder Wiese, in der Stadt, gar auf dem Balkon oder am geöffneten Fenster. Schreiben Sie dann (oder währenddessen) über Ihre Eindrücke. Schreiben Sie mindestens eine Seite Fließtext (Gedichte sind ebenfalls möglich).“ Die Texte waren auf Deutsch zu verfassen, der Zielsprache der späteren Übersetzungen.

Die Studierenden verfassten eine Bandbreite ansprechender und reflektierter Texte. Die meisten schrieben Prosa, eine Studentin jedoch komponierte ein nahezu imagistisch anmutendes Gedicht über ihren Weg zur Arbeit. Die Hälfte der Studierenden berichtete über einen Spaziergang, wobei die Umgebungen von Feldwegen über Waldwege bis zu Flussufern changierten. Manche liefen abends, um die Farben des Sonnenuntergangs zu genießen. Andere wurden von ihrem Hund begleitet und waren an tägliche Spaziergänge gewöhnt. Eine Studentin ging im Regen hinaus, ihrem Lieblingswetter. Sie alle erzählten von beruhigenden und belebenden Erfahrungen, und von Details, die ihre Aufmerksamkeit gebannt hatten: ein Kaninchen, eine singende Lerche, süß duftende Holunderblüten, ein Feuersalamander. Nicht nur Spaziergänge boten Verbundenheit mit der Natur. Die beschriebenen Umgebungen changierten von Voralpen-Seen bis zu städtischen Balkonen und Fensteraussichten. Die Studierenden bewiesen ein Auge für Details, Farben und Formen, registrierten Geräusche und Gerüche. Unter ihren Texten waren sowohl atmosphärische und emotionale Stücke als auch philosophische Reflexionen über den Platz der Menschen in der Natur und die Verbundenheit aller Lebewesen. Es war ihnen Nature Writing in all seinen Facetten gelungen und sie zeigten so die vielfältigen Qualitäten dieser Art von Literatur.

Auswertung der Aufgabe

Da die Pandemie neue und unerwartete Herausforderungen ins Universitätsleben brachte, war mein Fachbereich an neuen (Online-)Lehrkonzepten interessiert, mit denen Dozierende auf diese reagiert hatten. Im Rahmen ihres ausgeprägten Engagements für qualitative Lehre stellte die Johannes Gutenberg-Universität Mainz Mittel für eine wissenschaftliche Hilfskraft zur Verfügung, die bei der Aufarbeitung der erprobten Konzepte half. Am Ende des Kurses erstellte sie eine anonyme Umfrage mit meinen Fragen, dann sammelte sie die Antworten und fasste sie zusammen (11 von 13 Studierenden hatten geantwortet). Mich interessierten besonders zwei Dinge:

1. Bezüglich meiner pädagogischen Ziele: Welchen Effekt hatte die kreative Schreibaufgabe auf die Übersetzungserfahrung?

2. Angesichts der jüngsten Umstände: Hatte die Aufgabe positive Auswirkungen auf die Studierenden während des Lockdowns?

Die Umfrage startete mit dieser zweiten Frage, welche nun bejaht werden kann. Nahezu alle Studierenden hatten die bewusste Beschäftigung mit der Natur als entspannend, meditativ, gar tröstend empfunden. Die meisten hatten sich entschieden, sich zunächst ganz in die Natur zu vertiefen und erst im Anschluss auf ihren Laptops zu schreiben; manche hatten sich Notizen auf Papier gemacht. Sie hatten die Aufgabe als willkommene Abwechslung empfunden, sowohl zu üblichen Uni-Aufgaben als auch zum Lockdown. Eine Studentin berichtete, sie sei motivierter gewesen, die Aufgabe früher als sonst zu erledigen.

Das Online-Format des Kurses hatte nach Eindruck der Studierenden ihre positive Erfahrung des Kurses nicht spürbar beeinträchtigt. Obwohl manche einen Austausch ihrer Eindrücke in der Klasse begrüßt hätten (ein solcher fand nicht statt; ich gab lediglich individuelles Feedback), waren sich alle einig, dass sie das individuelle Erlebnis der ursprünglich geplanten Gruppenunternehmung vorzogen. Dadurch waren sie fähig, sich besser zu konzentrieren, und konnten Ort und Zeit des Exkurses frei wählen.

Die Aufgabe schien außerdem positiven Einfluss auf das Übersetzungserlebnis der Studierenden gehabt zu haben. Viele berichteten, sie hätten sich dadurch besser in die Nature-Writing-Texte hineinversetzen und sich mit dem Autor besser identifizieren können. Ihr Gespür für Details und Atmosphäre war geschärft worden. Gleichzeitig hatte sich ihr Gefühl für die eigene Sprache verbessert und sie so zu kreativen und freien Übersetzungen befähigt.

Es war mein Ziel gewesen, eine stimulierende Aufgabe zu stellen, und tatsächlich schien diese die Übersetzungskompetenz der Studierenden gefördert zu haben. Zusätzlich brachte sie ihnen Vergnügen, körperliche Aktivität und Entspannung. Die Einbindung ausgewählter kreativer Schreibaufgaben kann somit ein gewinnbringender Baustein beim Unterrichten von Literaturübersetzung sein.

Veröffentlichung der studentischen Texte

Die Nature-Writing-Aufgabe hatte die Studierenden aus dem Klassenraum hinausgeführt. Nun sollten auch ihre Texte den Weg in die Welt finden. Eine Studentin schlug vor, diese für eine breitere Leserschaft zu veröffentlichen, um trotz des Online-Semesters ein Gefühl des gemeinschaftlichen Universitätslebens zu vermitteln. Diese Idee wurde von allen Seiten begrüßt und entsprechend verfolgt. Drei der Texte wurden bereits auf dem Blog des studentischen 06|magazins unseres Fachbereichs veröffentlicht. Eine Online-Sonderausgabe mit allen Texten ist in Planung. Um auch hier einen Eindruck des studentischen Nature Writing zu vermitteln, werden im Folgenden einige Beispiel vorgestellt.

Nature Writing von Annika Fitsch

Ich sitze auf einem Steg, fühle das warme Holz der Planken unter meinen Beinen und die Sonne auf dem Gesicht. Ich höre die Wellen; sie gehen schneller als sonst, es ist ein recht windiger Tag. Dennoch rollen sie beständig und regelmäßig ans Ufer, was sehr beruhigend wirkt. Auf dem Wasser tummelt sich eine Gruppe Schwäne, im Blaugrau des Wassers wirken die weißen Tupfen beinahe wie Wolken am Himmel. Es sind viele Schwäne, die meisten von ihnen sind im Wasser, einige liegen an Land. Alle befinden sich in unterschiedlichen Positionen. Manche suchen tauchend nach etwas Essbarem, andere schwimmen erhobenen Hauptes umher, wieder andere scheinen ein Nickerchen zu machen. Die schlafenden Schwäne liegen auf den Steinen am Ufer einer kleinen Halbinsel, die vor einem Dorf ein Stück in den See hineinragt. Hinter ihnen sehe ich einen Teil des Hafens und dahinter erheben sich einige Häuser. Das Dorf wirkt ruhig, von hier aus sehe ich keine Spaziergänger, die an der Promenade entlanglaufen, nur die großen alten Bäume sind zu erkennen. Sie stehen in vollem Grün, jeder in einer leicht anderen Schattierung, alle haben eine etwas andere Form und Größe, flach und grasgrün, hoch, spitz und dunkelgrün, beinahe quadratisch und hellgrün.

Ich höre das Kreischen einer Möwe und das Zwitschern einiger Vögel, das jedoch beinahe von den an Land rollenden Wellen übertönt wird. Ich lasse meinen Blick weiter nach links schweifen, weg von den Schwänen und dem Dorf und über den See. Über bewaldete Hänge und eine weit entfernte, kaum erkennbare Ortschaft hinweg, meine ich, das Ende des Sees erahnen zu können. Am Ende des Sees, hinter weiteren mit Wald bedeckten Hügeln, sehe ich schemenhaft die Umrisse der Alpen. Graue, hohe Berge, auf deren Spitzen noch Schnee liegt. Den Schnee erkenne ich so gut, dass die Berge gar nicht so weit weg erscheinen.

Mein Blick schweift weiter über kleine Ortschaften, Waldgebiete und aus Sandstein bestehende Hänge. Mit den Augen folge ich einer Straße, die direkt am See entlangführt, zu einem nahe gelegenen Ort, von dem ich einige Häuser, die Kirchturmspitze und den Hafen erkennen kann. Schließlich gleitet mein Blick über ein kleines Wäldchen zurück zu dem Steg, auf dem ich sitze. Ich schaue noch einmal hinaus auf das Wasser, betrachte den Farbverlauf des Wassers, von dem Braunblau des seichten Wassers am Ufer über ein dunkles Grünblau bis hin zu einem Graublau an den tiefsten Stellen des Sees. In dem grünblauen Wasser sehe ich einen weißen Tupfen, einer der Schwäne hat sich von seiner Gruppe entfernt und schwimmt nun einige Meter vor mir auf dem See. Hinter ihm, etwas weiter draußen, sehe ich einen Mann, der in einem kleinen Schlauchboot sitzt und angelt. Das schwarze Boot wird von den Wellen sanft hin und her geschüttelt.

Die Sonne scheint auf die unruhige, durch Wellen unterbrochene Wasseroberfläche und lässt das Wasser etwas heller erscheinen. Ich kann jedoch nicht bis auf den Grund sehen. Durch den Wind und die Wellen wird der Sand aufgewirbelt und färbt das Wasser bräunlich. Der Schwan steckt seinen Kopf unter einen seiner Flügel und beginnt, sein Gefieder zu putzen. Auch sein Gefieder ist etwas bräunlich, er scheint noch recht jung zu sein. In einiger Entfernung fliegen drei schnatternde Gänse über die Bäume auf meiner rechten Seite hinweg und landen mit einem lauten Platschen auf dem Wasser. Durch ihre Landung entstehen Kreise im Wasser, die jedoch schnell von den Wellen verschluckt werden. Ganz leise höre ich den Wind durch die Blätter streichen und das Rascheln des Schilfgrases, das sich sanft im Wind wiegt. Doch das lautere Geräusch der Wellen lenkt meine Aufmerksamkeit wieder auf das Wasser. Während ich mich umschaute, verkam das beständige Rollen der Wellen zu einem Hintergrundgeräusch, doch nun drängt sich der Klang des Wellenschlags wieder in den Vordergrund.

Ich nehme diese rauschende, plätschernde Gleichmäßigkeit in mich auf, atme ein letztes Mal die frische klare Luft, in der ein Hauch von Seetang liegt, und stehe auf.

“Der Regenspaziergang” von Juliane Lein

Es ist ein grauer Tag. Ich lege die gut zweihundert Meter von der Haustür bis zum Feldweg rasch zurück. Es tut gut, draußen zu sein und die Häuser Germersheims in einiger Entfernung hinter sich zu lassen. Am anderen Ende des Feldes kann ich die Schnellstraße und dahinter die Gebäudekomplexe der Südpfalz-Kaserne sehen. Gras sprießt am Feldrand und auch die Bäume grünen. Die obersten Triebe lassen bereits die Blätter hängen, so lange hat es schon nicht mehr geregnet. Auch die Felder sehen völlig ausgetrocknet aus. Ich bleibe einen Moment stehen und richte meinen Blick gen Himmel. Grau und schwer ragen die Wolkenberge über mir auf. Von mir aus könnte es einen kräftigen Regenguss geben. Seit Tagen, wenn nicht gar Wochen, gab es nichts außer grauem Himmel. Keinen einzigen Regentropfen. Ich gehe weiter und bemerke nach einigen Schritten, wie der erste Regentropfen einen großen feuchten Fleck auf dem staubigen Boden hinterlässt. Endlich!

Weitere Tropfen folgen und hinterlassen ein unregelmäßiges Fleckenmuster. Ich richte meinen Blick erneut hinauf zu der dichten Wolkendecke, die schon den ganzen Morgen über der Stadt hängt. Kühle Wassertropfen fallen mir auf die Stirn und die Wangen und ein Lächeln breitet sich auf meinem Gesicht aus. Regen ist das schönste Wetter. Zumindest für mich. Die kühle, frische Luft eines Frühlingsregens, die tropisch-stickige Hitze eines Sommergewitters, das Rascheln der trockenen Blätter im Herbst, während die Regentropfen darauf niederprasseln, und der kalte Schneeregen im Winter, der wie kleine Nadeln im Gesicht sticht. Ich schaue mich um und sehe die Grashalme am Feldrand rhythmisch im Takt der Tropfen wippen. Sie fallen nun in immer kürzeren Abständen und größerer Zahl. Ich setze die Kapuze meiner Jacke auf und setze meinen Weg fort. Das Prasseln des Regens wird dumpfer.

Die Wege sind bereits völlig durchnässt, genauso wie meine Jacke. An der Weggabelung biege ich nach links ab, um einen größeren Abstand zu den Häusern der Stadt zu gewinnen. Die Luft ist kühl und nicht mehr so stickig wie die letzten Tage und ich stelle mich für einen Moment unter eine Buche, um die frische Luft einzuatmen und dem Prasseln des Regens zuzusehen. In den tiefen Furchen der Felder bilden sich bereits matschbraune Pfützen, da das Wasser nicht schnell genug von dem ausgetrockneten Boden aufgesogen werden kann. Nach ein paar Minuten gehe ich weiter, den Weg entlang, an der Schnellstraße vorbei und hinüber zum Flusslauf der Queich, die auch durch Germersheim fließt, bevor sie in den Rhein mündet. Kleine, ineinanderfließende Kreise zeichnen sich durch die herabfallenden Regentropfen auf der Wasseroberfläche ab. Im Vorübergehen betrachte ich den Tanz der Tropfen, es hat beinahe etwas Meditatives allein durch den Regen zu spazieren. Ich genieße die letzten Sekunden Abgeschiedenheit, bevor ich in die Wohnsiedlung am Rande der Felder einbiege. Bis zu meiner Wohnung sind es noch ein paar Minuten.

Im Hausflur ziehe ich meine nassen Schuhe aus, um sie zum Trocknen stehen zu lassen. Meine Jacke hänge ich an der nächstgelegenen Tür auf. Einige Tropfen perlen von ihr ab und hinterlassen kleine, feuchte Flecken auf dem Boden. Ein Stück des Regens habe ich also mitgebracht. Ich betrachte die Fensterscheibe, während ich mir Wasser im Wasserkocher erhitze. Die Tropfen rinnen an ihr hinab. Es scheint so, als würden sie ein Wettrennen machen. Der Wasserkocher schaltet sich automatisch ab und auch an seiner Innenseite rinnen die Tropfen hinab wie an der Scheibe. Ich bereite mir einen Tee zu und setze mich noch eine Weile ans Fenster, um den schönen Regenspaziergang in aller Ruhe ausklingen zu lassen.

Juliane Lein ist Bachelor-Studentin im 4. Fachsemester am FTSK Germersheim. Sie studiert Englisch, Französisch und Arabisch mit den Schwerpunkten Internettechnologie und Medienübersetzen.

Autor/in: Melina Lieb ist Doktorandin und wissenschaftliche Mitarbeiterin am Fachbereich für Translations-, Sprach- und Kulturwissenschaft der Johannes Gutenberg-Universität Mainz/Germersheim. Ihr Forschungsschwerpunkt liegt auf britischem Nature Writing des 21. Jahrhunderts, Ecocriticism und Ecopoetry. Neben ihrer Doktorarbeit verfasst sie auf Deutsch und Englisch eigene Gedichte und Prosatexte, die von ihrer lebendigen Umwelt inspiriert sind.

September 8, 2020
Teaching Creative Nature Writing and Translation

Image by Sarah Brown on Unsplash

— This post is also available in German, please click here to read the German version —

The summer term of 2020 was an unusual one in several ways. The undergraduate course I taught was my first one, on top of that in online format, and I started with a creative teaching experiment right away. The twelve-week course was on the translation of current British Nature Writing, looking specifically at excerpts from Mark Cocker’s A Claxton Diary: Further Field Notes from a Small Planet (2019). Prior to the actual translation tasks, I gave my students a creative writing exercise in which they had to produce their own piece of Nature Writing. Originally, I had intended this to be a group exercise in which we would all head out together during one session. Due to the lockdown, however, I could only teach online, and so assigned the task as one that students would complete individually in their respective environments.

In this article, I would like to illustrate the outcomes of this assignment. First, I will outline the task and what the students made of it. Then I will present the results of a survey conducted after the course, looking at the effects and benefits of the assignment. Finally, a few examples of the students’ texts will be included.

The Assignment

The assignment was the following: “Take at least half an hour to spend time with nature. You can do this in your garden, in the forest, the fields or a meadow, in the city, even on your balcony or at an open window. Write about your impressions (afterwards or during the experience). Write at least one page of text (poems are also possible)”. Texts were to be written in German, the target language of the translations on which we would later work.

The students produced a range of engaging and thoughtful texts. Most of them wrote prose pieces, though one composed an almost imagist poem about her way to work. Half of the students had gone for a walk, through environments ranging from field paths to forest paths to riversides. Some went in the evening to enjoy the colours of the setting sun on the landscape. Others were accompanied by their dog and used to daily walks. One went out in the rain, her favourite kind of weather. They all told of calming and enlivening experiences, and recounted details that had captivated their attention: a rabbit, a singing lark, sweet-scented elderflowers, a fire salamander. Not only did walks offer connection with nature. The environments described ranged from lakes in the Alpine foothills to urban balconies and window views. The students demonstrated an eye for detail, colour and shape, noted sounds and scents. Among their texts were evocative and emotional pieces as well as philosophical reflections about the place of humankind in nature and the interconnectedness of all living beings. They had produced Nature Writing in all its dimensions, and therefore successfully demonstrated the multi-faceted qualities of this field of literature.

Evaluation of the Assignment

As the pandemic had brought new and unexpected challenges to university life, my faculty was interested in how lecturers had responded to this with new (online) teaching approaches. Given the Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz’s strong commitment to teaching quality, it provided funding for a research assistant who helped with the evaluation. At the end of the course, she created an anonymous survey with my questions, collected and summarised the answers (11 out of 13 students responded). I was especially interested in two things:

1. In light of my teaching aims, what effect did the creative writing task have on the translation experience?

2. In light of recent events, did the task have a positive effect on the students during the lockdown?

The survey started with this second question, which can now be answered with a “Yes.” Almost all students had perceived the conscious engagement with the natural world as relaxing, meditative, even soothing. Most of them chose to concentrate fully on experiencing the natural world and only write afterwards on their laptop; some made notes on paper. They found the task a welcome change, both from usual university work and the lockdown. One student reported that she had felt more motivated than usual to hand in the assignment early.

Students also remarked that the online format of the course had not impaired their positive experience too much. Although some would have liked to exchange their impressions afterwards in class (which we did not do; I only gave individual feedback), all agreed that they preferred the individual task over the group experience I had originally planned. In going out alone, they were able to focus more and also had greater choice over place and time of their experience.

The assignment also appeared to have a positive impact on the translation experience of the students. Many reported that they could better relate to the Nature Writing texts they had to translate, feeling greater identification with the author. Their awareness of details and atmosphere was heightened. At the same time, they gained a greater feeling for their own language which enabled them to produce free and creative translations.

It had been my aim to offer a stimulating task, and indeed it appears to have promoted the students’ translation competence. In addition, it brought them enjoyment, physical activity and relaxation. Including selected creative writing tasks can therefore be a profitable course component in teaching literary translation.

Publication of the Students’ Texts

The Nature Writing exercise took the students out of the classroom. Now, their writings were also to go out into the world. One student suggested publishing them for a wider readership, in order to create a feeling of university life despite the online semester. The idea was welcomed by the course and thus pursued. Three of the texts have already been published on the blog of our faculty’s student magazine, the 06|magazine. A special online issue with all texts is being planned. To give an impression of the students’ Nature Writing, a few examples are also included in this post (originals in German only).

Nature Writing by Annika Fitsch

Ich sitze auf einem Steg, fühle das warme Holz der Planken unter meinen Beinen und die Sonne auf dem Gesicht. Ich höre die Wellen; sie gehen schneller als sonst, es ist ein recht windiger Tag. Dennoch rollen sie beständig und regelmäßig ans Ufer, was sehr beruhigend wirkt. Auf dem Wasser tummelt sich eine Gruppe Schwäne, im Blaugrau des Wassers wirken die weißen Tupfen beinahe wie Wolken am Himmel. Es sind viele Schwäne, die meisten von ihnen sind im Wasser, einige liegen an Land. Alle befinden sich in unterschiedlichen Positionen. Manche suchen tauchend nach etwas Essbarem, andere schwimmen erhobenen Hauptes umher, wieder andere scheinen ein Nickerchen zu machen. Die schlafenden Schwäne liegen auf den Steinen am Ufer einer kleinen Halbinsel, die vor einem Dorf ein Stück in den See hineinragt. Hinter ihnen sehe ich einen Teil des Hafens und dahinter erheben sich einige Häuser. Das Dorf wirkt ruhig, von hier aus sehe ich keine Spaziergänger, die an der Promenade entlanglaufen, nur die großen alten Bäume sind zu erkennen. Sie stehen in vollem Grün, jeder in einer leicht anderen Schattierung, alle haben eine etwas andere Form und Größe, flach und grasgrün, hoch, spitz und dunkelgrün, beinahe quadratisch und hellgrün.

Ich höre das Kreischen einer Möwe und das Zwitschern einiger Vögel, das jedoch beinahe von den an Land rollenden Wellen übertönt wird. Ich lasse meinen Blick weiter nach links schweifen, weg von den Schwänen und dem Dorf und über den See. Über bewaldete Hänge und eine weit entfernte, kaum erkennbare Ortschaft hinweg, meine ich, das Ende des Sees erahnen zu können. Am Ende des Sees, hinter weiteren mit Wald bedeckten Hügeln, sehe ich schemenhaft die Umrisse der Alpen. Graue, hohe Berge, auf deren Spitzen noch Schnee liegt. Den Schnee erkenne ich so gut, dass die Berge gar nicht so weit weg erscheinen.

Mein Blick schweift weiter über kleine Ortschaften, Waldgebiete und aus Sandstein bestehende Hänge. Mit den Augen folge ich einer Straße, die direkt am See entlangführt, zu einem nahe gelegenen Ort, von dem ich einige Häuser, die Kirchturmspitze und den Hafen erkennen kann. Schließlich gleitet mein Blick über ein kleines Wäldchen zurück zu dem Steg, auf dem ich sitze. Ich schaue noch einmal hinaus auf das Wasser, betrachte den Farbverlauf des Wassers, von dem Braunblau des seichten Wassers am Ufer über ein dunkles Grünblau bis hin zu einem Graublau an den tiefsten Stellen des Sees. In dem grünblauen Wasser sehe ich einen weißen Tupfen, einer der Schwäne hat sich von seiner Gruppe entfernt und schwimmt nun einige Meter vor mir auf dem See. Hinter ihm, etwas weiter draußen, sehe ich einen Mann, der in einem kleinen Schlauchboot sitzt und angelt. Das schwarze Boot wird von den Wellen sanft hin und her geschüttelt.

Die Sonne scheint auf die unruhige, durch Wellen unterbrochene Wasseroberfläche und lässt das Wasser etwas heller erscheinen. Ich kann jedoch nicht bis auf den Grund sehen. Durch den Wind und die Wellen wird der Sand aufgewirbelt und färbt das Wasser bräunlich. Der Schwan steckt seinen Kopf unter einen seiner Flügel und beginnt, sein Gefieder zu putzen. Auch sein Gefieder ist etwas bräunlich, er scheint noch recht jung zu sein. In einiger Entfernung fliegen drei schnatternde Gänse über die Bäume auf meiner rechten Seite hinweg und landen mit einem lauten Platschen auf dem Wasser. Durch ihre Landung entstehen Kreise im Wasser, die jedoch schnell von den Wellen verschluckt werden. Ganz leise höre ich den Wind durch die Blätter streichen und das Rascheln des Schilfgrases, das sich sanft im Wind wiegt. Doch das lautere Geräusch der Wellen lenkt meine Aufmerksamkeit wieder auf das Wasser. Während ich mich umschaute, verkam das beständige Rollen der Wellen zu einem Hintergrundgeräusch, doch nun drängt sich der Klang des Wellenschlags wieder in den Vordergrund.

Ich nehme diese rauschende, plätschernde Gleichmäßigkeit in mich auf, atme ein letztes Mal die frische klare Luft, in der ein Hauch von Seetang liegt, und stehe auf.

“Der Regenspaziergang” by Juliane Lein

Es ist ein grauer Tag. Ich lege die gut zweihundert Meter von der Haustür bis zum Feldweg rasch zurück. Es tut gut, draußen zu sein und die Häuser Germersheims in einiger Entfernung hinter sich zu lassen. Am anderen Ende des Feldes kann ich die Schnellstraße und dahinter die Gebäudekomplexe der Südpfalz-Kaserne sehen. Gras sprießt am Feldrand und auch die Bäume grünen. Die obersten Triebe lassen bereits die Blätter hängen, so lange hat es schon nicht mehr geregnet. Auch die Felder sehen völlig ausgetrocknet aus. Ich bleibe einen Moment stehen und richte meinen Blick gen Himmel. Grau und schwer ragen die Wolkenberge über mir auf. Von mir aus könnte es einen kräftigen Regenguss geben. Seit Tagen, wenn nicht gar Wochen, gab es nichts außer grauem Himmel. Keinen einzigen Regentropfen. Ich gehe weiter und bemerke nach einigen Schritten, wie der erste Regentropfen einen großen feuchten Fleck auf dem staubigen Boden hinterlässt. Endlich!

Weitere Tropfen folgen und hinterlassen ein unregelmäßiges Fleckenmuster. Ich richte meinen Blick erneut hinauf zu der dichten Wolkendecke, die schon den ganzen Morgen über der Stadt hängt. Kühle Wassertropfen fallen mir auf die Stirn und die Wangen und ein Lächeln breitet sich auf meinem Gesicht aus. Regen ist das schönste Wetter. Zumindest für mich. Die kühle, frische Luft eines Frühlingsregens, die tropisch-stickige Hitze eines Sommergewitters, das Rascheln der trockenen Blätter im Herbst, während die Regentropfen darauf niederprasseln, und der kalte Schneeregen im Winter, der wie kleine Nadeln im Gesicht sticht. Ich schaue mich um und sehe die Grashalme am Feldrand rhythmisch im Takt der Tropfen wippen. Sie fallen nun in immer kürzeren Abständen und größerer Zahl. Ich setze die Kapuze meiner Jacke auf und setze meinen Weg fort. Das Prasseln des Regens wird dumpfer.

Die Wege sind bereits völlig durchnässt, genauso wie meine Jacke. An der Weggabelung biege ich nach links ab, um einen größeren Abstand zu den Häusern der Stadt zu gewinnen. Die Luft ist kühl und nicht mehr so stickig wie die letzten Tage und ich stelle mich für einen Moment unter eine Buche, um die frische Luft einzuatmen und dem Prasseln des Regens zuzusehen. In den tiefen Furchen der Felder bilden sich bereits matschbraune Pfützen, da das Wasser nicht schnell genug von dem ausgetrockneten Boden aufgesogen werden kann. Nach ein paar Minuten gehe ich weiter, den Weg entlang, an der Schnellstraße vorbei und hinüber zum Flusslauf der Queich, die auch durch Germersheim fließt, bevor sie in den Rhein mündet. Kleine, ineinanderfließende Kreise zeichnen sich durch die herabfallenden Regentropfen auf der Wasseroberfläche ab. Im Vorübergehen betrachte ich den Tanz der Tropfen, es hat beinahe etwas Meditatives allein durch den Regen zu spazieren. Ich genieße die letzten Sekunden Abgeschiedenheit, bevor ich in die Wohnsiedlung am Rande der Felder einbiege. Bis zu meiner Wohnung sind es noch ein paar Minuten.

Im Hausflur ziehe ich meine nassen Schuhe aus, um sie zum Trocknen stehen zu lassen. Meine Jacke hänge ich an der nächstgelegenen Tür auf. Einige Tropfen perlen von ihr ab und hinterlassen kleine, feuchte Flecken auf dem Boden. Ein Stück des Regens habe ich also mitgebracht. Ich betrachte die Fensterscheibe, während ich mir Wasser im Wasserkocher erhitze. Die Tropfen rinnen an ihr hinab. Es scheint so, als würden sie ein Wettrennen machen. Der Wasserkocher schaltet sich automatisch ab und auch an seiner Innenseite rinnen die Tropfen hinab wie an der Scheibe. Ich bereite mir einen Tee zu und setze mich noch eine Weile ans Fenster, um den schönen Regenspaziergang in aller Ruhe ausklingen zu lassen.

Juliane Lein is a fourth-semester undergraduate student. She studies English, French and Arabic, with a focus on internet technologies and media translation.

Author: Melina Lieb is a PhD candidate and lecturer at the Faculty of Translation Studies, Linguistics and Cultural Studies at the Johannes Gutenberg-Universität Mainz/Germersheim, Germany. Her research focus is on 21^st-century British Nature Writing, ecocriticism and ecopoetry. In her dissertation she considers the role of the “common” in this field of literature, including aspects such as the everyday, the ordinary and the familiar as well as the shared and the political. Melina also writes her own prose and poetry inspired by the natural world, both in English and German.

September 8, 2020
Teaching Environmental Literature Online

Where in the world?! Environmental literature from around the globe, literally and figuratively

The COVID-19 pandemic has forced teachers and students to reimagine environmental literature classrooms. Spaces where we once discussed environmental literatures at the same time and place have been replaced with online “classrooms” that are scattered across time zones and a wide range of learning conditions, where family or financial responsibilities often compete with curricular deadlines for attention.

In the face of these abruptly altered circumstances and with students spanning the USA, from Hawaii to Massachusetts, I integrated a series of ArcGIS Online mapping assignments into my introduction to environmental literature course. This course fulfills a humanities requirement for students majoring in a range of fields, from business, journalism, and environmental studies to human physiology and pre-med. In this blog post, I show how digital tools offer unique opportunities to integrate a dispersed classroom community and consider new ways of teaching environmental literature.

Why use ArcGIS Online if your university has it…and some free online alternatives if they don’t

As humanities scholars and teachers, we have a lot of digital tools available to us through our institutions. But we often overlook tools that are primarily used in the sciences. ArcGIS Online is generally used for empirical research in fields ranging from sociology to physical geography and biology, where researchers collect and map data sets. The data points this kind of research collates seems an unlikely fit for the interpretive work we do in the humanities. Yet a couple of trainings at my own institution, the University of Oregon, and a workshop led by David Taylor and Maria Brown at the 2019 ASLE biennial ecocriticism conference showed me how mapping tools can be a valuable resource for literature classes.

There are a lot of free online mapping tools, like QGIS, StoryMapJS, ArcGIS Online public accounts, and Google’s My Maps application. Important projects, like the UN Youth Climate Report, are happening through free online tools.

So why did I go to the trouble of working with the University of Oregon IT department to use the university’s official ArcGIS Online account? There are three main reasons.

First, using your university’s online resources usually means that students are guaranteed the same level of privacy they can expect in the classroom. This allows teachers and students to work together to create brave spaces of inquiry where everyone can take risks, test out new ideas, and exchange viewpoints.

Second, while students can use free online tools at any time, they do not always have the opportunity to work with tools like Esri’s ArcGIS. A wide range of organizations around the world use Esri software, so taking advantage of existing university accounts to access these tools can give students valuable experience for their future career pursuits.

Finally, ArcGIS has the Survey123 application, which allows teachers to create forms that automatically populate a map with information. Basically, you can create a form (not unlike a Google form) that students can open on their phones or in their browsers. The surveys in my course comprised analysis questions that students submitted to generate an interactive map, similar to the one below (see fig. 1). Click here to see the interactive map and view the texts we read during the course!

Figure 1: Interactive map for locating ourselves in relationship to the texts we read.
Portions of this document include intellectual property of Esri and its licensors and are used under license.
Copyright © 2020. Esri and its licensors, all rights reserved.

Mapping texts from around the world and across different media

Although the mapping assignments were initially part of an in-person version of this course, they geographically grounded our virtual classroom. The mapping tool created an online location for our conversations about cultural representations of nature and the environment across an array of socio-historical contexts from around the world. Besides introducing ourselves via a welcome survey (on which students could provide the location from which they were taking the class), students created each point on the map you see below by completing analyses about texts and contexts with which we engaged over the course of the term (see fig. 2). As the points on the map demonstrate, this introduction to environmental literature course surveyed a wide range of texts from around the world…and across several genres and media.

Figure 2. Collaborative class map created over the course of the term. Each point represents student analyses of texts we read from around the world.
Portions of this document include intellectual property of Esri and its licensors and are used under license.
Copyright © 2020. Esri and its licensors, all rights reserved.

We began with U.S. nature writing with which most students were already generally familiar, reading creative non-fiction excerpts from renowned authors like Henry David Thoreau, Aldo Leopold, and Rachel Carson. Then we moved on to important environmental justice works, like Helena María Viramontes’s novel Under the Feet of Jesus before looking at some postcolonial ecocritical perspectives through reading Wangari Maathai’s Unbowed: A Memoir and Amitav Ghosh’s The Great Derangement: Climate Change and the Unthinkable. We ended with multimedia texts, watching two documentaries from the Irish film maker, Risteard Ó Domhnaill, who held a live question and answer period with students over Zoom. We finished the term by playing the video game, Never Alone (Kisima Ingitchuna), a collaborative project between Iñupiat Elders in northern Alaska and E-Line Media to tell traditional stories in an interactive medium.

The global scope of this course inevitably raised questions about crises like climate change and how we imagine our planetary relations. The mapping assignments encouraged students to reflect on the texts and contexts we studied through a representation of the planet. The representation of the world through a cartographic online tool allowed us to map connections among our own remote learning locations and the places, both real and imagined, with which we engaged through the texts and contexts we studied. It also drew out connections among the environmental issues that our analyses brought to bear. These connections became more apparent to students over the course of term as we populated the collective course map with the students’ articulate analyses, using both visual and textual language. The maps and analyses the students submitted revealed an array of stories, including our own, that built classroom community and cultivated conversation in radically altered but no less immediate environmental relations.

Challenges with using a digital mapping tool for an online course

Geographically locating ourselves in relation to the texts and contexts we studied in this course was initially something I’d planned to do in face-to-face class sessions. The COVID-19 pandemic altered my plan, however, making this online tool yet another form of online engagement for students. Like any new software application, ArcGIS can be challenging for students at first, putting an onus of technical writing and support on the instructor. The wide use of Esri software means that many how-to sites for the mapping tool exist, but I found I had to supplement these online resources for our specific assignments. The initial hiccups worked out, however, as I adapted assignment prompts and instruction pages based on student questions and feedback, providing valuable teaching and learning experiences for us all.

One downside to the Survey123 application is that text fields are limited to 1000 characters. This means students sometimes had to make challenging choices about what to include and exclude to create concise and clear analyses across multiple categories in the mapping assignments. This can be frustrating to some students, as we are habituated to perceive online forms to just be a fill in and send kind of interaction. But the benefits of specifying analyses to fit within short character limitations helps students to hone their ideas when they’re working individually and to prioritize ideas when working in groups.

Inspiring results in student work

From a series of mapping and writing assignments over the course of the term, students created an archive of materials upon which they could draw to create story maps. The story maps were originally planned as the final project for the course, but the national uprisings in the United States altered the course of finals week for our spring term, as many finals were made optional at the University of Oregon. Consequently, many students focused their energies elsewhere as the pandemic and protests created unprecedented learning pressures.

Yet all students came to be represented in the excellent story maps that were ultimately submitted. One story map, Nature’s Tongue: Social Context and the Environmental Relationship, traced the role language plays in our class’s perceptions and the field of environmental literature. This engagement with language reveals the entanglements of colonial and environmental histories while also attesting to the excellent work all the students in the class did over the course of this very turbulent term.

Another story, Understanding the Environment: An Exploration through Different Mediums, compared and contrasted film and print media to critically situate student perspectives within the materiality of historical and cultural production. By focusing on media, this story map demonstrates how form and content collaborate to make meaning.

Finally, Let Us Rebuild: A Reflection on Environmental Degradation and a Push for Renewal (no public link) presents an analysis of the intersections and interconnections within class conversations and the contexts we encountered in the texts we read. This story map heeds complex constellations of power that implicitly and explicitly inform narratives and environmental relations.[1]

Ultimately, the selection of story maps that were submitted revealed an online classroom environment in which students showed resilience, patience, and positive attitudes as they engaged with each other, new online tools, and a broad spectrum of texts, contexts, and media in the midst of unparalleled challenges to teaching and learning.

Conclusion: Teaching mapping tools in turbulent times

The mapping tools offered unique ways of engaging with each other at a unique time in history. This term taught us all some important skills and lessons about how to adapt our teaching and learning in shifting environments under almost any circumstances. Despite the challenges that come with learning an online tool for the first time, I appreciated the opportunities mapping tools offered both myself and the students to incorporate geographic contexts, images, text, and video into analyses of environmental literature in different genres, histories, and media. In contrast to the standard essay form that final papers generally take, the story maps allowed students to critically situate themselves, their ideas, and their collaboration with peers within visual and textual narratives.

Thinking about our local and planetary relations in cartographic representations established malleable scales and scopes within which we could recognize each other as authorities and amplify voices while we encountered new material and narrative worlds. This malleability of scale and scope opened up our online classroom environment so we could more easily and informally learn from and with each other in new ways. At a time when new perspectives are needed to challenge old habits of mind, the toughest term I’ve ever taught became one in which the students situated thoughtful analyses in textual, visual, and geographic terms through the mapping tools. Their creative and rigorous engagement with text, context, media, and genre presented an array of ideas that integrated each other’s perspectives in inspiring ways. Cumulatively, their work reveals great thoughts and thinkers for more hopeful and enduring futures in which I will find inspiration as a teacher for years to come.

[1] Thank you to Riley Chan, Maya Gurewitz, Byon Kea, and Sam Perlman for providing permission for me to share and discuss your excellent work!

Author: Katherine (Kate) Huber is a PhD candidate in the English Department at the University of Oregon (UO). Kate specializes in twentieth-century Irish and British literature and ecocriticism, with interests in transatlantic African and Caribbean anglophone and Dutch literature and postcolonial studies. Kate teaches environmentally themed composition and literature courses. She also co-facilitates the UO’s longstanding ecocritical reading group, Mesa Verde. Read more about Kate’s teaching, research, and public writing at katehuber.org

August 27, 2020