Making Sense of the Climate Crisis Through Poetry
April is National Poetry Month, and we like to celebrate it at Living on Earth!
Now what does poetry have to do with the climate crisis? After producing an upcoming interview with the poet Aimee Nezhukumatathil, author of the collection of poems Night Owl, I am convinced that the answer is this: everything. Poetry has everything to do with the climate crisis.
The reality of climate disruption is often communicated through a series of facts and figures: degrees centigrade, meters of sea level rise, acres burned. And here at Living on Earth, we work hard to make sure our information is accurate and clear using many of these tools.
But underneath the numbers lies a deeper story— the lived human experience of enduring what these statistics represent. The grief we feel when we no longer hear our favorite birdsong outside our window. The overflowing love we have for our neighbors as they rummage through the ashes of their homes after a wildfire. The anger we harbor when we watch yet another politician deny the existence of climate change.
In this excerpt from “Triggerfish Invective,” Aimee channels how she feels after seeing tourists step on corals in Hawai’i:
The last time I sank my face in the neritic ocean
I found only beige and bleached out bones, instead
of orange and green coral fans. I spoke to angry underwater
ghosts in other languages I forgot I knew—my mouth grew
full of seaweed syllables and cracked shells. Too many
pale bodies have marched snorkel fins over this coral,
snagged selfies on the coral, and scraped coral clean
of leafy food. Too many pale bodies don’t even leave
a scintilla of small-shelled meats. The fish ghosts cackle
and hiss. Sometimes they answer with light-scatter.
This is where poetry can offer solace, Aimee suggests.
“Poetry is like a little lantern, because it names the ache, it names the want, it names the love, it names the fear, the rage, anything that your heart aches about, and then it hands you like a lantern back, like, what do you think of this? Or gives you a mirror to yourself, like, when have you last felt like this?”
As a reader (and occasional writer) of poetry myself, I’ve sensed that unique spark of understanding—of belonging—that ignites when you read or write a line that captures something you couldn’t quite put your finger on before.
Poetry can’t end the emotional turmoil we feel. That’s just part of being human. But it helps us feel less alone in that turmoil and make sense of this world we live in.
“I don't have actual degrees in science, but I am a human with a beating, four chambered heart. So my strength is not in mathematical equations or charts or graphs. My strength is in simile and metaphor. I think that's how humans act. They don't just say, here's a catalog of all my loves and grievances and hurts and joys. We make metaphor. We make similes. This is like this. This reminds me of this. You know, that's how our hearts make sense of the world I think, is through poetry. More than a story, more than essays, more than straight up, I don't know, lectures, it's poetry, I think, that is the closest thing to how humans make sense of the world.”
Aimee also hopes that poetry can expand our curiosity and tenderness, leading us to protecting and caring more for our environment and the people who inhabit it.
“[Poetry at its best is] a map leading us back to how to be curious about things other than ourselves, curious about people who are different than us, people who live and move and love differently than us, and things—animals and plants that we wouldn't normally encounter. My hope is that these poems kind of become contagious for wanting to know more about the world.”
In an excerpt from “Nocturne for Dark Things,” Aimee highlights both the wonder and worry she feels for the nighttime world:
One of the marvels of my life—an
alphabet. A whole green and mossy
world can be made and remade
from just twenty-six dark curlicues.
Here’s more dark: sometimes birds sleep
tucked under a giraffe’s dusky armpit
and sometimes fungi fatten only at night.
When I was a kid, I used to worry over
so many bugs and moths slamming
into our windshield. My sons have never
known that concern, which is another kind
of worry.
Night Owl is not only about climate disruption or ecological loss. Those topics are woven in alongside themes of motherhood, assault, racism, friendship, and marriage.
This is why poetry has everything to do with the climate crisis. Poetry is about life, and the climate crisis is undeniably part of life.
You can hear our interview with Aimee Nezhukumatathil in our next broadcast, and Happy Poetry Month!
Check out some of our previous poetry segments with Catherine Pierce, Major Jackson, and US Poet Laureate Ada Limón.
Sophia Pandelidis
Associate Producer
