Geopoetics Appalachia

The Initiative for Storytelling and Cultural Healing draws inspiration and inquiry from The Scottish Centre for Geopoetics. I connected with Executive Director of the Scottish Centre entirely intuitively. At the time I was working with a team of visionaries on a project. As the poet of the group, I found myself thriving in the interdisciplinary conversations around sustainability, crisis, cultural biodiversity, social enterprise, and design. At the South Carolina Aquarium with my child, I thought of the word “Geopoetics.” Certain that I couldn’t be the only person to come up with such a beautiful term, ai googled instantly, and then I messaged Norrie Bissell, the director, and a wonderful friendship began, one that would challenge me to envision and develop a U.S. model for “grounding an earth” here in the US.

It was through this connection that I met Alastair McIntosh whose books appear regularly on my course syllabi. It is also through this connection that I met Michael Newton whose writings and wisdom of Gaelic Culture and History provide even deeper ground for the Initiative for Storytelling and Cultural Healing.

Geopoetics spins from Kenneth White’s critique of “the superhighway of information” and how none of it is in the earth. He observes that of the many philosophers from Europe and Britain. Read more about his views and Scottish Geopoetics on this page.

Adapting a program from one place to another requires more than a website (unless it’s a franchise of a fast food restaurant). A coordinator works like a gardener trying out different spots of earth and different angles of light. I knew I wanted a Geopoetics Appalachia a decade ago. It has taken a decade to know what this looks like. The “cultural renewal” aspect of the mission troubled me. Listening to Alastair McIntosh and Michael Newton–and following the Scottish Centre’s activities, taught me so much more than I knew I had to learn. The reason I was having trouble coming up with a “cultural renewal” puzzle piece (me–the organizer, the producer, the one who addresses issues) was because I wasn’t even aware of my own ancestral cultures in need of renewal. I needed renewal. I needed to look and see, as Thomas Wolfe tells us to do. I needed to connect my story to the web of humanity. We can’t renew what we don’t remember.

Our story at some point becomes our memory. At first, it doesn’t feel so. The longer we spend with our story–sharing bits with people, writing parts down, attending Story Shepherd gatherings–the more it wants to tell us. Something shifts from external to internal. The story starts to stir. When that stirring begins, you are on your way through something.