Wednesday, July 28, 2010

My Appalachia by Muriel Miller Dressler


Growing up in West Virginia (or anywhere in this country) - you really don't get a sense that Appalachia is a good place to live. The media, our teachers, and society in general has a tendency to try and force us to conform, to lose our accents, and give up our traditions as if they were bad habits.


I have to admit that I was once in that same frame of mind. For a brief moment of my life, I was confused and searching for my identity. I was able to glean bits and pieces from other places, but it wasn't until I returned to West Virginia and starting reading about Appalachian history and literature that I gained my true sense of place.

It had been there all along, just below the surface. Of course looking back now, it makes sense that my identity was there. Where else would it be? Certainly not in the halls of a preppy private college in Virginia. I suppose for a while I ignored it, running away from what I thought was a bad thing (as I was influenced to believe) - I was running away from what I was looking for.

But I'm finally in a good place with my heritage, thought it took me a many good year to get there. I suppose you could still find fault with this place, just as you can with any place. However I happen to like my home in the mountains.

One of my favorite poems about Appalachia is by Muriel Miller Dressler, a woman from St. Albans, WV. She originally published this in 1977, and I have an original copy signed by the author. It's one of my prized possessions. The imagery in the poem is hypnotic and intoxicating - as well as brutally honest.

Enjoy!


Appalachia

By Muriel Miller Dressler

I am Appalachia. In my veins


Runs fierce mountain pride; the hill-fed streams


Of passion; and, stranger, you don’t know me!


You’ve analyzed my every move–you still


Go away shaking your head. I remain


Enigmatic. How can you find rapport with me–


You, who never stood in the bowels of hell,


Never felt a mountain shake and open its jaws


To partake of human sacrifice?


You, who never stood on a high mountain


Watching the sun unwind its spiral rays:


Who never searched the glens for wild flowers,


Never picked mayapples or black walnuts; never ran


Wildly through the woods in pure delight,


Nor dangled your feet in a lazy creek?


You, who never danced to wild sweet notes,


Outpouring of nimble-fingered fiddlers;


Who never just “sat a spell,” on a porch,


Chewing and whittling; or hearing in pastime


The deep-throated bay of chasing hounds


And hunters shouting with joy, “He’s treed!”


You, who never once carried a coffin


To a family plot high up on a ridge


Because mountain folk know it’s best to lie


Where breezes from the hills whisper, “You’re home”;


You, who never saw from the valley that graves on a hill


Bring easement of pain to those below?


I tell you, stranger, hill folk know


What life is all about; they don’t need pills


To tranquilize the sorrow and joy of living.


I am Appalachia: and, stranger,


Though you’ve studied me, you still don’t know.

This poem is still in print in the collection: Wild Sweet Notes: Fifty Years of West Virginia Poetry 1950-1999 published by Publishers Place, Inc., 2000.

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

What a beautiful poem!
thanks for sharing it in your blog, Jason.

Mountainword said...

It's one of my all time favorites, and I think captures the essence of the region quite nicely

Angela said...

That is a beautiful poem Jason! I also love all of your pictures of your mountains!

Have a Great Day!
Angela

Mountainword said...

Angela - glad you like it. The pictures are all of places I know well. The first is from the clifftops on North Mountain in Pendleton County, WV. The "v" shaped notch in the mountains is Judy Gap. The second picture is of Roots Run, a small country road that winds through a holler near Riverton, WV, and the last photo is of the Bland Hills (also near Riverton) where I took many a long walk in the summertime when I had nothing else to do as a teenager. The mountain in the background that the storm is coming across is Spruce Knob, the highest point in West Virginia.

Granny Sue said...

YES! I love this poem. It says what needs to be said. Thank you for posting it, Jason.

tipper said...

One of my favorites too Jason! Funny how what you're looking for is sometimes right under you nose uh: )