More Than Human: A Poem and Interview from Jane Lovell

Interview by Glyn F. Edwards

Welcome back to our series on writing the #MoreThanHuman. We offer a set of interviews with poets and writers on how they approach writing about the environment. The more-than-human is a phrase that seeks to side-step traditional nature-culture dualisms and draw attention to the unity of all life as a kind of shared commonwealth existing on a fragile planet. It also reminds us humans that there is more to life, that there is more world, than the human. It relocates us in relation to the mystery.

This week, we meet Jane Lovell who lives in North Devon on the edge of the Valley of Rocks. Her work focuses on our relationship with the planet and its wildlife. She has recently won the Ginkgo and Rialto Nature & Place Poetry Prizes. Her new collection, On Earth, as it is, is published by Hazel Press.

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Deciphering the Woodlouse

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Glyn F. Edwards: How do you ensure that, when you approach new information in your environmental writing, your gaze remains didactic rather than moralising? As the climate crisis reaches ever more concerning ‘points of no return’, do you perceive any role for the artist to sermonise the sublime?

Jane Lovell: Ironically, I’ve been criticised lately for being too didactic! Tone is not something I consciously focus on when I’m writing. Instead I concentrate on the language ensuring I’m happy with each word, each sound and syllable. Often the tone and content emerge naturally. The muse does that bit!

Should poetry be overtly moralising? I don’t think so. Poetry, by its nature, is subtle and layered; it invites thought and interpretation. No one wants to read preachy poetry and, to be honest, which of us can take the moral high ground? My goal is for readers to think, to see the world from a new perspective. That, to me, is the most effective way to communicate a message.

Glyn: I was intrigued by the scientist’s ‘notes that he’s alone but shows no grief’ – do you consider this a lack of judgement that belongs to the researcher or the woodlouse, or is it intrinsic to a wider anthropomorphic dialogue?

Jane: Lack of judgement or maybe lack of awareness… The poem’s narrative suggests that, ironically, the woodlouse is intrinsically more perceptive and engaged with the planet. He has history passed down to him by his ancestors and speaks of their prophesies with regard to global warming. He is sensitive enough to taste traces of oil in rain, rain contaminated by industrial or urban pollutants, and is aware of the plight of other species in the path of human exploitation and destruction. ‘He notes that he’s alone’ suggests the possibility that he may be the last of his species. His lack of grief? The scientists are gathering information but paying little attention to any emotion. Their anthropomorphic lens reflects their own unemotional attitude, echoed in the fact they are only keeping him alive for their own purposes.

Glyn: Part of the shift in the poem’s momentum in the final stanza involved the use the pronoun ‘we’. Is it any coincidence that ‘we’, the scientists, are given no stone ‘to hide under’ in the parallel phrasing?

Jane: Through the use of “we” I wanted to emphasise the collective responsibility of the scientists, and by extension, humanity. Although the phrasing about “no stone to hide under” isn’t strictly parallel, it highlights a thematic contrast: while the woodlouse can physically retreat beneath a stone, the scientists are exposed, with no such refuge. The woodlouse’s situation, however, is marked by hopelessness: he can hide temporarily but he is being kept alive only for the purposes of research.

Glyn: Though short of the often cited cockroach fact about being able to survive an apocalypse, woodlouses are still renowned for having remarkable survival capacities. Could you explain the woodlouse as a choice of subject for this poem?

Jane: Although the subject of the poem may seem fanciful or slightly ridiculous, there is a growing appreciation of our own lack of knowledge about other species. You only have to read about mycelium and the network of communication existing in forests to realise we’ve been blinkered for a long time. I do have a soft spot for woodlice, however – they’re intriguing creatures – and I also felt its appearance and slightly curious nature would fit the poem on many levels. I see him as a little armoured vehicle to promote deeper questions about our own realities!