Now I am not much of a poet, but I do appreciate the verse that catches my mind’s eye, probably because it does happen to mention my favorite river, the Chattooga. This one, which is © 1997, by Joanna G. Angle speaks of the spirit that is South Carolina. And though it is my adopted state, having lived in a few, it is one that has taken on the possessiveness unique to a place which occupies its special place in the world.

Whispers

I am the foaming Chattooga crashing downhill,
An inky black cypress swamp, eerie and still;
Arching live oak branches draped with silvery moss,
Winding Cherokee Highway and hurricane’s loss.

I am shotgun houses, dinner—on—the—grounds,
Crowded barbecue shacks in mill village towns;
Pat Conroy’s thick novels and Dizzy’s bent horn,
Sunrise gilding Pawleys as a new day is born.

I am Rutledge and Dickey, the Horseshoe, IPTAY,
Sandlapper, the State House, shrimp boats on the bay;
Graceful spires ringing church bells, Darlington’s roar,
The potbellied stove in a worn country store.

I am Porgy and Bess and John C. Calhoun,
Deep blue Jocassee by the light of the moon;
Rows of sweet grass baskets, hammock weavers’ quick hands,
Edisto, Catawba, Yemassee and ”Yes, Ma’ams.”

I’m ”Hey, how ya doin? I declare! Don’t cha know,”
High backed chairs rocking gently on a wide portico;
Confederate tombstones and old battle scars,
Long silenced cannon, revered Stars and Bars.

I’m your gold and green salt marsh, a lone whippoorwill,
Fluffy white cotton, Rainbow Row, The Big Chill;
Brave Swamp Fox and Gamecock, shady courthouse square,
Lowcountry Gullah, crisp clean mountain air.

I am gray ghosts of rice fields, the oysterman’s tongs,
Beach music for shaggin’, a gospel choir’s songs;
I’m palmetto and pine woods, the loggerhead’s nest—
I am South Carolina, place you’ll always love best.

To obtain a print copy of this poem, contact Joanna G. Angle.