The mountains
do not remember
asking the forests
to shelter birds
with silent tongues
and wings of bark.
CB 2008
I wrote this short poem whilst on board the conservation yacht, The Breaksea Girl. A group of us were fortunate to spend six days and nights in and around Doubtful and Dusky Sounds in Western Fiordland, a protected, once-pristine area of black water, red kelp, primordial forest, 'vanishing' waterfalls and - until quite recently - a cacophony of birdsong. Sadly, predators - cats, rats and stoats - have resulted in a severely diminished bird population and significant damage to the forest floor; this in turn has led to the canopy thinning which implies potentially dramatic long-term changes to the ecology in the area. We were shocked and saddened to witness firsthand what felt like the loud absence of birds. . .
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by Joan Fleming
Very evocative in its brevity, Claire - love it. What a physically confronting situation - to hear no bird song.
ReplyDeleteWhat a tragic poem, I hate to think of those places without bird song. I do hope something is done about the incursion for the sake of both birds and forest.
ReplyDeleteSad. But that photo looks like it's printed on linen. Beauty.
ReplyDeleteBut I'm glad for all the songs and images you brought back, that go on reverberating.
ReplyDeleteOh, tragic! Your poem is sadly beautiful. The situation, very sad.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful poem in its sorrow.
ReplyDeleteIt's going in my quote book.
(((((o))))
A fine, wonderful, moving poem
ReplyDeleteHi Elizabeth - it was shocking, really. And disorientating. And disquieting. We did hear the occasional call as we nudged our way along the coastline and up the Camelot River, but nothing like what it once was. . . Very eerie.
ReplyDeleteThanks for coming by, Elizabeth.
Hi Alicia - there's a band of zealous custodians doing all they can to protect the Sounds from predators, but still the pests get in. The dearth of birdsong casts a long shadow. . .
ReplyDeleteHi dbs - I'm happy to know you like this pic; it's one of my favourites from that time -the rain in Fiordland can be mightily persistent but sometimes it looks as though it's suspended in air - each drop of rain a stitch in a fine tapestry. It can look just like linen, dbs - in the photograph and in the flesh, too. Yes!
ReplyDeletePen, thanks - when places speak to us in insistent ways, it behooves us to speak of them as well as on their behalf?
ReplyDeletePen, thanks - when places speak to us in insistent ways, it behooves us to speak of them as well as on their behalf?
ReplyDeleteJayne - it was very sad to come upon land so subdued and affected, yes. Thank you for feeling it, too.
ReplyDeleteOh, Ant. - I'm humbled at the thought of this poem going into your quote book. Thank you.
ReplyDelete(((((O)))))
Hi Harvey - it's a treat to find you've been here. Thank you for coming and for your generous comment.
ReplyDelete