Heard this on Radio 4 the other day having previously read it in some climate change thing or other. It's a bit clumsy but charmingly so, and I thought it was fairly powerful and a great illustration of the way we take amazing things completely for granted. Never heard of Nan Craig.
The loss of birds by Nan Craig
Of all the losses I think the loss of birds
has been the hardest. Strangest.
Whole days pass, now, as
I struggle to explain them to you.
I begin: they were very light.
Light as lizards made of
wire and buttons. But
covered in tiny leaves,
leaves softer than the softest fur.
Shinier. Sleeker.
Suspiciously, you say: Fur-leaves?
Exactly, I say. Their legs
were little sticks. Snapped twigs.
The small ones anyway. The biggest ones
had feet like grappling hooks.
Their arms were half-furled
umbrellas. Elbows on backwards.
Stretching, they became sails
snapping in high winds.
Covered in those silky scales –
fur-leaves, you repeat – yes, I say – which
lay flat like scales but ruffled
sometimes in the breeze, like fur.
Fur but not, I say, again and again.
Their bones were hollow and they moved
from ground to
air to sky to speck
faster than thought. They could not
be caught, I lie: they moved too fast
for human hands
or animals.
They listened carefully to everything,
but had no ears. (what?
I really start to lose you here)
Their heads were round knobs
and one angry claw stuck out
the middle of their heads
for a mouth
and they ate through the claw.
Sometimes a yellow claw. Sometimes black.
Thinking of ducks, I add: Sometimes the claw was blunt
like a thumb. It could be blue. Or red. Also,
they birthed these little stones with goo
and flesh inside, that you could crack and eat.
You listen to me but I understand
you don’t believe me,
can’t believe me. How can you, I am raving,
nothing I say makes any sense.
They were everywhere, I insist. Everywhere.
You smile politely and begin to drift away.
WAIT! I shout. They also sang!
They sang.
At that point, I go silent,
seeing as by now
I don’t even believe myself.
