The end of October III

The Seabirds' protest
Non-violent resistance to extinction

Tessa Ransford

The birds of the sea convened a parliament at St. Kilda;
     from Orkney and Shetland, the Small Isles, the Outer
Hebrides they gathered one week in late summer
     when chicks could fend for themselves, though few chicks
had hatched that year or the year before or the year before.

Manx shearwaters skimmed the waves, gannets glided
     on wide wings, arctic terns soared
from the north; puffins, guillemots, razorbills and
     even a pair of albatross, who acted
as moderators. The talk was mostly of climate change
     and how it was altering the relative temperature
zones of the sea and convection currents, affecting the fish.
     The skuas shrilly denied this, squawking 'No proof' and then
'Climate is always changing, the earth has always moved
     and we have always managed to adapt.'

But the lack of sand-eel supply due to factory ships
     which dredge the least living thing that moves in the sea;
chemicals oozed from salmon farms; oil escaped
     from tankers and the huge disturbance of oil drilling;
the dwindling of cod and whitefish with trawlers forced to dump
     them dead in the depths again after catching them
for fear of being over quota; seals, dolphins, whales
     suffering a similar fate; submarines
prowling and fouling, prowling and fouling, prowling and fouling –

'Silence' cried the albatrosses, 'Order, order!'
     The chatter and cries were tumultuous, so that none
was properly heard. 'It's time to take a vote and resolve
     on action: either we become extinct
or we leave the coasts of Scotland for good and find
     another home.' – 'We might persuade the humans
to pay attention to their seas and make new rules
     for their protection, as they have begun
to do to save their land?' With a show of a thousand wings
     it was agreed a protest must be made,
that birds of every species would gather on Arthur's Seat
     to darken the windows of the parliament
and drown with their cacophony even the grind of traffic
     even the drone of debating within the chamber.

'We'll fly around encircling them and swooping lower
     closer and closer. They'll remember Hitchcock
and become afraid!' – 'How will fear make them act
     when reason has not prevailed all these years?'
– 'Fear and pity for their descendants who will never
     watch a gannet diving or a puffin
landing or the arctic tern in a pearl-grey sky.'

Thus it was arranged and final flocking took place
     for three weeks in October. It was noted
in Edinburgh that the sky was black with birds from the sea.
     'Return to the waves', the people shouted, 'or
we'll have to drive you back.' It was in vain, in vain.
     The birds continued in non-violent resistance;
they waited over the winter as one by one and then
     in their tens, in their hundreds, in their thousands they perished,
large and small, littered the parliamentary precincts
     with their delicate feathered souls and desperate beaks.

From 'Not just moonshine: new and selected poems' published by
Luath Press