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Irish Elk and Other Extinctions concerns itself with the precarious and ever-changing nature of life on this planet. In poems which consider everything from melting glaciers to recycling, and the Age of Enlightenment to possible life on the moon, we are taken on a journey of what is and what might be possible. In a cast including snails and salamanders, nuns and lobster fishermen, we see how existence is unpredictable, but amongst the comings and goings, new things will always rise up, and sometimes all is not lost.
Irish Elk
megaloceros giganteus
What did he think, the hunter who first saw you?
Was he stunned at your towering headgear? Antlers
wider than his cave. Did he fear your great height,
so much taller than himself? Perhaps he gave chase
but unable to outpace you, returned to his cave,
drew on the walls in ochre and charcoal, recorded
your red-gold hide, black collar and chinstrap,
dark hump on your withers - those vast antlers.
Did you starve trying to scavenge enough to regrow
the massive headpiece each year? A maladaptation?
Breeding females were thought to favour bucks with
widest horns. I picture a chase through dense woods
hear the crash and clatter, see branches fly before
your great head is locked tight among the trees;
hear bellows of pain, laboured breath as you strain,
struggle and die from exhaustion in pursuit of love.
I can only imagine your enormous elegance,
think of herds that ranged through thinly-wooded
grassland from Ireland to the shores of Lake Baikal,
stopping to graze the sedge, grass or browse on
leaves of spruce and willow. Winter, and your warm
breath melted the snow as you dug in search of food.
Your giant lips tore softly at spring herbs and flowers.
Now only your bones are left to wonder at.
