Count Every Breath, a powerful and sensitive anthology of Eco-poems, strips down to the bone the environmental crisis. No one is spared in the poems, nothing is concealed. The book stares eco predicament in the eye and hopes to inspire readers to rise and do their bit for the planet. It is important for poetry as an art to address the issue of climate change because words are sharper than weapons in their ability to sensitise readers towards the Earth and the devastation that it is facing. Poetry is a tool to bring about change in society. The slightest🙈 nudge through the medium of poems to the reader’s conscience on this matter might bring about actual change in society. Poetry is nothing short of literary activism when it comes to environment and ecology. An excerpt from the anthology.
Forsaking Fossils
Sue’s original semi-crushed skull is bell-jarred
in the previous room. What remains of the bones
dispels Jurassic myths: even if you stood very,
very still - it would be too late to get away.
I river through earth’s documented extinctions
until a red analog number collects our cost:
The normal rate of extinction is one species every four years.
Today, species are going extinct at a rate of 82 species every day.
For four species an hour,
what is the total expense
of my actions today:
— A Kia-sized round trip: Villa Park
to the Field Museum liquifies 6 species
—Breakfast:
freshly baked bread from Pete’s Market,
homemade peanut chutney from Pune,
organic butter from Wisconsin.
— Taking a snapshot of the rising red digits
(31 species lost by this hour), ignorant
of the ratio of slavery to child labor that
went into my phone’s skeleton.
Growling children meteorite into a single exit:
the gift shop. My hand lingers over a wind chime’s exhale.
Which specimen will their descendants imitate?
I buy nothing.
—Anesce Dremen
Lately, the Colour of Water
To survive in a desert
drink piss
To lose a bloodhound
cross a stream
Just some myths
for the brave
But when sewage raids
artesian wells
and tap water’s the colour
of chocolate
It’s too late for
survival games
—Mani Rao
At the Edge of Lake Memphremagog
I watched a catfish swim in South Bay
near the spill, gills flush, whiskers reaching out,
delighting in deep murk, in the clutter
of plastic forks and mussels, minnow clouds,
milfoil, the treasures of green water, as I
that day, not yet mortal,
delighted in her swirl. Our cancers
would come later.
—Laura Budofsky Wisniewski
(This appeared in the print as '"Documented Extinctions"')
