Elegy for the Peace River Valley

 

Around the river bend the forest stops,

the valley struck as if by raging fire.

Where once great giants stood and meadows breathed

perfume on gilded fields and swelling hills,

lies waste now, trees cut down and earth stripped bare.

They’ve scraped the earth, the black and loamy soil.

They’ve swept aside the earth to wash down river’s end,

to sink and lie, now lost, in barren pool.

 

From this day on, no life shall grow on such

an ancient nourishment. Who will recall

the land we had, what bounty grew, now gone:

the golden wheat, the yellow corn and straw

grown tall in sunshine, streaming from the east,

the long sweet days of summer heat. Will you

remember juicy cantaloupes, the taste

of tender peach, when southern fields run dry?

 

With dam in place, all else will founder here.

If stripped of branch, with worms and insects gone,

perhaps no birds will soar or sing again

nor sleep, nor perch in peaceful valley’s rest.

Will migrant songbirds land, will hawk, and owl

and grouse find home? Will deer have browse or safe

and leafy hide, or elk give birth in shade

on islands’ river-bank, where trout and pike

and Arctic graylings whisper songs of joy?

 

The forest’s quiet now, the cricket’s chirp,

the scolding squirrels’ chitterings, the slink

of marten, lynx, and mink, of brother wolf

now linger on as wraiths. We’ll not see them

again. Now cougar, bear and wolverine

turn back at forest’s edge. Were eagles soared,

their nests now gone, their nests torn down. Don’t hush

the gallant swans, don’t hush the sparrow’s trill.

 

For when the song of silver river dies,

when curving, sun-drenched valleys drown, we’ll cry

when it’s too late. Why should we not reverse

the toll before it cannot be undone?

– Valentina Cambiazo