I see that the supermarket chain Sainsbury's is doing its bit to cut 'emissions' by removing brown eggs from its shelves in favour of white ones, which, according to its research, have a 12.7 percent lower 'carbon footprint' than their brown cousins. This major contribution to achieving 'net zero' has, of course, nothing to do with the fact that white eggs are cheaper and easier to produce...
Anyway, this got me thinking about chickens. The domestic fowl (Gallus gallus domesticus) is the most numerous bird, and the most numerous domestic animal, on the planet, with a population estimated at upward of 26.5 billion (four chickens for every human?). Our debt to them, as producers both of meat and of those natural wonders, eggs, is immense – but are we grateful to them, do we appreciate them? Of course not. Here is the great Polish poet Zbigniew Herbert's tribute to the doughty fowl –
Hen
The hen is the best example of what living constantly with
humans leads to. She has completely lost the lightness and
grace of a bird. Her tail sticks up over her protruding rump
like a too large hat in bad taste. Her rare moments of ecstasy,
when she stands on one leg and glues up her round eyes
with filmy eyelids, are stunningly disgusting. And in addition, that
parody of song, throat-slashed supplications over a thing un-
utterably comic: a round, white, maculated egg.
The hen brings to mind certain poets.
[translation by Czeslaw Milosz]
Friday, 5 June 2026
'The best example of what living constantly with humans leads to'
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Then we must hope that Waitrose develops tartan eggs and M&S polka dot eggs.
ReplyDeleteIt will take me a while to process this news about the brown eggs being removed -- at the moment I'm too overcome by my emotions about it, but I may be back with something rational to say.
ReplyDeleteIn the meantime, a poem:
CHILDREN OF OUR AGE
We are children of our age,
it’s a political age.
All day long, all through the night,
all affairs—yours, ours, theirs—
are political affairs.
Whether you like it or not,
your genes have a political past,
your skin, a political cast,
your eyes, a political slant.
Whatever you say reverberates,
whatever you don’t say speaks for itself.
So either way you’re talking politics.
Even when you take to the woods,
you’re taking political steps
on political grounds.
Apolitical poems are also political,
and above us shines a moon
no longer purely lunar.
To be or not to be, that is the question.
And though it troubles the digestion
it’s a question, as always, of politics.
To acquire a political meaning
you don’t even have to be human.
Raw material will do,
or protein feed, or crude oil,
or a conference table whose shape
was quarreled over for months;
Should we arbitrate life and death
at a round table or a square one?
Meanwhile, people perished,
animals died,
houses burned,
and the fields ran wild
just as in times immemorial
and less political.
-Wislawa Szymborska (1923 – 2012)