The Woodpecker-Woman

If Ovid were alive today he might be inspired to add another story to his Metamorphoses: The Woodpecker-Woman. This strange hybrid creature must, like all the rest, have formed out of a kind of intractable Necessity, set-off, I can only imagine, by anxiety. What the particular circumstance(s) was or were are not terribly important. But maybe it happened in her schooldays; perhaps at that time speaking quickly and with an artificially higher tone of voice was the best way to be overheard. Perhaps, in mid-stride of a sentence and gasping for breath, the young girl was struck by Necessity and transformed into half-woodpecker, half-human; the woodpecker form is of course more gracious, more organic than the alternative: the jackhammer. It was out of mercy and kindness that Necessity lent her the form of the head-banging bird.

Now, fully grown and social, she is always eager to be heard, but always -- perhaps because of her curious form -- afraid of being lost in the sea of voices. Always gasping for breath, she creates shockwaves of sound around her and does injury to the poor listeners' ears as well as those of innocent bystanders. In her wrath, like a Fury, she hacks at the air and behind every word the desperate sense manages to leap out: 'Mine! Mine! Mine!' Or maybe it's 'Me! Me! Me!', but they amount to the same, for she is cursed with the desire to present herself, to take up space and sound, to get your attention and win -- by deafening force -- your benumbed acquiescence. As with other Ovidian metamorphoses, she is cursed with a kind of stasis, for although she wants to move forward with every peck of the air, she is stuck, petrified in her desire -- the mask for her fear.

 

Of course, Ovid's version would have been much more entertaining!