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Reflections on the puddle of life

On sharing a bath with Ted Hughes

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by
TheFifthElement
, 10-26-2008 at 11:13 AM (4637 Views)
Maybe it is just me, but I like to read poetry in the bath! It's so relaxing to slip into a lovely hot bubbly bath, surrounded by the weak light of candles and the company of a good poet. Recently I was lucky enough to get hold of a good collection of Ted Hughes's poetry from my secondhand bookshop, so a couple of nights ago I sank down into the water and discovered one of Britain's best modern poets, and perhaps one of the most contraversial due to his infamous and destructive relationship with Sylvia Plath.

Here's Ted:



And Ted with Sylvia:




And thinking about Ted I wrote this:
(poem deleted)

And this is an excerpt of one of Ted's own poems, called Boom.

Boom

I

And faces in the glutted shop-windows
Gaze into the bottomless well
Of wishes

Like rearlights away up the long road
Towards an earth-melting dawn
Of course the same thing, but staler.

More More More
Meaning Air Water Life
Cry the mouths

That are filled with burning ashes.
More info about Ted Hughes here: http://www.earth-moon.org/

and here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ted_Hughes

Updated 07-05-2009 at 06:25 AM by TheFifthElement

Categories
Poetry

Comments

  1. Virgil's Avatar
    Oh I love Hughes' "Crow" poems. Good blog Fifth. I can see how relaxing in a bath and reading poetry go weel together.
  2. Nossa's Avatar
    That's a very nice blog, Fifth I love your poem very much btw! And now you, and Virgil, both tempted me to read some of Ted Hughes poetry
  3. Virgil's Avatar
    One of the Crow poems.

    Crow Alights
    by Ted Hughes

    Crow saw the herded mountains, steaming in the morning.

    and he saw the sea
    Dark-spined, with the whole earth in its coils.

    He saw the stars, fuming away into the black, mushrooms of

    the nothing forest, clouding their spores, the virus of God.
    And he shivered with the horror of Creation.



    In the hallucination of the horror

    He saw this shoe, with no sole, rain-sodden,

    Lying on a moor.

    And there was this garbage can, bottom rusted away,

    A playing place for the wind, in a waste of puddles.



    There was this coat, in the dark cupboard,

    in the silent room, in the silent house.
    There was this face, smoking its cigarette between the dusk

    window and the fire's embers.


    Near the face, this hand, motionless.



    Near the hand, this cup.



    Crow blinked. He blinked. Nothing faded.



    He stared at the evidence.



    Nothing escaped him. (Nothing could escape.)
  4. TheFifthElement's Avatar
    Thanks Nossa
    Thanks for the poem Virgil, that one isn't in my collection. Have now ordered the Crow collection. I'll say thanks but my husband might want to throttle you
  5. Virgil's Avatar
    Well, if he wants to throttle me, he'll have to take a number. There's a whole line of people waiting. Let me know what you think of the Crow collection. I think it's quite interesting. If you ever wish to discuss a poem feel free to include me.
  6. TheFifthElement's Avatar
    hehehe, I think he really wants to throttle me and my book buying addiction. Any excuse! My book has arrived, and first impressions are very, very good. I love A Childish Prank, Crow's First Lesson, Magical Dangers, How Water Began to Play from Two Eskimo Songs. Actually, they're all pretty good. I get the impression Ted Hughes was pretty angry when he wrote this, angry and vengeful and questioning. I'd love to discuss a poem, though my literary criticism skills are a bit rusty, it'd be a useful exercise. Shall I pick a poem? Is it a good idea to start a thread?
  7. Virgil's Avatar
    Sure I would discuss them with you. I don't think any single poem gets too profound but I think the aggragate become significant. No real iliterary criticism skills required. We just discuss as we see them. Plus I think most of them you can find on the internet if you google or yahoo them. Now I wonder where my book is?
  8. optimisticnad's Avatar
    Very catchy almost poignant title. Both Hughes and Plath are prolific writers. I couldn't write poetry to save my life so welldone!