Wednesday, November 04, 2009

Confusions and Contusions

The Thought-Fox

I imagine this midnight moment's forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock's loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.

Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:

Cold, delicately as the dark snow
A fox's nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now

Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come

Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business

Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.

Ted Hughes

Ted may have looked like one of the statues on Easter Island, but he could spin a cracking ditty off of the top of his frontal lobe.


Tim Footman said...

"...a sudden sharp hot stink of fox"

In his own way, TH helped redefine what we think of as "poetic language".

The Poet Laura-eate said...

It doesn't exactly trip off the tongue though.

Am more of a Betjeman and Larkin fan myself.