Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Ted Hughes
Here is the fern’s frond, unfurling a gesture,
Like a conductor whose music will now be pause
And the one note of silence
To which the whole earth dances gravely –
A dancer, leftover, among crumbs and remains
Of God’s drunken supper,
Dancing to start things up again.
And they do start up – to the one note of silence.
The mouse’s ear unfurls its trust.
The spider takes up her bequest.
And the retina
Reins the Creation with a bridle of water.
How many went under? Everything up to this point went under.
Now they start up again
Dancing gravely, like the plume
Of a warrior returning, under the low hills,
Into his own kingdom.