Poems About Ted Hughes by Top Critiquers

I was a fresh tube of paint, Indian Yellow,
in wait to experience the slick skin  
of a gesso'd canvas—or paper'd  
Poetry put to pictures, a visual gift
After hand-to-hand combat
With the muse. I had never known  
A scent of turpentine permeating  
The space of an atelier,  
Unlike my friend, whose name  
Was that of a man's, Michael,  
Yet, she was feminine as they come.
Michael, who had fallen obsessively  
Within the composition of one
Who would unwittingly become
My greatest mentor. Me, starry-eyed   ...

Time keeps running, counting, thinking
Even though for some the gears have stopped

Remembering moments and yet unfeeling
It just sits there as dust settles around

Outside the window the scene changes
Grass and trees grow, some die and some go
Everything material ages
But time less emotions
Bears no weight
It doesn’t wait for anyone
It keeps going forward, unmoved

Characterized by numbers, faces and pieces
Man tries to measure time
Man tries to quantify his existence
It becomes the greatest...

White Goddess lines open coffin
With her hair trimmings &
Tarred crow feathers

The silent woman
Smites her womb
Exciting waters to be broken.

In final breath of water
She becomes a lake
Sailed by nightjar holy tremblings.

Until
Ancestral ghosts bequeath
Unto him, the white sheet,
Crisply ironed as bank manager’s shirt:
The burnt fox in his once dream
Shrouds earthen existence
Paints the portal obsidian
Of each poetic homecoming.

Earthed thistle prickles skin
Of rustication...