Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Nicholas Hughes



Nicholas Hughes


"Something is corrupted
with self-consciousness"
—Ted Hughes, Collected Letters

I clung—to the Hook and Fin!!!
My father's view—of who I was
Son of Hawk—on the inside


I saw myself—like my father
A Hunter—on the moody moors
Sullen outlook—fatally-easy to acquire


Others viewed me—from the outside
Like when—a young man is
Admired—in his own view


For something—he does naturally
But from then on—the boy's vision
Gets corrupted—by growing up


Realizing—how stained and
Corrupted with—consciousness
These Letters are—from me to you


What was easy—at first
Trying to be like you—my father
Got harder—and harder


Knowing you—weren't the One
Just another—great poet laureate
Ignoring—your natal Muse


Sylvia—the true Ariel
Riding—her white stallion
Like Kate Blanchett—the Queen


Prancing before—the Armada
The Pope—the Spanish Empire
Brave like—her father Henry


England—her English Muse
The dominatrix muse—the moody
Sullen Anglo-Saxon—word-goddess


Bent, twisted—snarling Wolf
Deep inside her—earthy English
Megalithic Stonehenge howl!!!


Ted and Sylvia—both poets
Frieda and me—Transatlantic
Offspring—transgressive loins


Hughes and Plath—totally selfish
Dynamic duo—from the Land of Dis
O O O O—that Americana Rag


Aetherial rumours—bets placed
In Olympus—by Madame Sosostris
Famous clairvoyante—Lady of Death


My father—drowned Phoenician Sailor
My mother—Belladonna, Lady of Ariel
How long—could such a marriage last?


Within this wicked—pack of cards
Frieda survived—as future poet
But what about me—faraway Alaska?


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