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?