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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