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The brassy wood-pigeons Bubble their colourful voices, and the sun Rises upon a world well-tried and old.

Ted Hughes

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Ted Hughes
Age: 68 †
Born: 1930
Born: August 17
Died: 1998
Died: October 28
Astrologer
Author
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Science Fiction Writer
Translator
Writer
Edward James Hughes
Ted Hughes
Well
Wood
World
Voices
Woods
Sun
Colourful
Tried
Pigeons
Upon
Bubble
Voice
Rises
Wells
Bubbles

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where are the gods the gods hate us the gods have run away the gods have hidden in holes the gods are dead of the plague they rot and stink too there never were any gods there’s only death
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Nobody wanted your dance, Nobody wanted your strange glitter, your floundering Drowning life and your effort to save yourself, Treading water, dancing the dark turmoil, Looking for something to give.
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The jaws' hooked clamp and fangs Not to be changed at this date A life subdued to its instrument.
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Haven’t you heard of the music of the spheres?” asked the dragon. “It’s the music that space makes to itself. All the spirits inside all the stars are singing. I’m a star spirit. I sing too. The music of the spheres is what makes space so peaceful.
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He was his own leftover, the spat-out scrag. He was what his brain could make nothing of.
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The inmost spirit of poetry, in other words, is at bottom, in every recorded case, the voice of pain – and the physical body, so to speak, of poetry, is the treatment by which the poet tries to reconcile that pain with the world.
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He could not stand. It was not That he could not thrive, he was born With everything but the will – That can be deformed, just like a limb. Death was more interesting to him. Life could not get his attention.
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The wolf is living for the earth.
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The world's decay where the wind's hands have passed, And my head, worn out with love, at rest In my hands, and my hands full of dust.
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Do as you like with me. I'm your parcel. I have only our address on me. Open me, or readdress me.
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The Shell The sea fills my ear with sand and with fear. You may wash out the sand, but never the sound of the ghost of the sea that is haunting me.
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Applause is the beginning of abuse
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The sea cries with its meaningless voice, Treating alike its dead and its living
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You are who you choose to be.
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What happens in the heart simply happens.
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I shall also take you forth and carve our names together in a yew tree, haloed with stars.
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Nobody knew the Iron Man had fallen. Night passed.
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But who is stronger than death? Me , evidently .
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So the self under the eye lies, Attendant and withdrawn.
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The Bush administration doesn't particularly like public participation. It makes them look bad.
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