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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
Sun
Colourful
Tried
Pigeons
Upon
Bubble
Voice
Rises
Wells
Bubbles
Well
Wood
World
Voices
Woods

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What happens in the heart simply happens.
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The wolf is living for the earth.
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But who is stronger than death? Me , evidently .
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The only calibration that counts is how much heart people invest, how much they ignore their fears of being hurt or caught out or humiliated. And the only thing people regret is that they didn't live boldly enough, that they didn't invest enough heart, didn't love enough. Nothing else really counts at all.
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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 Iron Man came to the top of the cliff. How far had he walked? Nobody knows. Where did he come from? Nobody knows. How was he made? Nobody knows. Taller than a house the Iron Man stood at the top of the cliff, at the very brink, in the darkness.
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It took the whole of Creation To produce my foot, my each feather: Now I hold Creation in my foot. Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly - I kill where I please because it is all mine. There is no sophistry in my body: My manners are tearing off heads - The allotment of death.
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So the self under the eye lies, Attendant and withdrawn.
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This house has been far out at sea all night, The woods crashing through darkness, the booming hills, Winds stampeding the fields under the window Floundering black astride and blinding wet Till day rose then under an orange sky The hills had new places, and wind wielded Blade-light, luminous black and emerald, Flexing like the lens of a mad eye.
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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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Nobody knew the Iron Man had fallen. Night passed.
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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
Ted Hughes
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The sea cries with its meaningless voice, Treating alike its dead and its living
Ted Hughes
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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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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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The jaws' hooked clamp and fangs Not to be changed at this date A life subdued to its instrument.
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Applause is the beginning of abuse
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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.
Ted Hughes
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Fishing provides that connection with the whole living world. It gives you the opportunity of being totally immersed, turning back into yourself in a good way. A form of meditation, some form of communion with levels of yourself that are deeper than the ordinary self.
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Stilled legendary depth: It was as deep as England. It held Pike too immense to stir, so immense and old That past nightfall I dared not cast.
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