dinsdag 8 september 2015

Ted Hughes - Thistles

Against the rubber tongues of cows and the hoeing hands of men
Thistles spike the summer air
Or crackle open under a blue-black pressure.

Every one a revengeful burst
Of resurrection, a grasped fistful
Of splintered weapons and Icelandic frost thrust up

From the underground stain of a decayed Viking.
They are like pale hair and the gutturals of dialects.
Every one manages a plume of blood.

Then they grow grey, like men
Mown down, it is a feud. Their sons appear,
Stiff with weapons, fighting back over the same ground.


{no year found, is it about nature or is it about war??}

1 opmerking:

  1. Not about war, except in the sense of the cycle of life. If anything it strikes me as allegorical for sex and sexual conquest. It is melancholy, and not surprising given the ultimate nature of his fatal attraction towards Sylvia's sorrows.

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