Rien Poortvliet |
The Thought Fox
I imagine this midnight moment’s forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock’s loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.
Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:
Cold, delicately as the dark snow,
A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now
Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come
Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business
Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.
Ted Hughes
"Something else is alive" - I love that. "Something more near..is entering the loneliness." This poem is perfect - the image, the rhythm, the concept - they fit together seamlessly, it really is as if the poem were an already-formed animal that had its own purposes and simply entered the head of the poet as it was passing through.
"Something else is alive" - I love that. "Something more near..is entering the loneliness." This poem is perfect - the image, the rhythm, the concept - they fit together seamlessly, it really is as if the poem were an already-formed animal that had its own purposes and simply entered the head of the poet as it was passing through.
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