Hi Bob,
I've just been dipping into the biography of Ted Hughes and saw too in the
photographs how he had changed in appearance over the years and think you
have caught this admirably, the weight that he carried that must have had
been lifted while on his Devon farm.
bw
James
>From: Bob Cooper <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Huge Ted's (Corrected!)
>Date: Sat, 19 Jun 2004 10:39:48 +0000
>
>Aaaah! I keep telling myself: if you get interupted when typing then you'll
>make mistakes when you start again.
>How true that is!
>And e-mails dissappear so quick (and can't be called back, shouting: Hey,
>hold on, just a minute, let's look at it again!)
>A couple of words corrected in this version!
>Sorry,
>Bob
>
>Huge Ted's Last Morning
>
>Say it anyway you want, he was abundantly private
>even as a kid in the tobacconists in Mexborough
>or re-walking through leaves above Mytholmroyd.
>Whatever else he did he’s still the night-watchman,
>the bee-keeper, the rose-gardener they’d known; a farmer
>whose now thin fingers you can hardly believe
>yanked out a dead lamb, whose ears still seem to hear
>footballers in the Pennine rain, their violent words.
>And the last salmon he caught’s still in the fridge,
>its oil and pink weight collapsing in on itself
>until all that remains is the language he gave us,
>the books we’ll re-open, and the deep-vowelled
>fuck, said with the nakedness of an old man
>lifted from the bath for the last time.
>
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