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> Frank O'Hara said the meter of a pome ought to be like a pair of >jeans it either fits or doesnt. I think Hughes' work fits pefectly. I >suspect his rhythms are an exact reflection of his own body rhythms as >well. big and muscular.... Ted's Huge . . .? This is problematic territory and befits 'the man'. >I think both he and >Hughes are peferct examples of what Tzara describes as artists/poets who >have live poetry as a state of mind I love this stuff cd. It's so - well, masculine and big and beautiful and thrusting. All i remember about Ted is his scowling macho posturing and his black leather jacket in the late 1960s. His rough 'nation language' of northern grit - his (beautifully sent up by Jeff Nuttall in 'The Patriachs') lashing cadence, brooding over the Yorkshire moors, his fateful battle with Sylvia Plath. His HIMness. His thinly disguised misogyny in fact, an affliction shared by others including Jeff Nuttall (ok there are many others, it's almost a generational thang). Hughes is almost always loudly proclaiming himself. He is the kind of artist and poet that dumps us all in the shit of romantic agonised anti-hero, the garrett angst, the existential bird's nest of a hair-do blah blah dribble thistle swoon blah blah. 'The Rattle Bag' is Hughes and Heaney doing some male bonding, Kristevan style, through the agency of poetry. De-lurking in their iron-honest-long-johns before leaping the primal forest fires with Robert Bly. Such tropes are popular - with women as well as men. I'm off out to pump phonemes on the prom love and love cris %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%