Apologies for lack of blogage this week, have been away from home for the last few days gorging on easter eggs and gin-&-tonics at the boyfriend's place in darkest Argyll. Am up late translating Old English poetry for a freelance research gig, deadline tomorrow - why am I still totally unable to do academic work unless I'm looking down the barrell of a deadline?
The Portmanteau is due a couple of big juicy posts this week, in the meantime here's something for a dark and stormy night from Ted Hughes...
The Howling of Wolves
Ted Hughes
Is without world.
What are they dragging up and out on their long leashes of sound
That dissolve in the mid-air silence?
Then crying of a baby, in this forest of starving silences,
Brings the wolves running.
Tuning of a violin, in this forest delicate as an owl’s ear,
Brings the wolves running—brings the steel traps clashing and slavering,
The steel furred to keep it from cracking in the cold,
The eyes that never learn how it has come about
That they must live like this,
That they must live
Innocence crept into minerals.
The wind sweeps through and the hunched wolf shivers.
It howls you cannot say whether out of agony or joy.
The earth is under its tongue,
A dead weight of darkness, trying to see through its eyes.
The wolf is living for the earth.
But the wolf is small, it comprehends little.
It goes to and fro, trailing its haunches and whimpering horribly.
It must feed its fur.
The night snows stars and the earth creaks.
Photo by Me.
Posts
I'm absolutely loving your blog Laura. Very bad that I discovered while at work :P
ReplyDeleteI too am a huge gin fan and rarely drink anything else. Are you a fan of Hendricks, by any chance?
:)