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Miscellaneous
| "A lonely stone Afloat in the stone heavings of emptiness Keeps telling her tale. Foxes killed her. You take the coins out of the hollow in the top of it. Put your own in. Foxes killed her here. Why just here? Why not five yards that way? A squared column, planted by careful labour. Sun cannot ease it, though the moors grow warm. Foxes killed her, and her milk spilled. Or they did not. And it did not. Maybe Farmers brought their milk this far, and cottegers From the top of Luddenden valley left cash In the stones crown, probably in vinegar, And the farmers left their change. Relic of The Plague. Churn-milk jamb. And Joan did not come trudging Through the long swoon of moorland With her sodden feet, nipped face. Neither snow nor foxes made her lie down While they did whatever they wanted. The negative of the skylines is blank. Only a word wrenched. Then the pain came, And her mouth opened. And now all of us, Even this stone, have to be memorials Of her futile stumblings and screams And awful death". Churn-Milk Joan Ted Hughes From Remains of Elmet 1979 |
Posted by fitzcoraldo21st October 2006ce Edited 21st October 2006ce
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