For Ted Hughes
Marshalling old reserves, the Crow old cried
Infinity splitting guttural bullets of air
Inflaming his spirit, trapping wing
Until he soared to talon formation up there.
‘I sing because the feathers are as few
As the counting wind days
Of masking earth with the span
Of my flight.’
So he rose, immaculate black, a jest
Of shadow and light, until
On milked cloud he nested
And was eternal Crow.
Grayson Ellis, 1973
Reprinted, with permission, from ‘Deflation’
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3 comments:
This has always been one of my favourites. Thank Mr. Ellis for allowing you to reprint it and thank you too for publishing my paper. I hope you and your readers enjoyed it.
Shelly, thank you for your comment. You piece was very well received.
I also like this one. I don't know what you think but critics tend to argue that it's a little too influenced by Hughes' voice. I can't see that myself. I should really go back and read the Crow poems but I don't recollect that Hughes strove for linguistic effects in the same way that Grayson does here. I like the playful 'jest' hanging, almost crow like, over the end of the line, which throws us forward to the rhymed 'nest'.
Interesting but I prefer Hughes.
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