Cow by Ted Hughes Expand The Cow comes home swinging Her udder and singing: ‘The dirt O the dirt It does me no hurt. ‘And a good splash of muck Is a blessing of luck. ‘O I splosh through the mud But the breath of my cud ‘Is sweeter than silk. O I splush through manure ‘But my heart stays pure As a pitcher of milk.’ from the collection ‘The Cat and the Cuckoo’
Cow II by Ted Hughes Expand The Cow is but a bagpipe All bag, all bones, all blort. They bawl me out of bed at dawn And never give a thought a thought They never give a thought. The milk-herd is a factory: Milk, meat, butter, cheese. You think these come in rivers? O The slurry comes in seas seas The slurry comes in seas. A cowclap is an honest job, A black meringue for the flies. But when the sea of slurry spills Your shining river dies dies Your shining river dies. Say this about cows: Nothing can stop From one end the Moo From t’other the flop flop flop flippety-flop Floppety-flippety. from the collection ‘What is the truth?’
Crow by Ted Hughes Expand Thrice, thrice, thrice, the coal-bright Crow Baaarks – aaarks – aaarks, like a match being struck To look for trouble. ‘Hear ye the Preacher: Nature to Nature Returns each creature.’ The Crow lifts a claw – A crucifix Of burnt matchsticks. ‘I am the Priest. For my daily bread I nurse the dead.’ The monkish Crow Ruffles his cloak Like a burnt bible. ‘At my humble feast I am happy to drink Whatever you think.’ Then the Crow Laughs through his hacker And grows blacker. from the collection ‘The Cat and the Cuckoo’
Dragonfly by Ted Hughes Expand Now let’s have another try To love the giant Dragonfly. Stand beside the peaceful water. Next thing – a whispy, dry clatter And he whizzes to a dead stop In mid-air, and his eyes pop. Snakey stripes, a snakey fright! Does he sting? Does he bite? Suddenly he’s gone. Suddenly back. A Scarey jumping cracker – Here! Right here! An inch from your ear! Sizzling in the air And giving you a stare Out of the huge cockpit of his eyes - ! Now say: ‘What a lovely surprise!’ from the collection ‘The Cat and the Cuckoo’
Flies by Ted Hughes Expand I don’t know about flies. I don’t like to see a fly Wandering about in the air Outside a rabbit-hole, then going in. Somebody’s died down there. I don’t like to see a fly Tapping the eye ball And peering into the eye Of a cow stretched out in her stall. And I hate to feel a fly When I’m taking a snooze after lunch Walk to my mouth-corner – As if just checking a hunch. from the collection ‘What is the truth?
Hay by Ted Hughes Expand The grass is happy To run like a sea, to be glossed like a mink’s fur By polishing wind. Her heart is the weather. She loves nobody Least of all the farmer who leans on the gate. The grass is happy When the June sun roasts the foxgloves in the hedges. She comes into her flower. She lifts her skirts. It does not concern her The pondering farmer has begun to hope. The grass is happy To open her scents, like a dress, through the county, Drugging light hearts To heavy betrothals And next April’s Fools, While pensioners puzzle where life went so airily. The grass is happy When the spinner tumbles her, she silvers and she sweetens. Plain as a castle The hare looks for home And the dusty farmer For a hand-shaped cloud and a yellow evening. Happy the grass To be wooed by the farmer, who wins her and brings her to church in her beauty, Bride of the Island. Luckless the long-drawn Aeons of Eden Before he came to mow. from the collection ‘Season Songs’
Mole by Ted Hughes Expand I am the Mole. Not easy to know. Wherever I go I travel by hole. My hill-making hand Is the best of me. As a seal under sea I swim under land. My nose hunts bright As a beam of light. With the prick of a pin My eyes were put in. Your Telly’s there. You feast as you stare. Worms are my diet. In dark and in quiet I don’t eat alone. At my table sit Centurion And Ancient Brit. from the collection ‘The Cat and the Cuckoo’
Owl by Ted Hughes Expand Owl! Owl! A merry lad! When he thinks ‘Good!’ It comes out ‘Bad!’ The poor Mouse cries: ‘Please let me go!’ And Owl thinks ‘Yes’ But it comes out ‘No!’ OH NO! OH NO! OH NO! OH NO! HO HO! HO HO! HO HO! HO HO! ‘O rest your head, You silly fellow, Upon this lovely Feather pillow!’ from the collection ‘The Cat and the Cuckoo’
Shrew by Ted Hughes Expand Shrill and astonishing the shrew Dashes through the early dew. He’s a famine on four feet: ‘Something to eat! Something to eat!’ His scream is thinner than a pin And hurts your ear when it goes in. And when he meets another shrew He doesn’t rear on hinder toes And nose to tender, waggling nose Gently ask: ‘How do you do?’ He draws a single, furious breath And fights the other to the death. from the collection ‘The Cat and the Cuckoo’
The Twilight White Owl by Ted Hughes Expand To see the twilight white Owl wavering over the dew-mist Startles my heart, a mouse in its house, remembering a dim past When we were only the weight of shrews, maybe, and everything ate us In a steaming, echoing jungle of night-flying alligators, And the dawn-chorus shook the swamps, a booming orchestra Where Brontosaurs were merely the flutes, and land-whales beat on the drum of the ear – It has all sunk into the fern-fringed forest pool of the Owl’s eye, But it reaches over the farm like a claw in the Owl’s catspaw cry. The Owl sways, weighing the hushed world, his huge gaze dry and light As a blown dandelion clock, or the moon-husk of the oldest night. from the collection ‘What is the truth?’
Thrush by Ted Hughes Expand The speckled Thrush With a cheerful shout Dips his beak in the dark And lifts the sun out. Then he calls to the Snails: ‘God’s here again! Close your eyes for prayers While I sing Amen. ‘And after Amen Rejoice! Rejoice!’ Then he scoops up some dew And washes his voice. from the collection ‘The Cat and the Cuckoo’
Weasel II by Ted Hughes Expand Every creature in its own way Mistakes the Weasel For somebody else – too late. The Weasel’s white chest Is the pretty pinafore of the waitress Who brings the field-vole knife and fork. The Weasel’s black ripe eyes Brim with a heady elderberry wine That makes the Rat drunk. The Weasel’s fully-fashioned coat, Lion-colour, wins her admittance To the club of snobby goslings. When the Weasel dances her belly dance Brainless young buck rabbits Simpering, go weak at the knees. When the Weasel laughs Even the Mole sees the joke And rolls in the aisles, helpless. from the collection ‘What is the truth?’
Worm by Ted Hughes Expand Lowly, slowly, A pink, wet worm Sings in the rain: ‘O see me squirm ‘Along the path. I warp and wind. I’m searching hard. If I could find ‘My elbow, my hair, My hat, my shoe, I’d look as pretty As you, and you.’ from the collection ‘The Cat and the Cuckoo’
Worms by Ted Hughes Expand I hear for every acre there’s a ton of worms beneath. I hear that worm-meat’s better meat than fatted barley beef. We’re farming only half our farms, and that’s the new belief. I think I’m growing barley, bullocks, pigs and lambs galore. From six a.m. till nine at night I toil my body sore. But I’m only feeding the roots of the worms, it’s worms I’m working for. Below my clover meadows worms are bellowing in the dark. They’re bound for nobody’s oven, one or two might go to the lark. They gobble their way through the earth’s black pudding safe as they were in the ark. Worms riot and revel in their rude and naked hordes. And most of what I fatten, far, far more than my farm affords Falls into their idle mouths, and the whole lot live like lords. from the collection ‘What is the truth?’