Wednesday, 4 March 2020

Ted Hughes

Ted Hughes is the subject of this evening's Portsmouth Poetry Society meeting. I have produced this piece by way of introduction and circulated it to those likely to be there in the hope of saving them having to listen to me for any longer than necessary.
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In the 1950’s, so some books tell us, English poetry saw the arrival of a new generation of poets, and the three major figures were Philip Larkin, Thom Gunn and Ted Hughes. They were not similar. One could see them as three points, or sides, of a triangle.
The joint Selected Poems of Gunn and Hughes bracketed them together misleadingly. Contractual difficulties meant that Larkin was not included. It might have made it clearer that Gunn and Hughes were not such an item if Larkin had been there to chaperone them but any semblance of kinship, based on machismo and attitudes of violence, at least briefly, seemed to lead to a misunderstanding. Gunn adopted ‘postures for combat’ towards the world, either ironically or as a disguise, whereas Ted’s early poems recognized, captured and possibly celebrated nature ‘red in tooth and claw’ and the violence is as real as anything in poetry can be said to be ‘real’.
In the famous introduction to The New Poetry, in 1962, Al Alvarez went to great lengths to compare Hughes’ A Dream of Horses with Larkin’s At Grass, that describes retired racehorses, and conclude in favour of the perceived risk-taking, vital and exciting Hughes poem compared to the ‘gentility’ of the Larkin poem, which he concedes is ‘more skilful but less urgent’. The implications of what Alvarez was saying were darker than that, though, and so it turned out.    
Hughes’s first book, The Hawk in the Rain, was published to some critical acclaim and so he can never really have known what it was like not to be a poetry superstar. His first three books were dominated by, but not exclusively about, animals and nature- birds of prey, a fox, jaguar, otter and they were admired for their animal nature. Crow: from The Life and Songs of the Crow, in 1970, developed the theme by re-making the Creation story with the uncompromisingly pitiless figure of Crow in the place of God. Of those poems he said, ‘the idea was originally just to write his songs’,
songs with no music whatsoever, in a super-simple and a super-ugly language which would shed everything except just what he wanted to say
He also explained that its free verse style had been adopted because,
the very sound of metre calls up the ghosts of the past and it is difficult to sing one’s own tune against that choir.
For better and worse, Crow was a great success and further enhanced Ted’s reputation. For better because it was a major new thing in English poetry and was exciting at the time and probably still is for many. For worse possibly because it took him off further into that method of myth-making, primitive, some might say ‘anti-poetry’. In pop music terms it might be compared with heavy metal, very broadly. From then on, most of his books were themed, rugged free verse on such subjects as Prometheus, the Seasons, the dark narrative of Gaudete, The Remains of Elmet about Yorkshire and Moortown Diaries about farming in Devon.
John Betjeman died in May 1984. It was widely assumed that Larkin would be the next Poet Laureate but he didn’t want the job so Ted was appointed in December.
Raincharm for the Duchy appeared in print remarkably quickly, sub-titled ‘A Blessed Devout Drench for the Christening of His Royal Highness Prince Harry’, a long poem about torrential downpours in Devon that looked as if it might have been co-opted into service as a first laureate poem but even if it was, it was an impressive way to start. Not much else done in exchange for the sherry bears comparison with it.
Wolfwatching in 1987 had been a partial return to the earlier books of shorter poems, its title taken from one about an animal in captivity in London Zoo hearing the sound of distant traffic.
Before his death in 1998, Birthday Letters was published, the poems saved privately over all the years since the death of Sylvia. In some places these were regarded as some kind of atonement and Seamus Heaney, having read them in manuscript, said that to read them,
is to experience the psychic equivalent of "the bends". It takes you down to levels of pressure where the undertruths of sadness and endurance leave you gasping.
Not all of us think they are his best poems but the fascination with that relationship ensured that they received much attention.
He was the last of the Laureates who had the job for life. In Andrew Motion and Carol Ann Duffy we now have two living ex-laureates. Few will deny that Ted Hughes was a major figure in English poetry. Even fewer are likely to argue that he wasn’t controversial.