The jawbone the poet found on the beach is as rugged and
square as Hughes' own, pictured on the cover of his Collected Poems.
The jawbone and Hughes know isolation, learned where
…................................... The deeps are
cold:
In
that darkness camaraderie does not hold:
The poet creates a mythic, pagan sense of matters deep
in the planet, where failure is the common order.
…...........................
None grow rich
In
the sea.
Even the jawbones are
….................... spars of purposes
That
failed far from the surface.
Yet
there is success. In the list illustrating Hughes' trademark earthy
word-choices
Vertebrae,
claws, carapaces, skulls.
And
in the occasional felicitous end-rhymes, notably dark in the humorous
final couplet. Perhaps we're reading a sixteen line sonnet.
…..............
This curved jawbone did not laugh
But
gripped, gripped and is now a cenotaph.
Is
the jawbone a relic of the past or of now? Or of someone, devoured?
Nothing
touches, but clutching, devours.
Perhaps
it is Hughes' own, clutching and losing his grip.
Collected Poems: Ted Hughes, Faber and Faber, London, 2003
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