These are poems that Hughes threw out of his 1994 anthology (which has been translated into Chinese).
The Hawk In Rain
I was immersed in the farmland pounded by rain drums, swallowing hard from the mouth of the earth again and again, and pulling my heels out from the soil that clenched my ankles and steps. The soil has a stubborn habit of graves, but the eagle
The calm eyes hanging down from the height are light and unmatched. In the weightless silence, his wings carry everything, as steady as an illusion in the flowing air. When the bursting wind kills the stubborn fence,
Passed through my eyes, took away my breath, grabbed my heart, when the rain split my head and reached the bones, the eagle hovered on the diamond tip of the will, like the North Star guiding the stoic drowning man: and I,
A bitten piece of food, bloody and cleaned at the last moment by the mouth of the earth, tries its best to crawl towards the main fulcrum of violence, where the eagle stands still.Maybe he will meet him in his lifetime
In extreme weather, he was blown away by the air current, everything fell from his eyes, the dull county rushed towards him, and the horizon captured him; the angelic round eyes shattered, mixing the blood in his heart with the mud on the ground.
Macaw and Miss
In a wire cage the size of a human head, the macaw's hair stood on end, as if a devil was stirring up flames, and his gaze was burning. In the old woman's living room, a pot of orchids succumbed to the musk of faded velvet, but it seemed to be suspended in an open fire, like a torturer's iron tool filled with quivering feathers of green, yellow and blue, a touch of deep color. Red pours into the barb;
Or like a simmering stove cover, hanging in a brass kitchen where rum is stored, wearing shackles, he was once a volcano, swearing that on a certain day of a certain year, month and day, it will burst out with magma and burn the world to black ashes. ; Or an exiled aristocrat from the mythological lineage of Thunder Explosion, captured by a little boy with a piece of bread crust and a bent tether or a thrush net on the saddle, put in a cage and ordered to sing.
The old woman who fed him his seed had a granddaughter, and the girl called him "poor Rose" to tease her; "a happy little broom." But every time she lay under the full moon, her body was naked but still shining as if spinning. Her eyes filled with glass neither trembled nor cried. In this dream, a warrior came, carrying lightning and steel, smashing everything and burning everything to tear her vagina apart: buried deep in the pillow, she begged in silence.
Staring into his furnace every day with his blood-red eyes, but closing them as soon as she came. "Pearl, beautiful Pearl," she seduced and shook him gently. She caressed her and whispered to her with kisses. The blue eyelids are always closed. She slapped the birdcage to get angry and then turned around and went out: in an instant, the bird's beak, wings, and claws smashed against the iron fence, igniting a prairie fire and fury, and his scream shook the house.
Living room fragment (-Piece)
How love is like a flame, they dare not throw it into straw-like chatter; how love is like a flood, they dare not let out the smallest trickle for fear of losing everything,
The two people sat in silence: the cool tea in the cup was accompanied by stillness and silence, and their eyes were filled with flames and floods.
A humble suggestion (A)
There is no better way to understand us than this: we are like two wolves, each heading for the same forest. It can't sleep now – even if it is disturbed by a quietly fighting pulse or something else from a long distance; it can't prey – it has to look behind and on both sides at every step, and listen carefully to the opponent's coveted rush. . Nor can it stop the painful burning of the coal in its heart until the other person's body and the entire forest belong to it. Then it will whimper contentment to the moon.
Each hid in the bushes, and after a small conflict, anger roared in their heaving chests. Each licked his wounds in his hiding place, his eyes brighter than usual under the leaves (there was a wren peeping around a leaf, it The sudden scream (because of seeing such a terrible scar leading to the refined red hatred) because every crazy picture will bring satisfaction in the end.
Suddenly they ducked aside to peek. Great lords rode here to hunt. His embroidered cloak floated above, his mount's tail cascaded down, and beside his stirrups were two greyhounds with huge eyes. Day after day they brought down the towering stags. They jumped as one, making joyful cries. bark.
Those who cannot coexist ()
Desire is a vicious divider even as its twisted female coils around the male: severing the two with a cold chisel and welding them together with a soldering iron.
Phrase from old Eden: Something is like a magnet, like a furnace, like a furious hammer slamming down, meshing one body with another until the cracks disappear.
But desire is stronger than those hands that have never touched it, it penetrates the eyes facing each other and falls straight into the blackout zone for the star that lights up the face,
Each body is still desperately crawling downward towards the other's dark vortex, the limbs have been beaten to pieces by flails, and they are smashed into the void that can be seen everywhere between the bars of desire.
Every moment, every second, I feel more and more lonely, falling deeper and deeper into the endless world of nothingness created by each other, even though the two are entwined so tightly here that they block each other's cries.
September()
We sat late, watching the darkness unfold: no clock marked the moment. When kisses overlap and arms embrace each other, no one knows where the time is.
It is midsummer: the drooping leaves are broad and silent: behind the eyes is a star and under the silken wrist is a sea, telling that time is nowhere to be found.
We stand; the leaves never count the time of summer. There is no need for a clock now to tell us the only thing we remember each other: the minutes and seconds buzzing in our heads.
Like an unfortunate king and his queen when they were ruled by a foolish mob; silently, the trees dropped their crowns into the pool of water.
Fair choice
A fair choice? The devil appears! He has made a cunning pact with your hesitation that will lead to your complete destruction!A midwife's hesitation in entrusting your babies to you – twins, quick to cradle, lively and restless
But hate each other! Before the fairness of choice considers both men, you should savagely kill one of them like a wild beast and offer it as a sacrifice to the god of the other, burying its rights before it opens its eyes and becomes competitive. before.
But now your twins are wailing and wide-eyed – (fighting over a pile of stupid heirlooms) You must kill one coldly and force your regrets on the other and protect him from the ghosts of your dead brothers. Retaliatory Harassment.
Or you must bend your beleaguered, feeble back—as if sublimely carrying tons of weight—to raise both equitably. The blood spilled is all yours! Every glance you take will see one of your twins become Abel, the other become murderous Cain.
Midwife (), since Socrates, this word is often related to "thought". Therefore, the "choice" in this poem can also be seen as the choice of Hughes's inner thoughts.
Phaethons ()
Angry, more and more angry, suddenly almost crazy. In the inner rage, his eyes rolled back and he staggered to his feet——
Caught in one sense while the other four rush and roar beneath his skull, right in front of him is the horse of the sun god
The meek reader sits in a silent room and forgets the words before he finishes speaking——
The world under his book has been burned. An inverted and tumbling team dragged him into the flames among the strange beasts of the zodiac.
Howler in a Ring
It seemed as if it had snowed for Winsley. The wilderness foamed like a white sea. A hungry fox stared into the inn lights.
Faces painted with dazzling red mud in a grid, sweating like ham, farmers celebrated their Christmas Eve as they walked out from the low beams of their houses.
The constant laughter in the air is a good companion as they toss the ball past a jumping devil who wants to slam the ball with his tail
Slam the guy holding the ball. They throw their laughter so high that you might think: if they don't laugh, they must cry.
For this purpose the ale was passed round and round, their mouths opened wide and a waterfall of laughter poured out, lest the silence drink up the blood.
Their eyes were shut so tight, And their bellies swayed – Oh, their flesh must return to dust The moment they wake up.
The air was new as a razor and the wilderness looked like the moon as they all roared home and it would be dawn in an hour.
Those vivid pictures of their death are better than any pictures created by technology. Blind and rude, maintaining balance and gently catching them as they were about to fall.
And the world still spins joyfully and eternally beneath their feet, and where it sinks in the endless darkness there is silence.
Winslet () refers to the famous Christmas song "Good King" (Good King). The first sentence of this song is: "In the celebration of St. Stephen, Good King Winslet Si looked outside, and the earth was covered with white snow…"
childbirth()
When, for a mother giving birth, the door of death opens its furious inch, the moment of struggle and bleeding, all daily life becomes extremely weird.
No eyes fell on the table or the chair: only miracles struck the brain, usually full of order and mediocrity: the naked heart was revealed, and the earth fell on it.
A quarter of a turn, the axle breaks, and across the bed torn apart by mirages all the dead could have been resurrected; with screams, gasps, and spurts of blood.
From the looming tribe with giant eyes below the floor of the heart, those creatures rushing towards the corners of the madman's eyes were deafened by the light that hit them.
A child was whimpering on the bed and frowning. He put all his toes and fingers together and put his skull back where his head was, correcting the stumbling steps of the earth.
The skull (skull) is suspected to refer to the shaping helmet used to correct the shape of the baby's head. From a series of descriptions in the third stanza of the poem, it can be inferred that the birth was not a natural birth, but that midwifery forceps were used, which caused the baby's skull to deform.
Law in the of the Cats
Whenever two people meet for the first time they immediately hate each other, not the hatred between a beggar and a rich man, not the hatred between a lover and a husband, not the hatred between a little bully and a delicate boy, but like a A dog and a wolf had a blood feud in their past. They realized that the reason why they were so angry was because one of them had beaten the other to death. The bottle he was holding was a wine bottle that had just been opened. He was about to toast to the deal between them. The man who swore to God that he inevitably fell into a swoon while they were smiling at each other had long since broken the covenant made by the pious witness, who is said to judge all men like a humble blood brother.
When two people hate each other when they meet for the first time, even if they just pass each other without speaking, on a street, they are unlikely to stop and seem to remember that they have met somewhere before, where they actually met. places, they also discussed 'university under heaven', 'love for the whole of humanity and for every fellow human being', or 'about the growing possibility of everlasting peace', but if, by chance, they met head on, it would be a damn mistake, There would be a terrifying pause as the two men stared into the abyss in each other's eyes, followed by a burst of incredible violence, before one man's head dropped gently into the gutter and another man rushed into the police station shouting: ' Justice is served. I did it, me! '
Invitation to the Dance
The sentenced prisoner wanted to move, but couldn't: the cold shackled him to the bloody marks carved by the iron whip. The dawn of death sheds its light to extinguish the darkness. He lay with his lips numb from a layer of frost. He dreamed of another prisoner being dragged out – nightmarish instructions coming at dawn, followed by the sound of a gunshot. The bestial jailer's boots were pointed at his ears.
His tendon torturer grew stronger as soon as he stepped on it. The prosecutor was best at dealing with a silent tongue. The tendons were torn off one by one, and he even prayed for death. All the bones were shattered and the whole body collapsed. The horses suddenly split into two groups and ran wildly north and south, tearing apart his heart with screaming tree roots. He was left to blowflies and dog's teeth.
Throughout the spring, he buried his mouth in the black trench and could always hear the sighs and rustling dresses of a pair of lovers. The sun stinks. The rats were doing secret work on him. Rot and maggots were chipping away at his flesh. However, this dream still aroused his vanity. If he could stand up straight, he would dance and look down on every timid and lazy wretch.
Mourning for fallen soldiers (for Dead)
ⅠThe grandest – after some catastrophe – will be the unveiling of their monument: the crowd will stand in awe, as if in a horrific picture, with an approaching asteroid above, half a day away from the Earth. The distance hangs heavily over the fragile skulls of a flock of silent birds; every movement, every sound is a fresh epitaph – the horror of this moment turns the air into stone.
Though faint, the bugle will wail, the drum of death, the footsteps of the column and the wind-swept voice of the sergeant major will make the dead venerable, their souls rolling, supporting the sky and the nation's mourning. , transcending the crowds who don’t know what wounds are, and achieving eternal and majestic victory.
Ⅱ The most private and subtle thing will be here, where the widow sees the telegram on the table opening in its own way, which is inevitable and more terrifying than any kind of bomb dropped in the cellar and tearing down the house. The revealed words cut the ropes of the love ship and now it is thrown back into darkness, blinding and cutting off.Heading to a world as lonely as her bones and as small as her heart
Doors and windows opened like gates to a hell. She would still take the cup on the table to wash it. She couldn't build her sorrow into a monument and then leave it alone. Closer than missing her is having the deceased hanging around her neck, but never close enough to touch, not even to thank, because it is the only thing left in a broken world.
ⅢThe most real thing is that here, the grass has sprouted since the end of the battle. It is really strange to know that this is in a valley full of dead people. Fat crows and black flies flew around under the blue sky. The flowers bloomed beautifully all the way to the edge of the mass grave where shovels were hacking away, and the diggers grunted and sweated.Among the flowers the dead wait like a group of brides
Offering their body parts; with a thud, another body was thrown down, face mutilated, mouth stuffed with mud – that moment was enough to scare an onlooker! Cursing the sun for keeping them working too long, cursing the active black flies that bit their wrists, the burial crew went about their work with the coolness of a craftsman. Weigh their sorrow in ounces and bury it.
