![]() They seem to include the whole sacred and speechless background of nature. That's why his poems sound deeper and wider and richer than human language. If there's one thing Hughes is brilliant at, it's counterpoint. The technical term for this is counterpoint. ![]() You could use poetry to reveal what it sounds like being outdoors: the overlapping of thousands of different noises: the rain's rhythm, the wind's rhythm in the leaves, the tunes of engines, the beat of footsteps. It was a new idea to me - that instead of describing something (which always involves a separation between you and the object) you could replay it alive in the form of sound. By the end of the poem I could hear a kind of sonic replica of three grounded hooves and one tilted. Nevertheless, I noticed something at the time that I could learn from - the poem slowed down whenever it mentioned them: "huge in the dense grey", "megalith-still", "making no move". The verbal presence of those horses has some straightforward magic in it - the kind that can't be deconstructed. ![]()
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