I think it was Milosz, the Polish poet, who when he lay in a doorway and watched the bullets lifting the cobbles out of the street beside him realised that most poetry is not equipped for life in a world… — Ted Hughes Copy Share Image
The only calibration that counts is how much heart people invest, how much they ignore their fears of being hurt or caught out or… — Ted Hughes Copy Share Image
The inmost spirit of poetry, in other words, is at bottom, in every recorded case, the voice of pain – and the physical body,… — Ted Hughes Copy Share Image
“I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed. Inaction, no falsifying dream Between my hooked head and hooked feet: Or in… — Ted Hughes Copy Share Image
The world rolls under the long thrust of his heel. Over the cage floor the horizons come. — Ted Hughes Copy Share Image
Stilled legendary depth: It was as deep as England. It held Pike too immense to stir, so immense and old That past nightfall I… — Ted Hughes Copy Share Image
As Popa penetrates deeper into his life, with book after book, it begins to look like a Universe passing through a Universe. It is… — Ted Hughes Copy Share Image
“I had let it all grow. I had supposed It was all OK. Your life Was a liner I voyaged in. Costly education had… — Ted Hughes Copy Share Image
He could not stand. It was not That he could not thrive, he was born With everything but the will – That can be… — Ted Hughes Copy Share Image
“If you're all so peaceful up there, how did you get such greedy and cruel ideas?" The dragon was silent for a long time… — Ted Hughes Copy Share Image
