Ted Hughes (1930 – 1998) was Britain’s Poet Laureate from 1984 until his death and has been ranked by The Times as 4th in the list of ‘Greatest British Writers since 1945’. He was born in Yorkshire and was famously married to American poet Sylvia Plath, who took her own life a year after their marriage ended. I love this poem written in 1957.
The Thought-Fox by Ted Hughes
“I imagine this midnight moment’s forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock’s loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.
Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:
Cold, delicately as the dark snow
A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now
Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come
Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business
Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.”
This is a poem about the process of creativity. The poet, sitting alone in the dark forest of his imagination, is faced with a white blank page, needing to cover it with words. Outside is a snowy landscape and just as a fox, treading across the snow, will leave its footprints behind, so will the poet gradually leave his marks of thought on the blank page.
Artistic inspiration, like the fox, is twitchy, unpredictable, concentrating on what lies ahead, until suddenly its scent becomes immediate, as it enters the darkness of the poet’s mind. The poem suggests that the creator must eliminate all distractions (such as stars). A hunter’s patience and stillness are required – ideas cannot be forced. Then, step after cautious step, the thought-fox will make his entry into the creator’s mind, and the result will be a poem.
Although the fox is metaphorical, the poem gives a strong sense of a real fox. The reader can see it making its way alone through the snowy night landscape. We hear the clock ticking, and see the stark whiteness of that blank page. It’s a wonderfully vivid and unusual poem.
Listen to Ted Hughes reading his poem here:
Have you enjoyed this poem? I’d love to know what you think, let me know by leaving a comment.
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