[Esmeralda]

Hmm, I have not- deliberately have not – seen the film SYLVIA as my preconceptions deem it wrong on many counts. Firstly, since forced to write a thesis (many moons ago) on the impact of mental illness on the poetry of Sylvia Plath and Robert Lowell, and discovering that I went against the flow of female empathy for Plath whose tendency to self-pity and paranoia inflamed me, I would now rather spend time in a bell jar. Secondly and thirdly and a thousand times over – Daniel Craig as Ted Hughes – no- not ever – no! Paltrow as Plath, scarcely more palatable.
Call me prejudiced, call me unyielding, but I like what I like and I’m a Ted not a Sylvia girl.
Well..ya did ask!
Now beat me gizzards with an egg whisk! :wink:

[Esmeralda]

Oooh – still following me, Troglodyte? Watch out for that gravel rash in your poor malformed old knuckles.

[Esmeralda]

Yada..yada..yada..ad infinitum..

[Esmeralda]

Thanks for the thanks, Sgt. I have been an admirer of Ted Hughes since schooldays, and looking past the emotional psychobabble of the Plath connection and accusations of Hughes’ culpability, his is a body of work like no other, encapsulating the earthy and ethereal at one and the same. He makes the blood pop and bubble in my veins. I taste the soil in my mouth and always, the crow’s sharp talons, at my skin.

Examination at the Womb-Door

Who owns those scrawny little feet? Death.
Who owns this bristly scorched-looking face? Death.
Who owns these still-working lungs? Death.
Who owns this utility coat of muscles? Death.
Who owns these unspeakable guts? Death.
Who owns these questionable brains? Death.
All this messy blood? Death.
These minimum-efficiency eyes? Death.
This wicked little tongue? Death.
This occasional wakefulness? Death.

Given, stolen, or held pending trial?
Held.

Who owns the whole rainy, stony earth? Death.
Who owns all of space? Death.

Who is stronger than hope? Death.
Who is stronger than the will? Death.
Stronger than love? Death.
Stronger than life? Death.

But who is stronger than Death?
Me, evidently.
Pass, Crow.

Ted Hughes

[Esmeralda]

In all honesty, Dumpy, I’m ashamed of myself. Not so much ashamed at stooping to your level – as I couldn’t achieve that even if I had both legs amputated and was buried in a well – but ashamed of making sport of one so obviously afflicted. Simpletons such as yourself are to be pitied, and I DO pity you – never to know the joy of literacy, the rush of creative expression – or how to eat your gruel without drooling.
Be assured, if I were a religious woman, I would have you in my prayers, slathering your poor mutant head in the purest holy water (and largest paper bag) in attempt to assuage a sky-full of avenging angels and a couple of better known Saints.
But i’m not, so I’ll just have a larf instead. At your expense, naturally.
Bad me!

[Esmeralda]

Well it’s obvious that irony goes straight over your head. In the absence of Geoff, am I to be the next shaky bandwagon to be jumped on with malice and glee? Evidently!
You’re an ignoramus, Dumpy. Incapable of realising when you are punching above your weight, with nothing more in your armoury than the battering-ram of repeated inanity. You’re so thick you probably think I googled that as well.
Know this, I can wipe the floor with troglodytes like yourself, with, not only both hands tied behind my back, but blinded, deafened and muted.
Continue to caper and drag knuckle for my amusement. Everyone knows you for a fool and worse – a man who finds amusement in declaring that the grandchildren of a well-loved user on JC, should have been aborted. Stupid enough to think that by aligning himself with those who were horrified by his remarks, in a later battle with a third party (Geoff) that somehow that calumny of insults against innocent children will have been forgotten.
They will never be forgotten. As neither will the accusations of paedophilia which were levelled at you, Dumpy. Want to talk about them?

[Esmeralda]

Not merely ‘sad’ oh disco-butterflied one, but rampantly suicidal. My avatar is circumspectly ablaze by comparison.

[Esmeralda]

Thanks for your robust defence, Ruby. You’re my darling girl.
Li’l fek. I edited. I EDITED. And I EDITED for two reasons. One: Though it was an excellent article, it veered into a long-wind with the cogent references being scattered unevenly throughout. I sliced and tidied..rather effectively if I say so meself. Two: The Herald doesn’t permit posting and copying and I was buggered if I was going to let this get in the way of sharing what was in essence a relevant contribution to the debate.
You’re an obsessive wee oddity, Fek, your own contributions broach neither wit nor whimsy. Now do us all a favour and go take a big fat flying f.uck to your wee self!

[Esmeralda]

DEVIL IN A MIDNIGHT MASS

[Esmeralda]

I could never recommend Ted Hughes enough, Minim. Here is a favourite of mine, I hope it will leave you wanting more..

Full Moon and Little Frieda

A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket –
And you listening.
A spider’s web, tense for the dew’s touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming – mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.

Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm
wreaths of breath –
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.
‘Moon!’ you cry suddenly, ‘Moon! Moon!’

The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.

[Author]

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