Shekinah Glory

Ted Hughes
April 8, 2011, 2:23 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

What does it mean to be hated,
A poet to the dead
whom it is said
you softened the soil?
Beloved after death,
a macabre infamy
for giving up.
She fuels angst
for adolescent consumption
the market of tragic depression.
See even I cannot
speak of you
without her ghost!
Yet, your poetry fights
against forcing your life
into a party antidote,
a rather short
entry in a thrift store
encyclopedia Britannica.
Nor is it slight,
it does not suffer
popularity’s fate,
of being scant
from dying too soon.
You refused to end
when expected,
to stop foisting yourself
on an uneasy public.
When your wrongs
became the world’s property
there was no falter.
Your craft remained.
Now it celebrates
the genius of imperfection,
the humanity in what we know:
Life is rarely happy endings
but persevering through the storm.


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