Monday poem – take it to the top, Ted

Can you believe this is the fifth Monday poem in a row? Anyway, this week's task was to read two Ted Hughes poems and then write something (both the poems and the instructions are over at our friendly leader, TFE's, blog). It was another interesting idea so I read the two poems and got to work. Of the Hughes poems I had read 'The Thought-Fox' before but had never been particularly keen on it (or at least not as keen as everyone else...maybe something to do with Fox being my name...that can change your relationship to a word). 'The Horses' though - that appealed to me much more...so I read it a few more times and let my mind gallop about with it for a while. All that talk in both poems of being up and awake when other people aren't around perhaps inevitably brought me right back to Raveworld (where I lived more or less completely from 1989-1997). It was very much a life lived at night and a few years back I wrote about this period a lot (often with a negative slant). Now more time has passed I feel a lot better disposed to it all than I did - I can even remember some of the joy and exhilaration...and hence some of the reasons we all got into it in the first place. 

Some of the references in the following poem won't mean much to you if you missed the house music/nightclub/rave explosion of that time (for example Americans Masters at Work are dance music producers/DJs/remixers and British band Brothers in Rhythm had a couple of big cheesey records called things like 'Peace and Harmony') but we all drop our own nonsense into poems and that's part of what keeps it all interesting. I suppose in places you might think this poem is in bad taste...but it's really not meant to be (I see it more as a kind of celebration). In particular I didn't mean to bring Sylvia Plath into it (I really didn't – it's like the worst of crimes!) but I'm afraid in she came (...like she's never been away). You must remember though that although I mention poets who were once real living people this poem is really not about them as people...it's more about their myths (and lots of other things too). It's the freest free verse I've written in a while...but I guess that goes with the subject matter (generally I find form and content do find each other quite naturally). I apologise for the swear words and drug references (neither big nor clever) but I'm afraid, once again, it was very much part of it all and keeping it clean and tidy would not have been right at all. But enough intro, here it is (audio version here too):

Set text fever 

Night time is the right time, 

The time to change direction, 

The time to shake your measly body, 

Like you've never shaken anything before. 

Seriously.

And honey, I don't care who you are, 

How important, how seminal, 

When the night call comes, 

You will respond, 

You will leave your daytime 

(Don't you know who I am?) 

Bullshit at home, 

Put on the most ridiculous outfit, 

Cram yourself in with the masses, 

Sweat like a bastard,

And lose yourself, 

Yes, you will lose yourself,

 In the dark.

Take old Phil Larkin over there,

He is going for it big time, 

He has finally removed that damn suit and tie, 

Taken off those infernal glasses, 

And look, 

He has set himself free, 

Free, free, freer than free, 

It's beautiful to watch really, 

He is grooving, totally grooving, 

I think he might even be 

Communicating with the bottom of his soul, 

And whilst you wouldn't normally have him down 

As a guy for leather shorts and nipple rings, 

People can surprise you,

And there he is now,

Reaching for the higher plane, 

Finding his happy place, 

Dancing on a podium, 

With poppers up his nose. 

And check Sylvia (the sweetheart), 

She is smiling like you've never seen her, 

One ecstasy tab short of a hospital visit, 

She's right out there, flying, 

I bumped into her just now in the toilet 

And she grabbed my bare arm tight and said, 

 'This is so extreme I don't think I can get any higher', 

And I just hugged her, 

We all did, 

We told her that we loved her,

That we always will, whatever, 

And that she should rave to the grave, baby, 

Rave to the grave. 

But it's hard for her because just look at Ted go, 

He is the king of the jungle, 

The ruler of the beasts, 

The man to end all men, 

No DJ can get near him,

With that huge frame, 

That thick mane, 

He is the Master at Work, 

The Brother in Rhythm, 

Standing in the middle of the dancefloor, 

Barechested and vibrating, 

With his arms outstretched, 

His fingers pointing at something somewhere 

That none of us can see, 

And he is howling, 

Full and hard like a wild creature 

(You can't hear him for the music 

But somehow we all feel it), 

He is howling like a wolf 

That wants to eat and live,

High on life, 

Starlight barking, 

He is howling, 

At the moon, 

At the earth, 

At the night. 

RF 2009 

So you see...another very different poem this week. I suppose there is a gentle 'deathly serious one week/bit more light-hearted the next' rhythm to my output but that's about all I can see in terms of regularity. If you want to read my other Monday poems so far here are the links: Week 1 (and please remember this one was written in five minutes...that was the task). Week 2 Week 3 Week 4 Everyone else's Monday poems to date can all be found via Totalfeckineejit's blog. He's like a one man PoetrySocietyAcademy (or something). And he's no eejit. x