Communicator (communicator) wrote,


I went for a walk yesterday on a disused railway track that gives a dry and unobstructed pathway into Warwickshire. I remembered walking down that way late in October a few years back. It was bleak and monochrome, and there were huge crows flying from tree to tree. I thought about Ted Hughes who was alive at that time, and I wondered whether a poet experiences life more intensely than I do?

When Crow was white he decided the sun was too white.
He decided it glared much too whitely.
He decided to attack it and defeat it.

And I thought, what when he is dead? Is it better to be alive, walking on a railway track, or to be a dead poet, who once felt life intensely but can no longer experience anything?

Then I got back to the car, and it was getting dark. I switched on the radio, and the newsreader said that Ted Hughes had died.
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