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I'll get you some poem, maybe later. Meanwhile here's an excerpt from
Hughes' interview in THE PARIS REVIEW.

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INTERVIEWER

What do you think of the label “confessional poetry” and the tendency for
more and more poets to work in that mode?

HUGHES

Goethe called his work one big confession, didn’t he? Looking at his work
in the broadest sense, you could say the same of Shakespeare: a total
self-examination and self-accusation, a total confession—very naked, I
think, when you look into it. Maybe it’s the same with any writing that has
real poetic life. Maybe all poetry, insofar as it moves us and connects
with us, is a revealing of something that the writer doesn’t actually want
to say but desperately needs to communicate, to be delivered of. Perhaps
it’s the need to keep it hidden that makes it poetic—makes it poetry. The
writer daren’t actually put it into words, so it leaks out obliquely,
smuggled through analogies. We think we’re writing something to amuse, but
we’re actually saying something we desperately need to share. The real
mystery is this strange need. Why can’t we just hide it and shut up? Why do
we have to blab? Why do human beings need to confess? Maybe if you don’t
have that secret confession, you don’t have a poem—don’t even have a story.
Don’t have a writer. If most poetry doesn’t seem to be in any sense
confessional, it’s because the strategy of concealment, of obliquity, can
be so compulsive that it’s almost entirely successful. The smuggling
analogy is loaded with interesting cargo that seems to be there for its own
sake—subject matter of general interest—but at the bottom of Paradise Lost
and Samson Agonistes, for instance, Milton tells us what nearly got him
executed. The novelty of some of Robert Lowell’s most affecting pieces in
Life Studies, some of Anne Sexton’s poems, and some of Sylvia’s was the way
they tried to throw off that luggage, the deliberate way they stripped off
the veiling analogies. Sylvia went furthest in the sense that her secret
was most dangerous to her. She desperately needed to reveal it. You can’t
overestimate her compulsion to write like that. She had to write those
things—even against her most vital interests. She died before she knew what
The Bell Jar and the Ariel poems were going to do to her life, but she had
to get them out. She had to tell everybody . . . like those Native American
groups who periodically told everything that was wrong and painful in their
lives in the presence of the whole tribe. It was no good doing it in
secret; it had to be done in front of everybody else. Maybe that’s why
poets go to such lengths to get their poems published. It’s no good
whispering them to a priest or a confessional. And it’s not for fame,
because they go on doing it after they’ve learned what fame amounts to. No,
until the revelation’s actually published, the poet feels no release. In
all that, Sylvia was an extreme case, I think.

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http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/1669/the-art-of-poetry-no-71-ted-hughes

CR

On Saturday, April 30, 2016, [log in to unmask] <
[log in to unmask]> wrote:

> My usual question:  can anyone direct us to a poem or stanza by Hughes
> worth remembering or rereading?  We seem to have a lot of biographical data
> but not that much poetry.
>
> Sent from my iPhone
>
> On Apr 30, 2016, at 4:51 PM, David Boyd <[log in to unmask]
> <javascript:_e(%7B%7D,'cvml',[log in to unmask]);>> wrote:
>
> Very sure I've mentioned this before, but will again: Ted Hughes' mother
> was a direct descendant of Nicholas Ferrar, he of Little Gidding and
> presumably after whom TH's late son  who also took his own life (R very
> much IP) was named
>
> Grown-up Frieda H of course recently fell out bigtime with Sir Jonathan
> Bate over that biography.
>
> Dr Ann Skea in Australia keeps matters Ted Hughes on fast academic boil -
> http://ann.skea.com/index.html
>
>
> On 30 April 2016 at 17:41, Chanan Mittal <[log in to unmask]
> <javascript:_e(%7B%7D,'cvml',[log in to unmask]);>> wrote:
>
>> “I hold a beast, an angel, and a madman in me, and my enquiry is as to
>> their working, and my problem is their subjugation and victory, down throw
>> and upheaval, and my effort is their self-expression.” ― Dylan Thomas
>>
>>
>> On Saturday, April 30, 2016, Ken Armstrong <[log in to unmask]
>> <javascript:_e(%7B%7D,'cvml',[log in to unmask]);>> wrote:
>>
>>> Can you post it, CR?
>>>
>>> On 4/30/2016 11:38 AM, Chanan Mittal wrote:
>>>
>>> at random
>>>
>>> A quote from Dylan Thomas which resonates rather acutely vis-a-vis Eliot
>>>
>>> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/285697170086278302/
>>>
>>> CR
>>>
>>> On Saturday, April 30, 2016, Chanan Mittal <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>>>
>>>> Another link
>>>>
>>>> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/235594624231272181/
>>>>
>>>> CR
>>>>
>>>> On Saturday, April 30, 2016, Chanan Mittal <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>>>>
>>>>> Someone shared it at the Facebook today.
>>>>>
>>>>> Sylvia Plath, Ted Hughes and baby Frieda, Primrose Hill, 1960
>>>>>
>>>>>
>>>>>
>>>>> But then Google got me to this and others at the following link.
>>>>>
>>>>>
>>>>> https://www.google.com/search?sclient=tablet-gws&site=&source=hp&q=pictures+Sylvia+Plath%2C+Ted+Hughes+and+baby+Frieda%2C+Primrose+Hill%2C+1960+&oq=pictures+Sylvia+Plath%2C+Ted+Hughes+and+baby+Frieda%2C+Primrose+Hill%2C+1960+&gs_l=tablet-gws.3...3966419.3971149.0.3972194.11.11.0.0.0.0.396.1940.0j9j0j2.11.0....0...1.1j2.64.tablet-gws..0.9.1385.0..0j35i39j0i3j0i20j0i131.2TFSbhvObJY#imgrc=xJVGATILNwOGnM%3A
>>>>>
>>>>> CR
>>>>>
>>>>>
>>>
>