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British Poetry



                   Notes                 “Through the window I see no star:

                                         Something more near
                                         Though deeper within darkness
                                         Is entering the loneliness:”

                                 The night itself is of course a metaphor for the more intimate darkness of the poet’s imagination
                                 and creative inspiration that creeps silently and without warning upon the poet, “cold, delicately as
                                 the dark snow”. The mysterious nature of the stirrings of imagination is compared to the indistinct
                                 shadow of a fox that moves stealthily in the darkness of the night. The shadow in the night suggests
                                 the amorphousness and abstract nature of literary inspiration that sneaks in like a fox mysteriously
                                 and without warning. The fox seems to materialise out of the formlessness of the snow, it is a faint
                                 shadow against the snow that will take the form “of a body that is bold to come”. The image of the
                                 fox taking shape is thus equivalent to the process of creative imagination, which slowly forms itself
                                 in the dark recesses of the poet’s mind to produce a work of art:
                                         “Brilliantly, concentratedly,
                                         Coming about its own business
                                         Till, with sudden sharp hot stink of fox
                                         It enters the dark hole of the head.”

                                 The fox penetrates the deep and intimate darkness of the poet’s mind to evoke the moment when
                                 the desirable vision is attained. The poem ends as it has begun, turning in full circle.

                                         “The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
                                         The page is printed.”

                                 The fox is the process of artistic creation that is almost a mystical experience forming itself out of
                                 nothingness through the poetic imagination. “And I suppose,” Ted Hughes has written, “that long
                                 after I am gone, as long as a copy of the poem exists, every time anyone reads it the fox will get up
                                 somewhere out of the darkness and come walking towards them”. The fox, therefore, also seems to
                                 represent the epiphanies of reading that embrace the reader when he becomes engrossed in reading
                                 a work of art.




                                          Write a short note on “The Thought Fox.”

                                 Ted Hughes’s “The Thought Fox” enacts the solitude that surrounds a work of art. In Hughes’s
                                 poem, we perceive that the last line also has a sort of fatalism and a notion of wistfulness. For
                                 although, the last stanza expresses the excitement of poetic creation, the matter-of-factness of the
                                 last line seems to plunge us back to reality evoking an almost palpable sense of relief that the poem
                                 is over. The blank white page full of potentiality for poetry is now printed and the writer knows
                                 that the poem that has been written is always a pale reflection of the poem or poems that could have
                                 been written.
                                 The Thought Fox has often been acknowledged as one of the most completely realised and artistically
                                 satisfying of the poems in Ted Hughes’s first collection, The Hawk in the Rain. At the same time it
                                 is one of the most frequently anthologised of all Hughes’s poems. In this essay I have set out to use
                                 what might be regarded as a very ordinary analysis of this familiar poem in order to focus attention
                                 on an aspect of Hughes’s poetry which is sometimes neglected. My particular interest is in the






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