Thursday Short Poem: Hughes’ “Coming Down Through Somerset”

I know, another poem about animals struck and killed on the roadway. It’s been a theme this past month, after my heartbreaking encounter with a dying rabbit; I’ve already put up Pablo Neruda’s piece. And here’s one from the decidedly unsentimental Ted Hughes, who could write the animal body better than any of his contemporaries. Hughes had a radically different approach to nature, but his love for the wild was immense. I’ve driven down through Somerset on the back B roads of the southwest. And since I was a little boy, I’ve been giving burials to the dead animals I found on various streets and roadways. I may be an effete suburban liberal, but I have no fear of blood and guts and torn-up bodies. (Okay, that’s not entirely true. I’m scared to handle even dead rattlesnakes.) In the end, love generally conquers squeamishness.... [read full story]