Sometimes, in the process of coming up with collages, I make a background that is, in my immediate judgement at least, sufficient in itself. It seems a shame to plonk a crow or a wasp or anything else onto it. Not that I won't, but, so far, with this one, I haven't.
It puts me in mind of one of my favourite poems by Ted Hughes, "about" his daughter Frieda, which in turn has come to put me in mind of my own daughter when she was small. There's something special about the "early" Hughes (this poem is from Wodwo, published in 1967) in which he seems to be writing for the saucer-eyed child in all of us. There's a nice e-book available from Faber, in the Faber Voices series, which includes recordings of Hughes reading this and a number of his other better-known poems. I love the reflexive loops and inversions that bind this poem together so tightly, like the hoops of a barrel.
Full Moon and Little Frieda
A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a
And you listening.
A spider's web, tense for the dew's touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming—mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.
Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges
with their warm wreaths of breath—
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.
'Moon!' you cry suddenly, 'Moon! Moon!'
The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.