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Nairn Kennedy

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Across the Styx

for Ted Hughes

At last; rip off the flesh
With one last wrench,
Tear out in a blast of feathers,
Bank round and pull away,
Blow your starting blocks to smithereens.

Now feather back the edges,
Flaring wingtips through the drag,
Fanning out your card-sharp’s spread,
Raking in the altitude in spilling heaps,
And soar.

Soar and dive;
Whatever fuel you hoard
Flares in roaring spasms,
Burning clean and sharp,
Purging your uncharred gut.

Settle now, and swing your beak
To split the fickle wind,
Cleaving lovingly its partings,
Luxuriating in the wash
Of slipstream down your singing flanks,
Flying low and hard and solid,
Hurtling like a bullet-brick
Past baffled heads
Of effete willow
And manly thorn.

Now comes the hefty graft
Of clocking off the miles,
Wingbeat after wingbeat;
Pull back, cock the wrist,
Pull the feathers forward,
Trim the edge and pull again,
Lashing on across the night,
On towards the only lure
That ever held you still.

And there she was;
Thrumming on a patient hover,
Stock and steady still,
Wingbeats treading years
Waiting till the end
Until her eagle bursts full throated
From the West
And in a searing splash of light
Two can once again
Be One.

 


Nairn Kennedy is a University Lecturer living in Yorkshire, who has performed in several open mike poetry sessions in that area.

 

Page(s) 92-93

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