The Poetry of Frieda Hughes - Essay Example

The Poetry of Frieda Hughes While some poets write poems celebrating life and love, others like Frieda Hughes write mostly about death, pain and rage. These poems, however, are not meant to scare, threaten or instill discouragement in the reader, but to open their eyes to the possibility that one can learn from the pain as much as one does from pleasure. British poet Frieda Hughes is the daughter of British poet Ted Hughes and American poet Sylvia Plath, who died from suicide. The works of Frieda Hughes show her love for her mother as well as the anger and oppression that any daughter would feel if her dead mother’s private life is made known to the public. She emphasizes her point through the use of imagery, metonymy and hyperbole – all of which seek to leave an indelible mark on the reader’s mind about the anguish and pain she feels. In her poem, “Readers,” Hughes shows what the media and critics do to expose the negative past of her mother Sylvia Plath, and how much Hughes hates what they are doing. She demonstrates the hatred that she feels through the use of intense gore and brutal imagery that are somehow understandable from the point of view of a daughter who simply loves her own mother. Towards the middle of the poem, Hughes features a vulture “with its bloody head/ inside its own belly,/ Sucking up its own juice” (8-10). In these lines, the poet somehow regards the vulture as a metaphor for her own mother, and the fact that the bird has its bloody head sucking its own blood somehow serves as a testament to what the media and critics metaphorically do to her mother. This rather masochistic portrayal of the vulture implies that critics further insult the already dead mother of Hughes using the dead woman’s scandals when she was still alive, while making it look like it was Plath’s own fault that she is now regarded as an item for negative publicity. Thus, Hughes’ late mother is represented as a vulture killing itself and is therefore responsible for its own death. Although Hughes does not explicitly show her feelings in the lines of the poem, she somehow hints at her own anguish when she further likens her mother to an animal which is being prepared for cooking. Bloody imagery is evident in the lines “They turned her over like meat on coals” (18) and “They had gutted, peeled/ And garnished her” (31-32). In these lines, Hughes somehow shows how mercilessly some critics malign the reputation of her dead mother, as if they were just cooking her up like chicken or fish. Moreover, the poet even shows some kind of no-nonsense sexually brutal imagery as she mentions that the critics inspect her dead mother’s “withered thighs” (19) and “shrunken breasts” (20). The imagery in these words somehow shows how indignant Hughes is at this rather unjust, cruel and downright immoral way that these critics would treat her own mother. And as if all these were not enough, the media eat the dead Sylvia Plath by “[scooping] out her eyes to see how she saw” (21), by “[biting] away her tongue in tiny mouthfuls” (22), and by tasting “separate flesh” (24) and “different organ” (25). Perhaps for Hughes, there is nothing more cruel than both being cooked up and eaten up. The brutal imagery employed by Hughes in “Readers” is somehow intertwined with its hyperbole. Various lines and expressions in the poem are somehow exaggerated in order to emphasize the poet’s feelings of pain and anguish. The phrases “turned her over like meat on coals” (18), “scooped out her eyes” (21), and “bit away her tongue” (22) are more like exaggerated statements of painful torture and senseless brutality akin only to cannibals and barbarians, and would somehow never happen in present reality. Nevertheless, the intensity of these hyperbolic statements help express how painful it is for Hughes to see her late mother being treated like such. The hyperboles may sound like an overemphasis of the cruelty but they are a testament to the personal feelings of the author who simply loves her own mother. The hyperboles are never complete without the metonymies. In “Readers,” Hughes represents some ideas using symbols, once more, for the purpose of exposing her own pain and bitterness. The phrase “dead babies” (1), for example, may stand for the rather bland, empty and lackluster imaginations of the media and critics who believe her dead mother’s past is the missing ingredient to this blandness. This somehow shows how angry and indignant she is at all those who use her own mother for their own selfish commercial motives. Throughout the poem, Hughes uses various other metonymies such as “mental underwear” (4), “withered thighs” (19), and “shrunken breasts” (20) as representations of her mother’s private sexual life. Moreover, the “oven” (30) may represent the hot, in-depth, no-holds-barred inquiry that her dead mother may have undergone in the hands of the media and the critics. Thus, the fact that she is “gutted, peeled/ …garnished” (31-32) somehow implies that this inquiry was rather unforgivable, unjustifiable and simply cruel. With the way the poet represents certain ideas, there seems to be nothing more appropriate to explain how disgusted and angry she feels. The metonymies in Hughes’ “My Mother” are just as poignant and agonizing. In this poem, where the poet somehow shows how much insult she feels at the fact that the media and critics disrespect her late mother, Hughes employs the use of metonymies similar to those in the first poem. The phrase “stitching and sutures” (37-38) represents the way manipulative people use her mother’s poetry in order to cleverly add some sort of literary appeal to a story they are making about the dead woman’s life. Moreover, “their monster,/ Their Sylvia Suicide Doll” (43-44) somehow represents the ultimate goal of the media and the critics in exposing Sylvia Plath’s dark posthumous past. The implied possibility that critics and filmmakers are making a movie that exposes even the embarrassing details of Plath’s suicidal past somehow angers Hughes. This in fact somehow brings us to the first line in the poem where she states the ultimate rationale for her rage – that “they are killing her again” (1). Hughes then somehow echoes this unjust killing of her already dead mother in the very last lines of the poem: “And die at will,/ And die, and die/ And forever be dying” (46-48). Perhaps, for Plath, the fact that her mother is gone should somehow teach the media to not to keep the dead woman in peace by not trying to dabble in her past anymore. This Hughes expects them to do in order to show respect to the dead woman’s daughter, who is the poet herself, and to at least show respect for the dead. The thing is that the media and critics are doing the exact opposite, and this fuels up Hughes’ rage. The metonymies used in “My Mother” are complemented by the hyperboles, for the same purpose of showing the reader how painful it is for the poet to bear the fact that her late mother’s dark past is being made public. Hyperbole is demonstrated in the lines “My buried mother/ Is up-dug for repeat performances” (11-12), and the lines “If they want to boil a kettle,/ While my mother holds her breath on screen/ To finish dying after tea” (28-30). These particular lines somehow express the anguish that the poet feels at the idea that her mother’s own life and death are simply at the mercy and judgment of the people watching her life story on film. It some enrages Hughes when she realizes that the audience can view her mother’s death over and over again and can even pause the video in the middle. For her and perhaps for any other daughter who loves her mother, this feels insulting and rather revolting. The death of Hughes’ mother, Sylvia Plath, was actually not one worthy of honor but of deep shame since it was a case of suicide. This is certainly very embarrassing and insulting for Hughes herself and thus, her feelings of rage toward the media and critics seem to be justifiable. Aside from the metonymies and the hyperboles, what makes “My Mother” an equally striking, emphatic and emotional poem as “Readers” is the fact that the former also employs various instances of brutal imagery, although these are milder than those in the latter. Once more, the purpose is the same as the other poem and the other elements of the poem – to express how much pain and rage the poet feels about how her late mother is being treated by the media and critics. The imagery in “My Mother” includes the phrase “To imagine the body, head in oven” (15), which, like in “Readers,” shows the picture of the poet’s dead mother being burned and cooked in an oven, and later served as an appetizing, mouth-watering dish for the satisfaction of the media, the critics and the “peanut eaters” or film viewers. It is true that the pain embedded in the words of the poem and intricately carved by its imagery may be misunderstood by many and may even be dismissed as either mere exaggerations or, worse – nonsense childish ramblings. Nevertheless, for one to exactly imagine how Hughes feels at while writing this poem, one should just imagine the head of one’s own mother being thrust into the hot oven and later garnished and served as a hot dish. The best way to understand the tone of the poem is perhaps to empathize with the poet herself. The poems of Frieda Hughes cleverly employs imagery, hyperbole and metonymy in order to reveal the pain that the poet harbors in her heart as a reaction to what the media and critics do to dishonor her late mother Sylvia Plath. The fact that filmmakers want to make her mother’s death from suicide public clearly makes Hughes enraged at such a brutal act. The imagery in both poems – “Readers” and “My Mother” – are mostly gruesome statements of physical torture and cruelty towards a dead animal, which is a metaphor for Hughes’ already dead mother. These statements of pain and carnage are complemented by metonymies and hyperboles that speak of the same brutal acts. Although the poet herself is not explicit in terms of exposing her feelings in the poem, the fact that such brutalities are used for the imagery and the figurative language somehow tells the reader that Hughes herself is hurt, indignant and enraged. Nevertheless, overall, the poems of Frieda Hughes do not only serve as testaments of her anger, rage and pain towards all those who malign and insult her mother’s dark suicidal past. Her works also serve as a chance for the reader to be able to empathize with the poet herself and all daughters who just love their own mothers and would not want them to be embarrassed even in death. The poems of Hughes therefore teach one to see the love and respect amidst the rage and pain. Works Cited Hughes, Frieda. “My Mother.” 2009. Bloodaxe Poems of the Month. 8 Aug 2011. Hughes, Frieda. “Readers.” 1997. Freida Hughes. 8 Aug 2011. Readers by Frieda Hughes Wanting to breathe life into their own dead babies They took her dreams, collected words from one Who did their suffering for them. They fingered through her mental underwear With every piece she wrote. Wanting her naked. Wanting to know what made her. Then tried to feather up the bird again. The vulture with its bloody head Inside its own belly, Sucking up its own juice, Working out its own shape, Its own reason, Its own death. While their mothers lay in quiet graves Squared out by those green cut pebbles And flowers in a jam jar, they dug mine up. Right down to the shells I scattered on her coffin. They turned her over like meat on coals To find the secrets of her withered thighs And shrunken breasts. They scooped out her eyes to see how she saw, And bit away her tongue in tiny mouthfuls To speak with her voice. But each one tasted separate flesh, Ate a different organ, Touched other skin. Insisted on being the one Who knew best, Who had the right recipe. When she came out of the oven They had gutted, peeled And garnished her. They called her theirs. All this time I had thought She belonged to me most. My Mother by Frieda Hughes They are killing her again. She said she did it One year in every ten, But they do it annually, or weekly,  Some even do it daily, Carrying her death around in their heads And practising it. She saves them The trouble of their own; They can die through her Without ever making The decision. My buried mother  Is up-dug for repeat performances. Now they want to make a film For anyone lacking the ability To imagine the body, head in oven, Orphaning children. Then It can be rewound So they can watch her die Right from the beginning again. The peanut eaters, entertained At my mother’s death, will go home,  Each carrying their memory of her, Lifeless – a souvenir. Maybe they’ll buy the video. Watching someone on TV Means all they have to do Is press ‘pause’ If they want to boil a kettle,  While my mother holds her breath on screen To finish dying after tea. The filmmakers have collected  The body parts, They want me to see.  They require dressings to cover the joins And disguise the prosthetics In their remake of my mother; They want to use her poetry As stitching and sutures To give it credibility. They think I should love it –  Having her back again, they think I should give them my mother’s words To fill the mouth of their monster, Their Sylvia Suicide Doll, Who will walk and talk And die at will, And die, and die And forever be dying. Read More