For me, no poet captures the atmosphere of winter solitude quite like Ted Hughes. Having spent most of his life tucked away in the countryside, his portraits of winter are unsentimental but brilliant. In particular, his collections Hawn in the Rain (1957) and Lupercal (1960) contain some of the most perennially evocative odes to the winter months: ‘February,’ ‘Rain,’ ‘Wind,’ ‘November’—the titles themselves need no dressing up, for Hughes’ mastery lies in his candid approach to harsh realities.
In particular, while waiting for the shuttle bus to arrive in torrential rain, his poem ‘November’ comes to mind. The November of Hughes’ poem is unforgiving—the “month of the drowned dog.” The elements have left their mark on the landscape, “sodden,” and “sunk,” and in the ditch lies a “tramp” who seeks to comfort himself. The poetic voice stops for a moment to observe the stranger lying in the ditch, before retreating to the wood for shelter. Not only does the man in the ditch represent winter’s brutal conditions, but also the human capability for endurance.
The poem contains echoes of stillness that render it surprisingly reflective, and within that stillness, November becomes a transitory place, a waiting room of sorts—the nebulous space between autumn and winter where nature is at a stand still and all stripped back to its barest state. But the poem is not entirely without hope. Through the man in the ditch, the image of the stoical “owls and hawks” and the repetitive nature of his quatrains, Hughes reminds us that we must be “patient to outwait these worst days,” and that although winter is inevitable, an unavoidable time of isolation and hardship, the arrival of spring is inevitable too, as well as summer and autumn.
By contrast, ‘Wind’ draws us inside and considers the interiority of winter. Behind stone walls, two people fortify themselves against the elements. The scene Hughes evokes feels primaeval, timeless, almost apocalyptic with its “orange sky.” In the heart of the storm, it feels as if the house has been “far out at sea all night,” crashing and reeling under the force of the wind and rain. Indeed, like the wind, shattering and all-consuming, the isolation of winter can threaten to detach us from our daily lives, comfort and community. Still, beside the fire, the couple can do nothing but bide their time and share each other’s quiet company while the stones of the house endure the brunt of winter’s force. Winter, then, although isolating and bleak, offers an opportunity to look inwards.
Photo by Matilde Impavido for The Student