Tuesday Poem: “The Fox” by Bernadette Hall
The Fox
The fox is a single red stroke that cuts across
the clearing. The colour seems to hang like smoke,
you can almost see where she has come from.
Her musk (though you can smell nothing)
is specific like a thumbprint on the air.
It isn’t raining but there’s a kind of wet
on your face, a stickiness of insect juices dropped.
The fox is rusty-dull, discreet, not radiant or hot
or pulsing. Not agitated. Not randy.
She is completely dream and intelligence
sliding through the wet grass, the stinging nettles,
the little brittle helmets of dry seed,
a flower or two, relics of the drizzly, petalled summer.
The lyric fox goes down to the creek
where dark and dankness will mask her scent
and the lovely rosette of her face.
She’ll be able to pause there, for a while, sip water
while the dogs swirl and bell in front of the Big House.
(c) Bernadette Hall
from The Lustre Jug (VUP) 2009
The Fox is a Best New Zealand Poem 2009
To listen to my recent radio interview with Bernadette on Women on Air, Plains 96.9 FM, click here. (Click on the “play” icon to listen or on mp3 to download—it’s free mp3.)
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The Rathcoola Estate, where I lived for six months in 2007, is situated in Donoughmore, a rural area in Co. Cork, about twenty five minutes drive from Blarney. Among the wonders there were the blue jays that came down to steal apples from the 200 year old apple trees in the orchard. And the foxes. I’ve long been fond of them, from Brer Fox to the silver foxes of the Arctic. I was desperate to see one.
One day when I was standing under huge oak and sycamores trees just beyond the stone walls that enclosed the orchard and not far from the creek, I saw the fox. She was surprisingly close. And I did experience a kind of deepening stillness, the words clearly in my memory from Ted Hughes’ ‘The Thought Fox’ which I had taught to so many classes over the years. Ireland had this way of offering me ‘for real’ many things which literature had already embedded in my imagination.
This fox was completely unfazed by my presence in her space. She had already judged me as being of good will, or at least harmless. I was relieved to see her. That same morning the hunt had gone through the estate, tracking along the creek with a great hullabaloo, the dogs and the men all in a frenzy. I identified with her somehow. I admired the way she kept on calmly going about her own business. I wished her long life, good health and a safe journey.
In his poem ‘On Originality’ (1977) Bill Manhire wrote of poetry ‘This is my nest of weapons./ This is my lyrical foliage.’ In his essay, ‘Catholic with a small c’ published in ‘The Source of the Song’ (VUP 1995), Andrew Johnston wrote ‘A lyric poem occupies a space that has somehow been charged with meaning (or at least a sense of meaningfulness) as if a vacuum had been crossed by a spark.’ So, a ‘lyric fox’ crosses a glade and it seems that all along she’s been talking to me about poetry.
Bernadette Hall is recognised as one of New Zealand’s more distinctive poetic voices. She was the 1996 Burns Fellow at Otago University and an Artists in Antarctica Fellow in 2004. The author of nine poetry collections, her work has been published in a range of national and international anthologies. Hall was the 2006 Victoria University Writer in Residence and in 2007 held the Rathcoola Residency in Donoughmore, Ireland. Bernadette’s most recent collection, The Lustre Jug, (Victoria University Press), 2009, is a finalist for the 2010 NZ Post Book Award for Poetry
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That is such a fantastic poem. I found that it was one of the ones that stuck with me from “The Lustre Jug”.
It’s wonderful, isn’t it–like a jewel, every facet perfectly cut!
Just gorgeous. That has to be one of my favorite poems, ever. Beautiful.
Wen—it’s a favourite of mine, too—in fact, Bernie’s whole collection, The Lustre Jug, definitely repays a visit, and then another one after that …
This poem is magical .I have read and re read and each time get more from it .
So glad you enjoyed it, Helena. Bernadette Hall is a wonderful poet.
Hello Bernadette
I loved reading your story just now of your meeting with your vixen that day under the oak. I live in Australia, a state called Queensland and I have a young fox who has been visiting me for a few months now. Completely wild, he plays with my little dog, Lily and has gifted me by, allowing me to now feed him a doggy treat. This morning Lily and he played tug-of-war with her towel and having a rest after their play, sat right beside me. Bernadette, like you, I watch him trot off to his den the mornings of his visit and wish him long life and mostly, a safe one. I thank him for every memory for I never know if it may be the last time I see him. He does not visit every day, each is my gift. I wish I could send some video for you, to share my little fox with you. I pray you have continued to have many special moments with a fox or two or three Bernadette on your walks near the oak trees.
You have inspired me to write a poem about my little fellow. Thank you. I wish you much success with your poetry. Have a lovely day, best wishes Kerry
I’m glad you enjoyed the poem so much, Kerry–I’ll pass your comment on to Bernadette.