Nicholas Hughes

Nicholas Hughes (1962 – 2009)

The spaces echo empty

Vast black, an eclipse

Of all memory of light

Of solid form.

Nothing lives. Nothing dies.

No conflict or oxygen

Nourish the blood pulse.

It is the longed-for oblivion

Desperate and craved

Annihilation.

A million splintered filaments

Hurled by one’s own hand

So the hand, too – crumbles

Melts and vanishes

Without a history.

Though the void cannot hear

A static radio call

A sister’s eulogy

A husband’s poetry

Splinters are left for the living

Shards of the bomb in their hearts

Inoperable. Holes and spaces

Sewn closed. Locked.

Oblivion.

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One of my favourite songs is Bob Dylan's 'Tangled up in Blue.' In an interview, Dylan said he aimed to portray a tangled relationship from multiple points of view. He does so well - very well. It's Dylan lyrics at their best, and I'm a writer at heart, so I can't go past some well woven lines.

"From what I've tasted of desire...I hold with those who favour fire."

I suppose this poem has a similar aim: to examine both sides of suicide. The desperate, single-minded intent of the perpetrator, and the living left to shoulder the blame, account for the mess, seek to understand. And sometimes I think there is nothing to understand. As the Holocaust survivor said in The Reader: "If you want catharsis, go to the theatre. Nothing comes out of the camps."

Or the very famous line by Jewish poet after WWII: "No poetry after Auschwitz." As if to say, here lies humanity at its darkest. Its most irrational. Its twisted and broken ends. There is no meaning here. Just consequence. Action taken to see what would happen. To watch the world burn.

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