Jeonha

Basic Information

• Text

  Crow, feeling his brain slip,
  Finds his every feather the fossil of a murder.
  
  Who murdered all these?
  These living dead, that root in his nerves and his blood
  Till he is visibly black?
  
  How can he fly from his feathers?
  And why have they homed on him?
  
  Is he the archive of their accusations?
  Or their ghostly purpose, their pining vengeance?
  Or their unforgiven prisoner?
  
  He cannot be forgiven.
  
  His prison is the earth. Clothed in his conviction,
  Trying to remember his crimes
  
  Heavily he flies.
  
  Ted Hughes

• Text

  The crow perches
  atop a lone corn stalk
  which somehow escaped the
  harvest massacre.
  he, the croaking, mad king
  of this flattened field.
  black-robed and hard-eyed,
  uttering harsh imprecations.
  surveying his ruined realm.