C S Hughes
Bio
C S Hughes grew up on the edges of sea glass cities and dust red towns. He has been published online and on paper. His work tends to the lurid, and sometimes to the ludicrous, but seeks beauty in all its ecstasy and artifice.
Stories (45/0)
Hanawa Iwo No Iro
I was reading Bashō, (if you couldn’t tell) and messing about for this piece with a Japanese translation, made by using Google Translate. I have no Japanese language skills, so can’t tell if the kanji and the romanji versions have the necessary elegance and spirit, or are clunky and poorly expressed. The title roughly translates as colours of the wreathed stone.
By C S Hughes3 years ago in Poets
Brief Innings
Hambly thought; it was a colosseum, not bruised by old blood and the accretions of millennia, but of freshly cleaned bone, refined by an aeonic process of repetition, to a pure and shadowless white, not the pristine white of Christmas, nor the phantom-white of a suddenly billowing gas flame, but the white of masks and ash and funerals, now smeared by the shapes cast under a lowering sun of men brought to a halt, and in the throes of catching from the blue air, the ghosts of their breaths.
By C S Hughes3 years ago in Fiction
What Is A Poem?
What is a poem? May as well ask, What is a bird? If your answer is, A creature that wants to fly, you are in the right place. Some consider the purpose of poetry is merely to create of mundane thoughts something poetic, a sort of polemic or didacticism or biograph dressed up in Sunday clothes. The creation of something poetic is, rather, a consequence, not a purpose. If you wish to give a sermon or a speech, do. However eloquent, this is not quite a poem.
By C S Hughes3 years ago in Poets
On the charming & irreverent poetry of childhood
In Beyond The Pleasure Principle Sigmund Freud describes how he observed his young grandson playing a game in which he would throw his toys, or any little thing, away into the corner of the room or under the bed, uttering a forlorn or angry cry as he did so, which Freud took to mean “gone” or “away” (fort in the original German).
By C S Hughes3 years ago in Poets