Fox

by Pamela Brough

did not come thief in the night.
In broadest day he crossed the yard,
paused, seeing me seeing him,
stared
then trotted, as I thought, away.

In passing he picked up a fat black hen
and took her with him.

If he'd lurked,
if he'd slunk off into the meadow
he'd be vermin, pest
lesser enemy

but that stare hit like an axe;
that cold appraisal -
no gun, no dog at heel -
no threat..
This was his kill.

In after-shock I saw
his skills, his necessary acts
as prototype

the pinnacle of all his art
matched and surpassed
by complex revenues of human war

his daggered vision
bent to the weapon-maker's trade

his single purpose
trodden by marching feet

and all his faculties
shrunk to a limping shadow

caught in the glare of intellect,
the mass attack
the confidence that stops you in your tracks.

Judge's Comments - Roger Elkin

Poems about foxes are threatened by comparison with Ted Hughes's The Thought-fox - a challenge which by and large the writer of the shortlisted Foxy managed to circumvent. Here the writer recreates exactly and wonderfully that full-frontal contact/conflict/confrontation between the animal and human world in which, splendidly phrased, "that stare hit like an axe". This is a poem about boundaries, purpose and intent: the animal exactitude initially identified by the negative - the "did not come" of the opening line capped definitively in the strong description of the final six verses: just consider the finality and surety of the diction - "necessary acts", "pinnacle of his art", "complex revenues of war", "daggered vision", "single purpose", "cool assurance", "glare of intellect", "the mass attack", "the confidence" - all this could, and should, be applied to the writing. And yet, its very cataloguing highlights an ambiguity within the poem itself, so that there is the feeling that the poet in its "cold appraisal" of event, meeting and meaning is trying "too hard" to convey the "after-shock". Despite this, this is a memorable and heart-stopping poem.