Better that every fiber crack and fury make head, blood drenching vivid couch, carpet, floor and the snake-figured almanac vouching you are a million green counties from here, than to sit mute, twitching so under prickling stars, with stare, with curse blackening the time goodbyes were said, trains let go, and I, great magnanimous fool,… Continue reading Sylvia Plath
I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.) ― Sylvia Plath, from “Mad Girl’s Love Song.” Generally included in the biographical note appended to The Bell Jar. (Harper… Continue reading Sylvia Plath
And I slept on like a bent finger. The first thing I saw was sheer air And the locked drops rising in a dew Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay Dense and expressionless round about. I didn’t know what to make of it. I shone, mica-scaled, and unfolded To pour myself out like a fluid… Continue reading Sylvia Plath
Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I’ve a call. — Sylvia Plath, from “Lady Lazarus,” Collected Poems (HarperCollins Publishers Inc, 1992)
I would have killed myself gladly that time any possible way. Now there are these veils, shimmering like curtains, the diaphanous satins of a January window white as babies’ bedding and glittering with dead breath. O ivory! — Sylvia Plath, from “A Birthday Present,” Ariel. (Harper & Row 1966)
Small as a doll in my dress of innocence I lay dreaming your epic, image by image. — Sylvia Plath, from “Electra on Azalea Path,” The Collected Poems. (Harper Perennial Modern Classics; Reprint edition September 2, 2008)
The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence. – Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar. (Harper Perennial Modern Classics June 11, 2013) Originally published January 14th 1963.