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Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath

Child

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new
 
Whose names you meditate ——
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little
 
Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical
 
Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.

#Americans #Suicide #Women

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Autres oeuvres par Sylvia Plath...
The Goatsucker

Old goatherds swear how all night… The warning whirr and burring of t… Who wakes with darkness and till d… Vampiring dry of milk each great g… Moon full, moon dark, the chary da…
Channel Crossing

On storm—struck deck, wind sirens… With each tilt, shock and shudder,… Cleaves forward into fury; dark as… Waves wallop, assaulting the stubb… Flayed by spray, we take the chall…
Daddy

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo…
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Battle-Scene From the Comic Operatic Fantasy The Seafarer

It beguiles— This little Odyssey In pink and lavender Over a surface of gently– Graded turquoise tiles
Dark House

This is a dark house, very big. I made it myself, Cell by cell from a quiet corner, Chewing at the grey paper, Oozing the glue drops,
November Graveyard

The scene stands stubborn: skinfli… Hoard last year’s leaves, won’t mo… To elegiac dryads, and dour grass Guards the hard-hearted emerald of… However the grandiloquent mind may…
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The Dead

Revolving in oval loops of solar s… Couched in cauls of clay as in hol… Dead men render love and war no he… Lulled in the ample womb of the fu… No spiritual Caesars are these de…
Fever 103 Deg.

The text of this poem could not be…

Amnesiac

No use, no use, now, begging Reco… There is nothing to do with such a… Name, house, car keys, The little toy wife— Erased, sigh, sigh.
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Elm

I know the bottom, she says. I kn… It is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been the… Is it the sea you hear in me, Its dissatisfactions?
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The Babysitters

It is ten years, now, since we row… The sun flamed straight down that… That summer we wore black glasses… We were always crying, in our spar… In the two, huge, white, handsome…
Magnolia Shoals

Up here among the gull cries we stroll through a maze of pale red-mottled relics, shells, claws as if it were summer still. That season has turned its back.
Resolve

Day of mist: day of tarnish with hands unserviceable, I wait for the milk van the one—eared cat
Fiesta Melons

In Benidorm there are melons, Whole donkey—carts full Of innumerable melons, Ovals and balls, Bright green and thumpable
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Lesbos

Viciousness in the kitchen! The potatoes hiss. It is all Hollywood, windowless, The fluorescent light wincing on a… Coy paper strips for doors
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