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Sylvia Plath Poetry

Sylvia Plath (/plæθ/; October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963) was an American poet, novelist, and short story writer. Born in Boston, she studied at Smith College and Newnham College at the University of Cambridge before receiving acclaim as a poet and writer. She was married to fellow poet Ted Hu... Read More

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Sing praise for statuary:
For those anchored attitudes
And staunch stone eyes that stare
Through

Unlucky the hero born
In this province of the stuck record
Where the most watchful cooks go jobles

From fabrication springs the spiral stair
up which the wakeful princess climbs to find
the source

The month of flowering's finished. The fruit's in,
Eaten or rotten. I am all mouth.
October's the

It was a place of force—
The wind gagging my mouth with my own blown hair,
Tearing off my voice,

Halfway up from the little harbor of sardine boats,
Halfway down from groves where the thin, bitter

In the marketplace they are piling the dry sticks.
A thicket of shadows is a poor coat. I inhabit

O mud, mud, how fluid! —-
Thick as foreign coffee, and with a sluggy pulse.
Speak, speak! Who is

This is not what I meant:
Stucco arches, the banked rocks sunning in rows,
Bald eyes or petrified

Widow. The word consumes itself —-
Body, a sheet of newsprint on the fire
Levitating a numb minu

I can taste the tin of the sky —- the real tin thing.
Winter dawn is the color of metal,
The tre

When night comes black
Such royal dreams beckon this man
As lift him apart
From his earth-wife's

My love for you is more
athletic than a verb,
Agile as a star
The tents of sun absorb.

Treadin

Woodsmoke and a distant loudspeaker
Filter into this clear
Air, and blur.

The red tomato's in,

Outlandish as a circus, the ravaged face
Parades the marketplace, lurid and stricken
By some unutt

There, spring lambs jam the sheepfold. In air
Stilled, silvered as water in a glass
Nothing is big

O maiden aunt, you have come to call.
Do step into the hall!
With your bold
Gecko, the little fli

Cold on my narrow cot I lie
and in sorrow look
through my window-square of black:

figured in th

This is the city where men are mended.
I lie on a great anvil.
The flat blue sky-circle

Flew of

Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear;
The wheels revolve, the universe keeps running.
(Proud yo

The white light is artificial, and hygienic as heaven.
The microbes cannot survive it.
They are de

poet Sylvia Plath #14 on top 500 poets Poet's PagePoemsQuotesCommentsStatsBiographyShare on Facebook

The ordinary milkman brought that dawn
Of destiny, delivered to the door
In square hermetic bottle

Stalemated their armies stood, with tottering banners:
She flung from a room
Still ringing with br

Sylvia Plath Poetry

Sylvia Plath (/plæθ/; October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963) was an American poet, novelist, and short story writer. Born in Boston, she studied at Smith College and Newnham College at the University of Cambridge before receiving acclaim as a poet and writer. She was married to fellow poet Ted Hughes from 1956 until they separated in September 1962. They lived together in the United States and then in England and had two children, Frieda and Nicholas. Plath was clinically depressed for most of her adult life, which was treated multiple times with electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). She committed suicide in 1963. Plath is credited with advancing the genre of confessional poetry and is best known for her two published collections, The Colossus and Other Poems and Ariel. She also wrote The Bell Jar, a semi-autobiographical novel published shortly before her death. In 1982, she won a posthumous Pulitzer Prize for The Collected Poems.... Read More