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Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath

Bluebeard
I am sending back the key
that let me into bluebeard’s study;
because he would make love to me
I am sending back the key;
in his eye’s darkroom I can see
my X-rayed heart, dissected body:
I am sending back the key
that let me into bluebeard’s study.

#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #Suicide

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The Burnt-out Spa

An old beast ended in this place: A monster of wood and rusty teeth. Fire smelted his eyes to lumps Of pale blue vitreous stuff, opaqu… As resin drops oozed from pine bar…
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Sonnet: to Eva

All right, let’s say you could tak… The way you’d crack a clock; you’d… Between steel palms of inclination… Observing the wreck of metal and r… This was a woman: her loves and st…
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…
Song for a Summer’s Day

Through fen and farmland walking With my own country love I saw slow flocked cows move White hulks on their day’s cruisin… Sweet grass sprang for their grazi…
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The Lady and the Earthenware Head

Fired in sanguine clay, the model… Fit nowhere: thumbed out as a clas… By a casual friend, it stood Obtrusive in the long bookshelf, s… Thick volumes of prose—
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The winter landscape hangs in bala… Transfixed by glare of blue from g… The skaters freese within a stone… Air alters into glass and the whol… Grows brittle as a tilted china bo…
A Winter Ship

At this wharf there are no grand l… Red and orange barges list and bli… Shackled to the dock, outmoded, ga… And apparently indestructible. The sea pulses under a skin of oil…
Face Lift

You bring me good news from the cl… Whipping off your silk scarf, exhi… Mummy—cloths, smiling: I’m all ri… When I was nine, a lime—green ane… Fed me banana gas through a frog—m…
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Insomniac

The night is only a sort of carbon… Blueblack, with the much-poked per… Letting in the light, peephole aft… A bonewhite light, like death, beh… Under the eyes of the stars and th…
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The Ghost’s Leavetaking

Enter the chilly no-man’s land of… Five o’clock in the morning, the n… Where the waking head rubbishes ou… Of sulfurous dreamscapes and obscu… Which seemed, when dreamed, to mea…
Incommunicado

The groundhog on the mountain did… But fatly scuttled into the splaye… And faced me, back to a ledge of d… Her sallow rodent teeth like casta… Against my leaning down, would not…
Electra on Azalea Path

The day you died I went into the… Into the lightless hibernaculum Where bees, striped black and gold… Like hieratic stones, and the grou… It was good for twenty years, that…
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Ode for Ted

From under the crunch of my man’s… green oat-sprouts jut; he names a lapwing, starts rabbits… legging it most nimble to sprigged hedge of bramble,
Soliloquy of the Solipsist

Soliloquy Of The Solipsist I? I walk alone; The midnight street Spins itself from under my feet;
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