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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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Otras obras de Sylvia Plath...
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…
Full Fathom Five

Old man, you surface seldom. Then you come in with the tide’s coming When seas wash cold, foam— Capped: white hair, white beard,
Heavy Woman

Irrefutable, beautifully smug As Venus, pedestalled on a half—s… Shawled in blond hair and the salt Scrim of a sea breeze, the women Settle in their belling dresses.
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Getting There

How far is it? How far is it now? The gigantic gorilla interior Of the wheels move, they appall me… The terrible brains
Mussel Hunter at Rock Harbor

I came before the water— Colorists came to get the Good of the Cape light that scour… Sand grit to sided crystal And buffs and sleeks the blunt hul…
Spinster

Now this particular girl During a ceremonious april walk With her latest suitor Found herself, of a sudden, intole… By the birds’ irregular babel
Conversation Among the Ruins

Through portico of my elegant hous… With your wild furies, disturbing… And the fabulous lutes and peacock… Of all decorum which holds the whi… Now, rich order of walls is fallen…
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The Glutton

He, hunger—strung, hard to slake, So fitted is for my black luck (With heat such as no man could ha… And yet keep kind) That all merit’s in being meat
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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The Goring

Arena dust rusted by four bulls’ b… The afternoon at a bad end under t… The ritual death each time botched… stabs, The strongest will seemed a will t…
Firesong

Born green we were to this flawed garden, but in speckled thickets, warted a… spitefully skulks our warden, fixing his snare
Bitter Strawberries

All morning in the strawberry fiel… They talked about the Russians. Squatted down between the rows We listened. We heard the head woman say,
On the Difficulty of Conjuring Up a Dryad

Ravening through the persistent br… Of blunt pencils, rose-sprigged co… Postage stamps, stacked books’ cla… Neighborhood cockcrow —all nature’… The vaunting mind
Memoirs of a Spinach

They called the place Lookout Far… Back then, the sun Didn’t go down in such a hurry. H… Lit things, that lamp of the Poss… Wet yet
The Arrival of the Bee Box

I ordered this, clean wood box Square as a chair and almost too h… I would say it was the coffin of a… Or a square baby Were there not such a din in it.
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