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Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath

The Couriers

The word of a snail on the plate of a leaf?
It is not mine. Do not accept it.
 
Acetic acid in a sealed tin?
Do not accept it. It is not genuine.
 
A ring of gold with the sun in it?
Lies. Lies and a grief.
 
Frost on a leaf, the immaculate
Cauldron, talking and crackling
 
All to itself on the top of each
Of nine black Alps.
 
A disturbance in mirrors,
The sea shattering its grey one —
 
Love, love, my season.

#AmericanWriters

Other works by Sylvia Plath...
Female Author

All day she plays at chess with th… Favored (while suddenly the rains… Beyond the window) she lies on cus… And nibbles an occasional bonbon o… Prim, pink—breasted, feminine, she…
Balloons

Since Christmas they have lived w… Guileless and clear, Oval soul—animals, Taking up half the space, Moving and rubbing on the silk
The Bee Meeting

Who are these people at the bridge… The rector, the midwife, the sexto… In my sleeveless summery dress I… And they are all gloved and covere… They are smiling and taking out ve…
 1
Child

Your clear eye is the one absolute… I want to fill it with color and d… The zoo of the new Whose names you meditate —— April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Event

How the elements solidify! —— The moonlight, that chalk cliff In whose rift we lie Back to back. I hear an owl cry From its cold indigo.
Doomsday

The idiot bird leaps out and drunk… Atop the broken universal clock: The hour is crowed in lunatic thir… Out painted stages fall apart by s… While all the actors halt in morta…
Above the Oxbow

Here in this valley of discrete ac… We have not mountains, but mounts,… To the Adirondacks, to northern M… Themselves mere rocky hillocks to… Still, they’re out best mustering…
The Burnt

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…
 1
The Death of Myth

Two virtues ride, by stallion, by… To grind our knives and scissors: Lantern-jawed Reason, squat Commo… One courting doctors of all sorts, One, housewives and shopkeepers.
The Death of Myth-Making

Two virtues ride, by stallion, by… To grind our knives and scissors: Lantern—jawed Reason, squat Commo… One courting doctors of all sorts, One, housewives and shopkeepers.
The Pybus family, by Nathaniel Dance-Holland
Family Reunion

Outside in the street I hear A car door slam; voices coming nea… Incoherent scraps of talk And high heels clicking up the wal… The doorbell rends the noonday hea…
 3
Candles

They are the last romantics, these… Upside—down hearts of light tippin… And the fingers, taken in by their… Grown milky, almost clear, like th… It is touching, the way they’ll ig…
Sculptor

To his house the bodiless Come to barter endlessly Vision, wisdom, for bodies Palpable as his, and weighty. Hands moving move priestlier
Green Rock, Winthrop Bay

No lame excuses can gloss over Barge—tar clotted at the tide—line… I should have known better. Fifteen years between me and the b… Profited memory, but did away with…
Metaphors

I’m a riddle in nine syllables, An elephant, a ponderous house, A melon strolling on two tendrils. O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers! This loaf’s big with its yeasty ri…
 1



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