She stuck her head in an oven and killed herself. Besides that, she wrote some pretty dope poetry and was super fresh I apologize for writing in outdated youthful urban slang, but I was bored and thought it might "spice up" these less-than-mediocre reviews.
The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here. Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.
I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.
I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses And my history to the anaesthetist and my body to surgeons. They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.
The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble, They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps, Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another, So it is impossible to tell how many there are.
My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently. They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep.
Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox, My husband and child smiling out of the family photo; Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.
I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address. They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.
Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley I watched my teaset, my bureaus of linen, my books Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head. I am a nun now, I have never been so pure.
I didn't want any flowers, I only wanted To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. How free it is, you have no idea how free The peacefulness is so big it dazes you, And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.
It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet. The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me. Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.
Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds. Nobody watched me before, now I am watched. The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins, And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips, And I hve no face, I have wanted to efface myself.
The vivid tulips eat my oxygen. Before they came the air was calm enough, Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.
Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise. Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.
They concentrate my attention, that was happy Playing and resting without committing itself. The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves. The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals; They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat, And I am aware of my heart: The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea, And comes from a country far away as health.The Collected Poems by Sylvia Plath k.
Mad Girl's Love Song. Sylvia Plath. Mad Girl's Love Song "I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; Black Rook In Rainy Weather. Sylvia Plath. Black Rook In Rainy Weather. On the stiff twig up there Hunches a wet black rookgrupobittia.com · Emerson’s influence on Plath in a vacuum, as if unaware that Emerson has had an influence on virtually every important American poet from Emily Dickinson onward, and ignores the way changes of affect can register a change of belief, treating “Black Rook in Rainy Weather,” forgrupobittia.com Sylvia plath essay Samien July 31, Because plath –, from stanford, bio.
She was a twentieth century american poet and get ideas from over poets. Critical essays, by professional academic essays, overview, and novelist whose vivid imagery, grupobittia.com "Black Rook in Rainy Weather" may be strong in visual detail, but the environment does not matter.
What is apparent and significant is the poet's mood. Plath was beginning to have doubts about her husbands love for her and she needed to be constantly grupobittia.com://grupobittia.com?free_essay=&title=Sylvia.
· Black Pine Tree in an Orange Light Magi Private Ground A Winter Ship Black Rook in Rainy Weather Magnolia Shoals Prologue to Spring Winter Trees Bluebeard Man In Black Prospect Witch Burning Blue Moles The Manor Garden Purdah Whiteness I Remember Brasilia Mary's Song Pursuit Whitsun Bucolics Maudlingrupobittia.com · An introduction to Sylvia Plath, from a database that provides signed literary criticism by experts in their field, and is available to individuals for a reasonably-priced subscription.
17 September , Literary grupobittia.com