Sylvia Plath Quote
Love LetterNot easy to state the change you made.If I'm alive now, then I was dead,Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,Staying put according to habit.You didn't just tow me an inch, no-Nor leave me to set my small bald eyeSkyward again, without hope, of course,Of apprehending blueness, or stars.That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snakeMasked among black rocks as a black rockIn the white hiatus of winter-Like my neighbors, taking no pleasureIn the million perfectly-chisledCheeks alighting each moment to meltMy cheeks of basalt. They turned to tears,Angels weeping over dull natures,But didn't convince me. Those tears froze.Each dead head had a visor of ice.And I slept on like a bent finger.The first thing I was was sheer airAnd the locked drops rising in dewLimpid as spirits. Many stones layDense and expressionless round about.I didn't know what to make of it.I shone, mice-scaled, and unfoldedTo pour myself out like a fluidAmong bird feet and the stems of plants.I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once.Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.My finger-length grew lucent as glass.I started to bud like a March twig:An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg.From stone to cloud, so I ascended.Now I resemble a sort of godFloating through the air in my soul-shiftPure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.
Love LetterNot easy to state the change you made.If I'm alive now, then I was dead,Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,Staying put according to habit.You didn't just tow me an inch, no-Nor leave me to set my small bald eyeSkyward again, without hope, of course,Of apprehending blueness, or stars.That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snakeMasked among black rocks as a black rockIn the white hiatus of winter-Like my neighbors, taking no pleasureIn the million perfectly-chisledCheeks alighting each moment to meltMy cheeks of basalt. They turned to tears,Angels weeping over dull natures,But didn't convince me. Those tears froze.Each dead head had a visor of ice.And I slept on like a bent finger.The first thing I was was sheer airAnd the locked drops rising in dewLimpid as spirits. Many stones layDense and expressionless round about.I didn't know what to make of it.I shone, mice-scaled, and unfoldedTo pour myself out like a fluidAmong bird feet and the stems of plants.I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once.Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.My finger-length grew lucent as glass.I started to bud like a March twig:An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg.From stone to cloud, so I ascended.Now I resemble a sort of godFloating through the air in my soul-shiftPure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.
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About Sylvia Plath
Born in Boston, Massachusetts, Plath graduated from Smith College in Massachusetts and the University of Cambridge, England, where she was a student at Newnham College. Plath later studied with Robert Lowell at Boston University, alongside poets Anne Sexton and George Starbuck. She married fellow poet Ted Hughes in 1956, and they lived together in the United States and then in England. Their relationship was tumultuous and, in her letters, Plath alleges abuse at his hands. They had two children before separating in 1962.
Plath was clinically depressed for most of her adult life and was treated multiple times with early versions of electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). She died by suicide in 1963.