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Sylvia Plath
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Sylvia Plath
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p.a. noushad (7/11/2008 4:51:00 AM)
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gets the colour of life in its pure form.
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James Papastamos (6/10/2008 7:07:00 PM)
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The story of Sylvia Plath just reinforces my deep-seated belief that 'where there is tragedy, there is art'. I have, as of yet, not once encountered a 'happy poet'. Poetry shall always remain a far superior form of literature, as opposed to the composition of fiction, non fiction, plays and scripts for movies. When I read a poem, I am gazing deep into the hidden chambers of the author's tortured soul - chambers that hide some mysterious secret, yearning to break free from the confines that civilization often imposes on humanity. Poetry comes from the heart. To understand poetry, one must be able to 'read between the lines'. When I read Sylvia Plath's poems, I not only read between the lines; I dive, head first, into its troubled waters - J. Papastamos
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"I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize me senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant
A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality." |
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Sylvia Plath (1932-1963), U.S. poet. Black Rook in Rainy Weather (l. 27-32). . .
The Penguin book of Bird Poetry. Peggy Munserber, ed. (1984) Penguin Books.
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"A certain minor light may still
Leap incandescent
Out of kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then—" |
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Sylvia Plath (1932-1963), U.S. poet. Black Rook in Rainy Weather (l. 14-18). . .
The Collected Poems [Sylvia Plath]. Ted Hughes, ed. (1981) HarperCollins.
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