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''Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.''
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Sylvia Plath (1932-1963), U.S. poet. Ariel (1965). Lady Lazarus, Encounter (London, Oct. 1963).
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''Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.''
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Sylvia Plath (1932-1963), U.S. poet. Lady Lazarus (l. 43-48). . .
The Collected Poems [Sylvia Plath]. Ted Hughes, ed. (1981) HarperCollins.
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''Herr God, Herr Lucifer,
Beware.
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.''
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Sylvia Plath (1932-1963), U.S. poet. Lady Lazarus (l. 79-84). . .
The Collected Poems [Sylvia Plath]. Ted Hughes, ed. (1981) HarperCollins.
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''I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it—''
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Sylvia Plath (1932-1963), U.S. poet. Lady Lazarus (l. 1-3). . .
The Collected Poems [Sylvia Plath]. Ted Hughes, ed. (1981) HarperCollins.
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''like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.''
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Sylvia Plath (1932-1963), U.S. poet. Lady Lazarus (l. 21-24). . .
The Collected Poems [Sylvia Plath]. Ted Hughes, ed. (1981) HarperCollins.
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''I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my eyes and all is born again.''
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Sylvia Plath (1932-1963), U.S. poet. "Mad Girl's Love Song."
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''Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.''
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Sylvia Plath (1932-1963), U.S. poet. Morning Song (l. 1-3). . .
The Collected Poems [Sylvia Plath]. Ted Hughes, ed. (1981) HarperCollins.
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''All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.''
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Sylvia Plath (1932-1963), U.S. poet. Morning Song (l. 10-12). . .
The Collected Poems [Sylvia Plath]. Ted Hughes, ed. (1981) HarperCollins.
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''One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.''
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Sylvia Plath (1932-1963), U.S. poet. Morning Song (l. 13-14). . .
The Collected Poems [Sylvia Plath]. Ted Hughes, ed. (1981) HarperCollins.
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''And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.''
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Sylvia Plath (1932-1963), U.S. poet. Morning Song (l. 16-18). . .
The Collected Poems [Sylvia Plath]. Ted Hughes, ed. (1981) HarperCollins.
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Balloons
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Since Christmas they have lived with us,
Guileless and clear,
Oval soul-animals,
Taking up half the space,
Moving and rubbing on the silk
Invisible air drifts,
Giving a shriek and pop
When attacked, then scooting to rest, barely trembling.
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Poets
