I spent an hour with Sylvia Plath
Beside her grave, but she was dumb
No voice cut through the heavy clods
The words lay buried on her tongue
I thought how marriage falls apart
How madness finds the smallest crack
How kisses twist from honey drops
To hornet stings, from Hell and back
A thrush speared worms with its sharp beak
Where mushrooms rose from their dank spoor
Like tumours from the graveyard's heart
Her poems, undead, live on, secure
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
How kisses twist from honey drops To hornet stings, from Hell and back death and a meditation on death ......very good poem thank you dear poetess.