Sylvia Plath

(October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963 / Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts)

Sylvia Plath Poems

If you see a poem only with title, it is listed that way because of copyright reasons.
121. I Want, I Want 9/17/2014
122. The Surgeon At 2 A.M. 9/19/2014
123. Waking In Winter 9/19/2014
124. The Courage Of Shutting-Up 9/19/2014
125. Magi 9/17/2014
126. The Stones 9/19/2014
127. Metaphors 9/19/2014
128. All The Dead Dears 9/17/2014
129. Candles 9/17/2014
130. Love Is A Parallax 9/17/2014
131. Sculptor 1/3/2003
132. Winter Landscape, With Rooks 1/13/2003
133. Prospect 1/3/2003
134. Landowners 1/3/2003
135. The Bull Of Bendylaw 1/3/2003
136. Lyonnesse 1/1/2004
137. Wintering 1/3/2003
138. The Couriers 1/3/2003
139. Strumpet Song 1/3/2003
140. Virgin In A Tree 1/3/2003
141. Two Campers In Cloud Country 1/3/2003
142. Nick And The Candlestick 1/3/2003
143. Resolve 1/3/2003
144. Polly's Tree 1/3/2003
145. Goatsucker 1/3/2003
146. Perseus 1/3/2003
147. Two Views Of A Cadaver Room 1/3/2003
148. The Queen's Complaint 1/3/2003
149. Totem 1/3/2003
150. Sleep In The Mojave Desert 1/3/2003
151. Purdah 1/3/2003
152. The Sleepers 1/13/2003
153. The Munich Mannequins 1/3/2003
154. The Manor Garden 12/22/2003
155. Faun 1/3/2003
156. The Swarm 1/3/2003
157. Vanity Fair 1/1/2004
158. The Thin People 1/3/2003
159. Two Sisters Of Persephone 1/3/2003
160. The Eye-Mote 1/3/2003

Comments about Sylvia Plath

  • Séamus Fox (1/31/2008 7:16:00 AM)

    My Literal lover

    For Sylvia Plath

    I think I have fallen
    for a dead poetess she
    is dark and fraught with
    bleeding flowers and
    Nazi symbolism and
    bags full of god and
    other equally striking
    metaphors for heaven.
    She was exquisite with
    language drawing sighs
    and laughter and tears
    but it is not about her
    story, which was tragic,
    it is her way on the page
    that blushes in my mind
    simple yet so complex.
    She enthuses me with her
    voice she speaks through me
    into the empty room simply
    knowing her words is not
    sufficient I must hear them.
    No living woman could give
    what she has left me with.
    Love in a literal sense is much
    much more fulfilling than all
    that over rated pushing and
    waiting for the phone to stop.

    1818/2218

    10 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Jocelynn Halbauer (10/29/2007 3:44:00 PM)

    Sylvia Plath is an exellent poet, but did anyone else notice that some of her poems are missing?
    e.g. Dirge For A Joker

  • ari anna arena (1/20/2007 2:39:00 AM)

    The heart can be a cruel teacher.

  • James Papastamos (11/21/2006 5:04:00 PM)

    Sylvia Plath wrote with anger and intensity. One doesn't even have to read between the lines to notice this. Where there is tragedy, there is art. Sylvia Path was a true, genuine lyric poet; and her poems reflect a truth, about as genuine, that poets are destined to suffer at the hands of fate - thepoetineye

  • Kellie Marie Sweeney (11/2/2006 1:42:00 PM)

    I really love syliva plath she is the reason i read poetry she reall got me into it, she led me to such poets as emily dickinson, evan boland and elizabeth bishop my favourite poem by syliva plath is poppies in july

  • Kimberly Kastner (4/22/2006 2:24:00 PM)

    I recently bought a book of her collected poems. My favorites are 'Southern Sunrise, ' 'Soliloquy Of The Sollipsist, ' 'Cinderella, ' and 'April Aubade.'

  • funky town (5/11/2005 4:04:00 PM)

    i love the story of cinderella and this poem really goes in depth to what the charicters may have been feeling.....i loved it.

Best Poem of Sylvia Plath

Cinderella

The prince leans to the girl in scarlet heels,
Her green eyes slant, hair flaring in a fan
Of silver as the rondo slows; now reels
Begin on tilted violins to span

The whole revolving tall glass palace hall
Where guests slide gliding into light like wine;
Rose candles flicker on the lilac wall
Reflecting in a million flagons' shine,

And glided couples all in whirling trance
Follow holiday revel begun long since,
Until near twelve the strange girl all at once
Guilt-stricken halts, pales, clings to the prince

As amid the hectic music and cocktail ...

Read the full of Cinderella

Perseus

The Triumph of Wit Over Suffering

Head alone shows you in the prodigious act
Of digesting what centuries alone digest:
The mammoth, lumbering statuary of sorrow,
Indissoluble enough to riddle the guts
Of a whale with holes and holes, and bleed him white
Into salt seas. Hercules had a simple time,
Rinsing those stables: a baby's tears would do it.

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