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13 de jun. de 2024 · Sylvia Plath (1932 – 1963) was a gifted writer of poetry who ended her life at the age of thirty. Many of the truths behind her final years were exposed after her death, discovered in letters revealing the dark secrets of her tragic relationship with Ted Hughes. Attractive, smart, and ambitious, she seemed to have what it took to succeed.
Há 4 dias · Across moor snows. Pocked by rock-claw and rabbit-track: she must yet win. Him to his knees-. Let him send police and hounds to bring her in. Nursing her rage. Through bare whistling heather, over stiles of black stone, To the world 's white edge. She came, and called hell to subdue an unruly man. And join her siege.
Há 1 dia · Sylvia Plath (1932–63) was born in Boston, Massachusetts, and studied at Smith College. In 1955 she went to Cambridge University on a Fulbright scholarship, where she met and later married Ted Hughes. She published one collection of poems in her lifetime, The Colossus (1960), and a novel, The Bell Jar (1963).
Há 2 dias · Evidently, Del Rey deeply resonates with many of Plath’s poems, especially those in her seminal poetry collection, Ariel. While Plath succumbed to her mental health issues, Del Rey’s references to the poet seem to suggest that there is hope in getting better, even if, like the singer, you identify with the themes that Plath wrote about.
25 de jun. de 2024 · Mother of beetles, only unclench your hand: I'll fly through the candle 's mouth like a singeless moth. Give me back my shape. I am ready to construe the days. I coupled with dust in the shadow of a stone. My ankles brighten. Brightness ascends my thighs. I am lost, I am lost, in the robes of all this light. Sylvia Plath.
Há 4 dias · With copper claws; A second's pause. The dull drums of my pulses beat. Against a silence wearing thin. The door now opens from within. Oh, hear the clash of people meeting --. The laughter and the screams of greeting : Fat always, and out of breath, A greasy smack on every cheek.
25 de jun. de 2024 · The spry hooks that bend and cringe and the smiles, the smiles. And at least it will be a good place now, the attic. At least I won't be strung just under the surface, Dumb fish. With one tin eye, Watching for glints, Riding my Arctic. Between this wish and that wish. So, I poke at the carbon birds in my housedress.
