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Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through. First published in Ariel , 1965. Reprinted in The Collected Poems, 1981. Sylvia Plath, “Daddy” from Collected Poems.
Sylvia Plath's poems about death are an integral part of her body of work, showcasing her ability to delve into the darkest corners of human existence. Through her vivid imagery, evocative metaphors, and unflinching exploration of mortality, Plath invites readers to confront their own fears and contemplate the fragile nature of life.
Sylvia Plath, the renowned American poet, is known for her powerful and deeply personal poetry. While much of her work explores themes of mental anguish and despair, she also delves into the complexities of love. Plath's poems about love offer a hauntingly honest perspective on the joys, sorrows, and complexities of human relationships.
As que podem ser encontradas são: A Redoma de Vidro (The Bell Jar), Zé Susto e a Bíblia dos Sonhos (Johnny Panic and The Bible of Dreams) , XXI Poemas , Pela Água (Crossing the Water), e Sylvia Plath – Poemas , Ariel (Ariel) ARIEL. Estancamento no escuro. E então o fluir azul e insubstancial. De montanha e distância.
7 de ago. de 2022 · Sylvia Plath. Sylvia Plath was born on October 27, 1932, in Boston, Massachusetts. Her mother, Aurelia Schober, was a master’s student at Boston University when she met Plath’s father, Otto Plath, who was her professor. They were married in January of 1932. Otto taught both German and biology, with a focus on apiology, the study of bees.
Imaginei que voltarias como prometeste. Envelheço, porém, e esqueço-me do teu nome. (Acho que te criei no interior de minha mente) Deveria, em teu lugar, ter amado um falcão. Pelo menos, com a primavera, retornam com estrondo. Cerro os olhos e cai morto o mundo inteiro: (Acho que te criei no interior de minha mente.) Sylvia Plath.
16 de mai. de 2020 · They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat, And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes. Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me. The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea, And comes from a country far away as health. – Sylvia Plath, em “Pela água” (Crossing the Water).
