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The Artistry...The Madness
Hi. This is my Sylvia Plath page. As you can tell, I LOOOOVE Sylvia Plath. She felt things that were real,
nothing superficial. And the genius of it all is that she could write her
feelings down, which most of us can't do very well. She translated her soul and put it
on paper. That is the artistry. The madness is...she killed herself when she was
only 30, leaving 2 kids and a husband behind.
She is now living through paper...the printed page.
"Poppies in October"
Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly --
A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky
Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.
O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.
