The Applicant
First,
are you our sort of a person?
Do
you wear
A
glass eye, false teeth or a crutch,
A
brace or a hook,
Rubber
breasts or a rubber crotch,
Stitches
to show something's missing? No, no? Then
How
can we give you a thing?
Stop
crying.
Open
your hand.
Empty?
Empty. Here is a hand
To
fill it and willing
To
bring teacups and roll away headaches
And
do whatever you tell it.
Will
you marry it?
It
is guaranteed
To
thumb shut your eyes at the end
And
dissolve of sorrow.
We
make new stock from the salt.
I
notice you are stark naked.
How
about this suit –
Black
and stiff, but not a bad fit.
Will
you marry it?
It
is waterproof, shatterproof, proof
Against
fire and bombs through the roof.
Believe
me, they'll bury you in it.
Now
your head, excuse me, is empty.
I
have the ticket for that.
Come
here, sweetie, out of the closet.
Well,
what do you think of that?
Naked
as paper to start
But
in twenty-five years she'll be silver,
In
fifty, gold.
A
living doll, everywhere you look.
It
can sew, it can cook,
It
can talk, talk, talk.
It
works, there is nothing wrong with it.
You
have a hole, it's a poultice.
You
have an eye, it's an image.
My
boy, it's your last resort.
Will
you marry it, marry it, marry it.
Lady Lazarus
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it—
A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot
A paperweight,
My featureless, fine
Jew linen.
My featureless, fine
Jew linen.
Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?—
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?—
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.
Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand in foot—
The big strip tease.
Gentleman , ladies,
The big strip tease.
Gentleman , ladies,
These are my hands,
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.
The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut
As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.
It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical
Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:
“A miracle!”
That knocks me out.
There is a charge
That knocks me out.
There is a charge
For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart—
It really goes.
For the hearing of my heart—
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge,
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair on my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
Ash, ash—
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer,
Beware
Beware.
Beware
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
Sylvia
Plath has 12 collections of poetry, most of them published posthumously: The Colossus, Heinemann (London,
England), 1960, published as The Colossus and Other Poems, Knopf (New
York, NY), 1962; (Editor) American Poetry Now (supplement number 2 to Critical
Quarterly,) Oxford University Press (Oxford, England), 1961; Uncollected
Poems (booklet), Turret Books (London, England), 1965; Ariel, Faber
(London, England), 1965, Harper (New York, NY), 1966; Wreath for a Bridal
(limited edition), Sceptre Press, 1970; Crossing the Water: Transitional
Poems, Harper (New York, NY), 1971; Crystal Gazer and Other Poems
(limited edition), Rainbow Press (London, England), 1971; Lyonnesse
(limited edition), Rainbow Press (London, England), 1971; Million Dollar
Month (limited edition), Sceptre Press, 1971; Winter Trees, Faber
(London, England), 1971, Harper (New York, NY), 1972; Collected Poems,
edited by Ted Hughes, Harper (New York, NY), 1981; Stings (drafts),
Smith College (Northampton, MA), 1983.
Her poetry has been included
in anthologies, including The New Yorker Book of Poems, Viking, 1969. Early
Poems, a collection of Plath's work, was published as the May, 1967, issue
of Harvard Advocate; 50 of her early unpublished poems appeared in Times
Literary Supplement, July 31, 1969; the posthumously published poem
"Ennui" debuted in Blackbird, November, 2006.
Other
publications include
(Under pseudonym Victoria Lucas) The Bell Jar (novel), Heinemann
(London, England), 1963, published under real name, Faber (London, England), 1965,
Harper (New York, NY), 1971; Three Women: A Monologue for Three Voices
(radio play; broadcast on British Broadcasting Corporation in 1962; limited
edition), Turret Books, 1968; Letters Home: Correspondence, 1950-1963,
selected and edited with a commentary by mother, Aurelia Schober Plath, Harper
(New York, NY), 1975; The Bed Book (for children), Harper (New York,
NY), 1976; Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams: Short Stories, Prose, and
Diary Excerpts, Harper (New York, NY), 1979; The Journals of Sylvia
Plath, edited by Ted Hughes and Frances McCullough, Ballantine (New York,
NY), 1983; The It-Doesn't-Matter Suit (for children), illustrated by
Rotraut Susanne Berner, St. Martin's (New York, NY), 1996; The Unabridged
Journals of Sylvia Plath, 1950-1962, edited by Karen V. Kukil, Anchor Books
(New York, NY), 2000.
She was a contributor
to periodicals, including The New York
Review of Books, Christian Science Monitor, Mademoiselle, Harper's
Magazine, Nation, Atlantic Monthly, Poetry, London
Magazine, The Observer, Encounter, and
others. (Most of the aforementioned biographical information is from Poetry Foundation).
Sylvia
Plath (October 27, 1932 - February 11, 1963)
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