i've been thinking about sylvia plath a lot lately... not just her work but the small things about her that really warm my heart and make me smile... like the fact that she liked to paint little hearts on everything. it was her symbol, her favorite shape. and apparently they were everywhere inside her home. knowing a little fact like that makes me like her even more. makes her work spin around inside my heart with more ferocity, more angered eloquence than it already did.
last week i remembered her birthday was coming up and then promptly forgot all about it. one of my personal resolutions is to write stuff like that down so i can celebrate the lives of people i admire who are no longer with us. and this morning over at Our Liege the Radish King, i was happy to be reminded- today's the day! and wouldn't you know that for the passed 4 days or so i've been drawing hearts on things. ha! my subconscious kicking in and trying to jog my memory i suppose. i'm even making a curtain for my kitchen rendered entirely in filet crochet that has a huge white heart right in the center of it. and i mean HUGE.
it's windy and cold but that chilly pair has made the brightness of this day even more beautiful. i have the heater on and am getting ready to make another pot of coffee. the house is clean, the dog is sleeping, and it is silent save for the wind over the roof. the day fits her. sylvia. her work. her heart. her hearts. i will make my curtain and hang it up- an ode.
and so today, i'll read my favorite poem of hers and work to commit it to memory- all while making heart shapes, letting the light and wind in, attempting repairs of the broken.
Sheep in Fog
The hills step off into whiteness.
People or stars
Regard me sadly, I disappoint them.
The train leaves a line of breath.
O slow
Horse the color of rust,
Hooves, dolorous bells-
All morning the
Morning has been blackening,
A flower left out.
My bones hold a stillness, the far
Fields melt my heart.
They threaten
To let me through to a heaven
Starless and fatherless, a dark water.
-Sylvia Plath, 1963
2 comments:
Oh I adore this poem. Thank you! I have a Sufi heart you know. On my shoulder blade. I am wing-ed.
love,
Rebecca
i looked it up- the moon makes it look like the heart is smiling, which of course made my heart smile. you are wing-ed for sure and beautiful. :)
Post a Comment