i thought of sylvia plath a lot this past week. in my sickness i've been cutting out tons of heart-shapes- a personal symbol of plath's. and i have strings of hearts hanging in my bedroom window. silvery and sparkling and dancing slow. they have been cut from "failed" paintings and drawings. i thought... even though the composition was wrong, there was still love in this work. let me at least save that part.
i want to keep that thought in mind today as i remember her... and as i remember her son, nicholas.
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the first poem in Ariel is written to a child. for a child. it is thick with love, thick with amazement. she was not without love... let's at least save that part. draw a heart on something. cut one out. save it. hang it in your window. this is the new tradition.
MORNING SONG
Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.
Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.
I'm no more your mother
Than the cloud that distils a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind's hand.
All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.
One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square
Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.
october 27, 1932 - february 11, 1963
and here is my poem about her for you... since i can't bake. :)
(click the pictures to enlarge)
you know her
artist book
angela simione, 2009
transcript:
you know her
she wore the white dress and white shoes
snow-white
under the little wire clamps
pale, nondescript
harmless
her hand to her mouth
she'd had such trouble
cutting. Cutting and cutting and cutting.
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