I had a most bizarre encounter. At least that's what I'm calling it. On this past Saturday, I purchased a video from the pawn shop titled Sylvia. Little I knew at the time of purchase it was about a poetess who wrote during the late 50's and early 60's. The film I had never heard of--and I had known little or nothing about this writer. I did enjoy watching the DVD film starring Gwenth Paltro, [Starred in a Perfect Murder and Shakespeare in Love.] and Daniel Craig [James Bond--Casino Royale] She met and married a poet, and due to his extramaritial affairs Sylvia wrote out her most popular books. Finding it hard to live without him, Sylvia committed suicide February 1963.
Now, back to how I came by Sylvia....I've also been reading poems by other poets and just as I picked up a book I've had for some time titled "Poems of the Moment" complied by John Hollander--I opened it up to poems believe it or not written by Sylvia Plath! With this not so in-coincidental reality I decided to highlight a couple of her contributions. Ladies and Gentlemen please welcome a poetry recital by
Sylvia Plath, An American Poetess:
THE BEE MEETING
Sylvia Plath
[Short Excerpt]
Who are these people at the bridge to meet me? They are the
villagers--------
The rector, the midwife, the s*xton, the agent for bees.
In my sleeveless summery dress I have no protection,
And they are all gloved and covered, why did nobody tell me?
They are smiling and taking out veils tacked to ancient hats.
I am **** as a chicken neck, does anybody love me?
Yes, here is the secretary of bees with her white shop smock,
Buttoning the cuffs at my wrists and the slit from my neck to my
knees.
Now I am milkweed silk, the bees will not notice.
They will not smell my fear, my fear, my fear.
THE NIGHT DANCES
Sylvia Plath
A smile fell in the grass
Irretrievable!
And how will your night dances
Lose themselves. In mathematics?
Such pure leaps and spirals-------
Surely they travel
The world forever, I shall not entirely
Sit emptied of beauties, the gift
Of your small breath, the drenched grass
Smell of your sleeps, lilies, lilies.
Their flesh bears no relation.
Cold folds of ego, the calla.
And the tiger, embellishing itself-----
Spots, and a spread of hot petals.
The comets
Have such a space to cross,
Such coldness, forgetfulness.
So your gestures flake off
Warm and human, then their pink light
Bleeding and peeling
Through the black amnesias of heaven.
Why am I given
These lamps, these planets
Falling like blessings, like flakes
Six-sided, white
On my eyes, my lips, my hair
Touching and melting.
Nowhere.
I think this was a strange meeting of sorts, but I felt enriched to read of her poetry.
Thanks.....Sylvia.
HAPPY NATIONAL POETRY MONTH
Posted By: MIISRAEL Bride
Monday, April 19th 2010 at 5:13PM
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