Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh had gone through; I dream of what it may go through. I record here the actions of optical nerves, of taste buds, of sensory perception. And, I think: I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.
With access to The New Yorker digital archive you can see Sylvia Plath’s poems printed in original form. Almost as good as holding a hard copy in your hand. Magazines were so very different back then.
Dear Sivvy,
My condolences for you;
for your struggle;
for the day that marked the end.
My only regret is never meeting you.
Sylvia Plath (October 27, 1932 - February 11, 1963)
Sylvia Plath: Click-click: tick-tick Clock snips time in twoLap of rainIn the drain...
Click-click: tick-tick
Clock snips time in two
Lap of rain
In the drain pipe
Two o’clock
And never you.
Never you, down the evening,
I cannot
Cry, or even smile
Acidly or bitter-sweetly
For never you and incompletely.
Things surround me;
I could touch
Soap or toothbrush
Desk or…
spending time with my good friend sivvy
I have created a blog to solely address my love of Sylvia Plath; here are the quotes that mean the most to me
