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27 October 2007 @ 01:26 am
mirrors.
i am silver & exact. i have no preconceptions.
what ever you see i swallow immediately
just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
i am not cruel, only truthful---
the eye of a little god, four-cornered.
most of the time i meditate on the opposite wall.
it is pink, with speckles. i have looked at it so long
i think it is a part of my heart. but it flickers.
faces & darkness separate us over & over.
now i am a lake. a woman bends over me,
searching & reaching for what she really is.
then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
i see her back, & reflect it faithfully.
she rewards me with tears & an agitation of hands.
s am important to her. she comes and goes.
each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
in me she has drowned a young girl, & in me an old woman
rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
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15 December 2005 @ 09:43 am
A day late and more than a few dollars short.. lateness due to stress (not that it matters)

this week: I Am Vertical

But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
Sucking up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.

Tonight, in the infinitesimallight of the stars,
The trees and the flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them--
Thoughts gone dim.
It is more natural to me, lying down.
Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
Then the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.
 
 
07 December 2005 @ 08:43 pm
A Sorcerer Bids Farewell to Seem

I'm through with this grand looking-glass hotel
where adjectives play croquet with flamingo nouns;
methinks I shall absent me for a while
from rhetoric of these rococo queens.
Item : chuck out royal rigmarole of props
and auction off each rare white-rabbit verb;
send my muse Alice packing with gaudy scraps
of mushroom simile and gryphon garb.

My native sleight-of-hand is wearing out :
mad hatter's hat yields no new metaphor,
and jabberwock will not translate his songs :
it's time to vanish like the cheshire cat
alone to that authentic island where
cabbages are cabbages; kings : kings.
 
 
06 December 2005 @ 05:17 pm
Looking for something "new" from Sylvia Plath for christmas?

How about "The Bell Jar" on dvd? While hard to find, it is out there, having been apparently released on November 8th of this year.

It was filmed in 1979 and from the looks of the movie poster, the woman playing Esther is quite a bit older than the character was intended to be, I think. I heard that the film is not very faithful to the book, though...

that's why I don't already have it.

Ta ta
 
 
30 November 2005 @ 08:18 pm
Poem of the week...

The Fearful

This man makes a pseudonym
And crawls behind it like a worm.

This woman on the telephone
Says she is a man, not a woman.

The mask increases, eats the worm,
Stripes for mouth and eyes and nose,

The voice of the woman hollows---
More and more like a dead one,

Worms in the glottal stops.
She hates

The thought of a baby---
Stealer of cells, stealer of beauty---

She would rather be dead than fat,
Dead and perfect, like Nefertit,

Hearing the fierce mask magnify
The silver limbo of each eye

Where the child can never swim,
Where there is only him and him.
 
 
 
23 November 2005 @ 02:18 pm
A poem a week, this weeks poem:

To Eva Descending The Stair

Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear;
The wheels revolve, the universe keeps running.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)

The asteroids turn traitor in the air,
And planets plot with old elliptic cunning;
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.

Red the unraveled rose sings in your hair:
Blood springs eternal if the heart be burning.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)

Cryptic stars wind up the atmosphere,
In solar schemes the titled suns go turning;
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.

Loud the immortal nightingales declare:
Love flames forever if the flesh be yearning.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)

Circling zodiac compels the year.
Intolerant beauty never will be learning.
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)
 
 
15 November 2005 @ 08:50 pm
Plathian (atleast to me) poetry

Why Shouldn't I
by me

death looms above like thunder
in and out it rolls over
taking my body in waves
and i let it
wondering when i cry
for hours why there is no one
so why shouldn't i
just die as it seems
there is nothing to keep me alive
i ask where they have gone
while my hair falls thin
and my bones cut through
why did i depend on you
seeing me through is not of the blind
all they do is leave me behind
so why shouldn't i just die
for my screams go unheard
of blurred reality shaking me down
to rattle me out of skins
so i lay and i lie
and i ask myself why
or if
they will wish to rewind
so why shouldn't i
 
 
28 October 2005 @ 07:16 pm
As stated in the info, this is a community for fans of Sylvia Plath and her work to converse, share writings artwork and more.

I hope you join and meet new friends and just have fun!

--Sariea