There is no life higher than the grasstops
Or the hearts of sheep, and the wind
Pours by like destiny, bending
Everything in one direction.
I can feel it trying
To funnel my heat away.
If I pay the roots of the heather
Too close attention, they will invite me
To whiten my bones among them.
Sylvia Plath, from her poem Wuthering Heights
image: Study in Gray, Oak Grove Cemetery and Arboretum, Delaware, Ohio, October 2011
That poem does something wild to me. Tonight there is wind and an icy rain here. "The wind pours by like destiny..."
ReplyDeleteThat line has always given me shivers.
What a picture to go with it!
For Sylvia, in hopes that her beautiful soul has found peace *raises glass*
ReplyDeleteTo 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.)
Intolerant beauty, indeed...thanks for this lovely tribute, Dr. L...
ReplyDeleteSuch a glorious feast of words here, in celebration of a life. thanks for both. I feel a shot of Wuthering Heights at the sight of the gravestone and the words that follow in the comments as well leave me breathless. thanks, Tess.
ReplyDeleteI was reading some of her poetry, and this one really jumped out at me. Thanks for remembering her birthday. She is our sister...
ReplyDeleteYes...she is...
ReplyDeletefor sylvia plath (with thanks
ReplyDeletesuch a fragile bar of steel
the heart which opens
never count death
as finished
song life
bittter isnt it
sweet
I read a lot of plath and about plath at one time. still have a first edition hardback of winter trees. this poem though i am not sure i have read. i also forgot she had an October birthday. thanks.
ReplyDeleteI do love Sylvia....
ReplyDeleteBeautiful, Zev...she was, indeed, a fragile bar of steel...thank you...
ReplyDeleteLove Sylvia Plath...there is darkness in all of us...she found the words for hers
ReplyDeleteWell said Sylvia. A poet amongst poets.
ReplyDeleteShe should have stayed away from the heather.
ReplyDeleteLovely image and words. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteA touching tribute for a poet
ReplyDeletelost, burning so bright, and
so beautiful, the flame snuffed
itself out at the platter. The
image is stunning too. A
mercurial talent, her poetry
endures even as her legacy
saddens.
I've long loved Sylvia Plath's ear for words, and in fact I wrote a post about her just a few weeks ago. I didn't realize the 27th was her birthday. Thanks for the reminder -- even though I'm seeing it late. :)
ReplyDelete'a fragile bar of steel' - now those are words to behold in remembrance of a talent lost too soon.
ReplyDeleteBlack Pine Tree in an Orange Light
ReplyDeleteTell me what you see in it :
The pine tree like a Rorschach-blot
black against the orange light :
Plant an orange pumpkin patch
which at twelve will quaintly hatch
nine black mice with ebon coach,
or walk into the orange and make
a devil's cataract of black
obscure god's eye with corkscrew fleck;
put orange mistress half in sun,
half in shade, until her skin
tattoos black leaves on tangerine.
Read black magic or holy book
or lyric of love in the orange and black
till dark is conquered by orange cock,
but more pragmatic than all this,
say how crafty the painter was
to make orange and black ambiguous.
Sylvia Plath
Tess,
ReplyDeleteThe poem provides the rays of wonder and hope. Thanks for sharing!
Hank
R.A.D., I feel compelled to read "Black Pine Tree in an Orange Light" out loud...I like how it feels in my mouth. It's a rich, delicious mix of dark and quirky. You knew I would love this. It brings to mind the simple little poem by Nancy Byrd Turner I memorized as a little girl:
ReplyDeleteEverything is black and gold,
Black and gold, to-night:
Yellow pumpkins, yellow moon
Yellow candlelight;
Jet-black cats with golden eyes
Shadows black as ink,
Firelight blinking in the dark
With a yellow blink
Black and gold, black and gold
Nothing in between-
When the world turns black and gold
Then it's Halloween.
Thanks for posting "Black Pine Tree..." R.A.D....it is exquisite and perfect for her birthday. Dear Sylvia...the world into which you were born was not ready for your intensity, I fear this is true...I also fear I am a bit too much like you...
ReplyDeleteGreat image for a wonderful poem..
ReplyDelete