Sylvia Plath

For me, poetry is an evasion of the real job of writing prose.

For me, poetry is an evasion of the real job of writing prose.

I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.
I am read more

I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.
I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

I do not want a plain box, I want a sarcophagus
With tigery stripes, and a face on it
Round read more

I do not want a plain box, I want a sarcophagus
With tigery stripes, and a face on it
Round as the moon, to stare up.
I want to be looking at them when they come
Picking among the dumb minerals, the roots.
I see them already-the pale, star-distance faces.
Now they are nothing, they are not even babies.
I imagine them without fathers or mothers, like the first gods.
They will wonder if I was important.

The man creates a pseudonym and hides behind it like a worm

The man creates a pseudonym and hides behind it like a worm

I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.

I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.