Kevin+Wang

=**//Sylvia Plath//**=



I'm a riddle in nine syllables, An elephant, a ponderous house, A melon strolling on two tendrils. O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers! This loaf's big with its yeasty rising. Money's new-minted in this fat purse. I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf. I've eaten a bag of green apples, Boarded the train there's no getting off. .......................................................................................................... || **‍Metaphors Analysis ‍** From the ten poems I have picked out, I have decided to read and analyze each in chronological order in order to truly understand Plath’s dark transformation. “Metaphors” is undoubtedly one of her shortest poems, yet it carries deep significance. After a quick first read of the poem, it can be easily deduced that Plath is referring to her pregnancy. She is a “riddle in nine syllables” and humorously comments on her appearance as a “melon strolling on two tendrils.” However, despite such silly comparisons, her seemingly light attitude towards pregnancy has a cloud of anxiety and self-doubt brewing underneath. She compares herself to an “elephant” and a “ponderous house,” which creates another comical depiction of her body, but her choice of nouns is not too flattering. In the fourth line of the poem, Plath cries out “ivory, fine timbers” to the “red fruit” growing inside her. Ivory is an extremely valuable substance, and yet nobody cares about the elephant left over. Similarly, the fine timbers have the same effect with the house. To summarize her pessimistic attitude, she compares herself as a “fat purse” with money inside her. It is more than obvious that Plath is hurt at the idea that her baby is more important that she is. This un-motherly characteristic reflects her hesitancy and ultimately, her lack of confidence and self-belittlement. Unlike the first three quarters of this poem, her last two lines deliver a more powerful and possibly optimistic view. Plath writes that she has “eaten a bag of green apples,” which at first confused me. However, like the rest of the poem, the apples are metaphors, and in this case the apples allude to the apples on Forbidden Tree in biblical tales. Plath has made her choice and “there’s no getting off.” These inwardly directed lines showcase Plath’s attempt to recollect her thoughts and to get a hold of her life. Although she feels insignificant in the midst of this pregnancy, Plath accepts the fact that she can only move forward. Her acceptance is the first healthy sign among the myriad pessimistic metaphors. It is interesting to see how she will move forward from her pregnancy, both a burden and a joy, and yet spiral downwards into suicide. || I shall never get you put together entirely, Pieced, glued, and properly jointed. Mule-bray, pig-grunt and bawdy cackles Proceed from your great lips. It's worse than a barnyard. Perhaps you consider yourself an oracle, Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other. Thirty years now I have labored To dredge the silt from your throat. I am none the wiser. Scaling little ladders with glue pots and pails of Lysol I crawl like an ant in mourning Over the weedy acres of your brow To mend the immense skull-plates and clear The bald, white tumuli of your eyes. A blue sky out of the Oresteia Arches above us. O father, all by yourself You are pithy and historical as the Roman Forum. I open my lunch on a hill of black cypress. Your fluted bones and acanthine hair are littered In their old anarchy to the horizon-line. It would take more than a lightning-stroke To create such a ruin. Nights, I squat in the cornucopia Of your left ear, out of the wind, Counting the red stars and those of plum-color. The sun rises under the pillar of your tongue. My hours are married to shadow. No longer do I listen for the scrape of a keel On the blank stones of the landing. || **The Colossus Analysis** Unlike the preview poem, “The Colossus” is much longer and extremely more complex. The poem does not consist of any rhymes, varying sentence lengths, and etc., but this absence allows Plath to focus on her thoughts and emotions. After the first reading of the poem, it is clear that Plath is talking about her late father, a figure that is accountable for a frustration that resounds throughout the poem. This frustration germinates from her inability to communicate and understand her father. A task that she finally gives up. Plath struggles to create a memory of her father and laments that she can “never get you put together entirely.” For “thirty years” after her father’s death Plath has tried to understand him, and yet she is “none the wiser.” This frustration with her lack of understanding could be driving fuel that pushes Plath to depression. After these first two stanzas, the enormity of her father’s influence on her life is apparent. Plath is only but “an ant in mourning” that crawls on his “brow,” yet she still tries to “mend the immense skull-plates and clear the bald, white tumuli of [his] eyes.” This difference in scale reflects how Plath feels about herself and her father. Her father is indeed the “Colossus,” while she is as insignificant as an “ant.” In the next stanza, she compares her father to the “Roman Forum,” which is another colossal figure. Interestingly, the adjectives used to describe her father have an earthly connotation, such as “tumuli” (mound of earth), “weedy acres,” and “acanthine” (resembling herbs). Despite her overly exaggerated depiction of her father, these earthly terms represent that her father is not entirely out of reach, which only augments to her frustration. And although his “fluted bones” and “acanthine hair” are scattered in the sky, Plath muses this “ruin” could not have been created by a “lightning-stroke.” By linking lightning to divinity and power, Plath ponders how this ruin of her father is created inside her mind. She simply cannot forget him. However, the last stanza of the poem finally summarizes her defeat despite her attempts to recapture and communicate with her father by “squat[ing]” in his “left ear.” It is interesting to note that while Plath resides in his ear, the “sun rises from the pillars of [his] tongue,” which perhaps reflects the relationship between the two. Her father is the commanding voice, while Plath fruitlessly tries to talk to him. She yearns to understand her father, but after all this time and her “marriage to shadow” of his death, Plath has succumbed to defeat. The last lines of the poem are the most important as they deliver a sentiment that is submissively hopeless; she does not try to understand him anymore. || Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements. Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue. In a drafty museum, your nakedness Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls. I'm no more your mother Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow Effacement at the wind's hand. All night your moth-breath Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen: A far sea moves in my ear. One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral In my Victorian nightgown. Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try Your handful of notes; The clear vowels rise like balloons. || **Morning Song Analysis ** After the birth of her baby, Plath describes her sentiments of motherhood in a beautiful, heart-touching poem. The title of the poem, “Morning Song,’ does not become apparent until the end. This poem is made out of six stanzas with three lines each and no rhyming sequence; its simplicity and vivid language is enough to render the audience speechless in awe. The first stanza of the poem describes the arrival of her baby, in which the first line reflects the motherly love that she radiates. Her love that sets the baby going “like a fat gold watch” refers to the baby’s heartbeat and its importance as compared to gold. The arrival of baby is more significant than Plath had anticipated, describing it as a “new statue” in the second stanza. Interestingly, Plath carries the statue metaphor further by creating the setting in a “draft museum” where she and her husband “stand round blankly at walls.” By creating a juxtaposition of a welcomed blessing of her baby and a distanced statue in a museum, Plath is able to convey how she perceives the baby, an overwhelming and yet revered piece of art but at a distance. Plath’s first line in third stanza is perhaps one of the most powerful. She claims that she is “no more [her] mother,” and compares it to a “cloud” affecting “a mirror.” In this beautifully written stanza, Plath sees her baby as something much greater than herself. Although she is her mother, she is part of something much more beautiful and special; a feeling only motherhood can describe. In the next stanza, Plath describes the “moth-breath” of her baby, which is girl through the association of “flat pink roses.” Plath’s motherly affection can be seen by the fact that she “wake[s] to listen” for the sound of her baby, which is just a “far sea” in her ear. These two stanzas capture the heavy emotions that Plath has developed through her journey into motherhood. In the fifth stanza, Plath portrays waking up from “one cry” in the middle of the night and breast feeding her baby. Plath is quite descriptive about herself, calling her “cow-heavy and floral” whiling wearing her “Victorian nightgown.” Contrary to the first poem, “Metaphor,” the imagery used to create her size is actually rooted in motherly sentiments. The cow and floral aspect reflect the notion of breast feeding, where her baby’s “mouth open’s clean a cat’s.” Plath is not longer appalled by her physique, but rather her affection overpowers her humility. The last stanza of the poem reveals the title and is the perfect ending to this beautiful poem. Dawn is at hand as the window “swallows its dull star.” Her baby awakes and cries, but this crying is a “handful of notes” to Plath, just “clear vowels ris[ing] like balloons.” This metaphor finally reveals that the “Morning Song” is actually the cry of her baby. Plath calls it a song as a parallel to how she feels about her child. Just pure love. || 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 infinitesimal light of the stars, The trees and 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. || **I am Vertical Analysis ** Through the use of vivid imagery in just ten couplets, Plath is able to portray a powerfully depressing sentiment in “I am Vertical.” The poem is broken into two stanzas with five non-rhyming couplets; although the language itself is not overwhelming and her voice is controlled, Plath effectively communicates a feeling of despair. The very title of the poem contradicts with the very first sentence, as she claims that she “would rather be horizontal.” This up-in-you-face paradox is the key to understanding the rest of the poem as Plath spits out some startling comparisons. In the next few lines, Plath describes exactly what she is not; she is neither a “tree with [her] root in the soil” nor the “beauty of a garden bed.” Interestingly, Plath gives a lot of detail to both the tree and the flower bed, which reflect their importance to her. Not only does the tree suck up “minerals” but also “motherly love” so that it “may gleam into leaf” every “March.” She then states that she is not a garden of flowers who is able to attract “share of Ahs” and is “spectacularly painted.” It may be unclear why Plath is so troubled by the idea of being a tree and a flower bed, but in the last lines of the stanza it is clear as she states that she wants “one’s longevity and the other’s daring.” Plath no longer feels confidence in her physique, which is due the birth of her first daughter, and yet she envies how a tree is so strong and immortal. This poem was written right after a miscarriage with her second baby just a month before and Plath is extremely depressed. She does not have her youth (flower bed) or her ability to be a nurturing mother (tree). Plath opens the next stanza in stunning language as she walks “in the infinitesimal light of the stars.” However, despite her vivid language, a feeling of hopelessness and despair arises again. Although she “walk[s] among them … none of them are noticing.” She feels insignificant among the trees and flowers, which metaphorically represents the other people around her. Even more startling, Plath believes that when she is “sleeping,” she then “most perfectly resemble[s] them.” This heavy comparison showcases her self-belittlement and her devaluation of her worth. She claims it more “natural” for her to lie down with the “sky” in “open conversation,” thus the idea of being more horizontal than vertical. Like most of her poems, the line lines reveal her true sentiments. In the remaining couplet, Plath states that she would be “useful when [she] lie[s] down finally,” so that the “trees may touch” her and that the “flowers would have time for” her. Plath feels that she would be more useful to the world when she is dead. The last line is exceptionally depressing; however it is not so extreme that Plath isolates herself from her readers. Even in this last couplet of submissive detachment, Plath is able to draw sympathy. || I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. Whatever I 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 part of my heart. But it flickers. Faces and darkness separate us over and over. Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me, Searching my reaches for what she really is. Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon. I see her back, and reflect it faithfully. She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands. I 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, and in me an old woman Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish. || **Mirror Analysis ** Only written a few months after “Morning Song,” this poem, “Mirror,” carries a quite depressingly detached tone. The poem is broken up into two important stanzas that showcase a significant transition between the two. In this poem, Plath’s speaker is referring to itself as a mirror, one who has “no preconceptions.” This mirror is unbiased and is able to reflect the truth without any sugar coating. It “swallow[s] immediately” what it see, but most importantly it is “unmisted by love or dislike.” The mirror does not distort what it sees, but instead it returns exactly what is in front if it back to the person. The most revealing line in the stanza is when Plath’s speaker says “I am not cruel, only truthful.” The mirror is incapable of emotional response, it relays the truth no matter how hard the truth is to handle. Interestingly, this “eye of a little god” sits on the “opposite wall” and merely reflects the “pink” wall for “so long.” In these last few lines of the first stanza, Plath conveys that the truth is so hard to handle that most people do not like looking in the mirror. Instead, people just pass by the mirror, casting“darkness” from the brief shadows of the “faces.” It could easily be deduced that Plath considers herself as one of these people, which is exemplified in the next paragraph. The detached tone in the poem allows Plath to create a distance and reflect on the concept of being a mirror and seeing the truth. In the second stanza, Plath’s speaker is now saying that “I am a lake.” Although it serves the same purpose of a mirror, a “woman,” who is presumably Plath, is “searching …for what she really is” through the reflection of the lake. Even though the lake is not a mirror, the woman is still not able to find comfort in it as she has with “liars” such as the reflection from “candles or the moon.” The lake, like the mirror, reflects back what it sees “faithfully,” in which the woman cries and shakes her hands. The woman is seeking some sort of comfort in the reflection of the lake to restore some semblance of self-worth and appreciation. She misses her beauty and she “comes and goes” to the lake each morning to look at herself. Like most of Plath’s poems, the last couple of lines deliver a great summary of her emotions. The woman has “drowned a young girl” in the lake, leaving an “old woman” everyday “like a terrible fish.” Plath’s speaker describes how she has lost her youth, but more importantly, she still has to look at her reflection each day trying to find her it, only to be reminded of her aging appearance. The speaker links the woman to a “terrible fish,” and it is important to note how both a fish and the woman depend on the water for survival. By not making herself the speaker in the poem, Plath creates a distance through a depressingly detached tone that allows her to reflect on her aging appearance. || Spry, wry, and gray as these March sticks, Percy bows, in his blue peajacket, among the narcissi. He is recuperating from something on the lung. The narcissi, too, are bowing to some big thing : It rattles their stars on the green hill where Percy Nurses the hardship of his stitches, and walks and walks. There is a dignity to this; there is a formality- The flowers vivid as bandages, and the man mending. They bow and stand : they suffer such attacks! And the octogenarian loves the little flocks. He is quite blue; the terrible wind tries his breathing. The narcissi look up like children, quickly and whitely. || **Among the Narcissi Analysis** “Among the Narcissi” is one the few poems that really stuck out to me, mostly due to the fact that I had no idea what it was talking about. After reading the poem over and over again, the general idea is that a man, whose name is Percy, is dying from some illness in his lung while looking at some flowers. Obviously, it is much more complex. This poem is broken up into four stanzas with three lines each, but most importantly there is the paradoxical contrasts between life and death. The poem opens in March, where Percy is attributed as being “spry, wry, and gray as these March sticks.” Plath’s choice of adjectives is interesting, not only due to the rhyming nature of the words, but due to their contrasting meanings. These first three words of the poem contradict one another, which already foreshadows what Plath intends to do throughout the poem. The flowers that Percy is marveling over are the “narcissi,” which also carries a more significant reason. The Greek myth of Narcissus, a man who fell in love with his own reflection and drowned, is definitely connected to Plath’s choice of flowers. As the poem reaches a close, this connection becomes more obvious. As Percy “bows …among the narcissi,” the “narcissi are bowing “in return to Percy. These flowers “rattle the stars,” which is what Percy perceives Heaven to be like. These flowers “nurse the hardships in his stitches” because they give him some sense of comfort. This comfort that he receives is due to the youthfulness and beauty of the narcissi. It is the beginning of spring where nature is reborn, but Percy must trend the inevitable current of time. In the third stanza, Plath’s speaker claims that there are both “dignity” and a “formality” to this process. Ironically, Plath demonstrates that there is no dignity with facing death as both Percy and flowers both “bow and stand.” Interestingly, Plath’s speaker compares flowers to “bandages” as the man is “mending,” which is an incongruous idea, thus following Plath’s intent to contradict. She juxtaposes the healing nature of flowers to mere bandages, and then ironically laments how “they suffer such attacks!” In the last stanza, despite Percy “loves his little flocks,” he is “quite blue.” Percy still admires his flowers deeply, eyes fixated, but his death is near as the “wind tries his breathing.” Even as Percy is aging and slowing decaying, the narcissi merely “look up like children.” Percy’s fight against his demise is epitomized by his fascination with his flowers. Like the Greek myth, Percy is obsessed with his flowers, which is a reflection of his youth. He cannot help but stare at the narcissi even as death knocks on his doorstep. These flowers have no idea what is going on, innocent to the very end as they just look “quickly and whitely.” Plath masterfully creates a scene where the coming of life and the inevitability of death are juxtaposed, which reflects her coping with the idea of death in the future. || Little poppies, little hell flames, Do you do no harm? You flicker. I cannot touch you. I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns And it exhausts me to watch you Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth. A mouth just bloodied. Little bloody skirts! There are fumes I cannot touch. Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules? If I could bleed, or sleep! - If my mouth could marry a hurt like that! Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule, Dulling and stilling. But colorless. Colorless. || **Poppies in July Analysis ** Plath skillfully juxtaposes beautiful imagery and vibrant pain in “Poppies in July” to create a disturbingly real sensation of hopelessness. This poem consists of seven couplets with one extra line that resonates at the end. At this point in her life, she has discovered her husband’s affair while trying to conform to the typical housewife, ultimately proving fodder to her growing darkness. Plath opens up the poems with “little poppies” that are like “little hell flames.” This first line paints a vivid picture of flowers, but everything picturesque is immediately destroyed by an ominous rhetoric of “do you do no harm?” The flames “flicker” as she “put[s] her hands among the flames,” but no matter what she does, she “cannot touch” them. The flames still physically burn, but due to her emotional anguish it seems like “nothing burns” anymore. She is “exhausted … to watch” the flames, but at the same time, she cannot help but notice them. In the next couple of stanzas, Plath gives a very detailed depiction of fire as the “skin of the mouth,” in which the “mouth [is] just bloodied like bloody skirts.” ‍‍‍This gruesomely depicted image reflects her internal pain but also semblance of anger. The affair is the catalyst that pushes her natural pessimism into anger. Even though she cannot touch the “flumes,” she cries out for the “opiates” and “nauseous capsules” for their dangerous effects. ‍‍‍ Plath has always had some emotional turmoil, but this is the first time her impulsive nature is showcased. In the next stanza, Plath laments that she wants to “bleed or sleep” and if her “mouth could marry a hurt like that” (alluding to the affair). This stanza may seem like Plath is thinking about inflicting pain to herself to end her life, but actually it is the quite opposite. Torn between the betrayal of her husband and her own internal troubles, Plath just wants to feel some emotion. To feel life. She cries out in the next stanza that the “liquors” that “seep” are just “dulling and stilling.” She cannot resort to alcohol or any other means to find some sense of hope in her life. ‍‍Everything to her is simply “colorless.” Plath repeats the last word to emphasize her numbness to emotion. It is important to note her lack of senses despite the beautifully described images of pain. Plath’s inability to feel alive and just “colorless” is her first big step towards committing suicide. ‍‍ || You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to kill you. You died before I had time Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off the beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My Polack friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine, Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You Not God but a swastika So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the screw. And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I'm finally through. The black telephone's off at the root, The voices just can't worm through. If I've killed one man, I've killed two The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There's a stake in your fat black heart And the villagersnever liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through. || **Daddy** **Analysis** While first researching Plath, the one poem that appeared in every source I came across mentioned “Daddy” and praised it for its significance. After reading sixteen stanzas of five lines each, this poem proves to be drenched in emotion and confusion, making it one of most heart felt and yet disturbing pieces of Plath’s psychological tumult. She explores her hate for her father through unlikely metaphors and disquieting references to Hitler’s reign. Plath opens the poem by comparing her father to a “black shoe” in which she has “lived like a foot for thirty years.” Plath has been living uncomfortably and is suffocated by the memories of her father, “barely daring to breathe.” In the next stanza, she states that her father “died before [she] had time” to kill him, which finally captures her true hatred. Plath then describes her father a “marble-heavy … ghastly statue” with a head that starts from the “freakish Atlantic.” Plath’s depiction of her father as giant parallels her sentiments described in “Colossus.” This statue is not one to be marveled at however, its “ghastly” nature creates a gargoyle-esque depiction. Interestingly, Plath calls her dead father a “bag full of god,” only to deliver a lovely image of “bean green” water “off the beautiful Nauset.” Plath’s seemingly deluge of hate has an undercurrent of mixed emotions as she juxtaposes two polar viewpoints of her father, hence her confusion. In the next few stanzas, Plath makes an interesting point regarding the German language. Starting with “ach, du” from the last stanza, she explores the origins of her father in the “Polish town[s] scraped by the roller of wars.” Plath repeats “wars” over and over to emphasize its heavy effect, but also she is unable to tell where he “put [his] foot” or “root.” Her inability to discover the origins of her father perfectly represents her failure to understand a man whose influence has shaped her entire life. Plath further demonstrates this problem through her inability to communicate to her father as well. Her “tongue” is “stuck in a barb wire snare.” Transitioning from the German language, Plath goes through a lot of stanzas focusing on Germany’s dark history under Hitler, who she sees as her father. Her father’s daunting presence over her life has left a residual effect of thinking “every German was” him and she “may well be a Jew.” She then describes her father’s “Aryan” complexion and links him to a German “panzer-man.” A tank of authority. To further elevate the metaphorical comparisons, not only does Plath link Hitler to her father “but a swastika” as well, a true symbol of evil. Even with such a devious likening, she rebuttals that “every woman adores a Fascist,” thus portraying her mixed emotions. Her pain and fear of her father is in every way her fascination. From a swastika, Plath now calls her father “the devil” who is nothing less than “the black man who bit my pretty red heart in two.” This other man is most likely a reference to her husband, whom she remodeled after her father with a “Meinkampf look.” Although her father died she “was ten,” she tried to kill herself ten years later to “get back, back, back to” him. This suicide attempt was obviously a failure since “they [presumably doctors] stuck me together with glue.” Her suicide attempt to get closer to her father and to understand him foreshadows her marriage with a man just like him. This Electra complex further demonstrates her inability to relinquish her memory. However in the last three stanzas, Plath states that she is “finally through.” She logically reasons that if she could have “killed one man,” then she killed the second. This “vampire,” who is her husband, has drank her “blood for … seven years,” which is the length of her marriage. By calling her husband a parasitic vampire, she is thus calling her father parasitic in how she is hurting. Moreover, this stake that is in his “fat black heart” contradicts heavily with her “pretty red heart,” showcasing how Plath views her father and herself as completely different. Yet somewhat similar. Plath finally concludes this poem with a big finale, resonating “[d]addy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.’ This final line epitomizes her true sentiments about her father and she is done allowing his memory to affect her. || What a thrill My thumb instead of an onion. The top quite gone Except for a sort of hinge Of skin, A flap like a hat, Dead white. Then that red plush. Little pilgrim, The Indian's axed your scalp. Your turkey wattle Carpet rolls Straight from the heart. I step on it, Clutching my bottle Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is. Out of a gap A million soldiers run, Redcoats, every one. Whose side are they one? O my Homunculus, I am ill. I have taken a pill to kill The thin Papery feeling. Saboteur, Kamikaze man The stain on your Gauze Ku Klux Klan Babushka Darkens and tarnishes and when The balled Pulp of your heart Confronts its small Mill of silence How you jump Trepanned veteran, Dirty girl, Thumb stump. || **Cut Analysis ** Through the use of many peculiar metaphors to describe a simple “Cut,” Plath explores her fascination with pain. Written in free verse, Plath’s poem is short and contains many broken sentences, which creates a sense of urgency. This urgency helps establish the staccato feel of the poem, each word cutting in deep and in rhythm. In “Cut,” Plath describes a cut on her “thumb” when chopping an “onion.” Interestingly, her first reaction is of pure adrenaline, a “thrill.” Taken back from the sudden laceration, she goes on to describe the “hinge of skin” that resembles a “flap like a hat.” She goes into blunt but haunting detail, “dead white” with “red plush.” Plath’s immediate fascination with her cut as she transitions into different metaphors develops a darker meaning as the poem progresses. Straying from the more common metaphors of “hinges” and “hats,” Plath compares her thumb to a “little pilgrim” without his “scalp.” The blood is now the “carpet” that “rolls” from the “heart” and a “million” of “Redcoats” running around. With these esoteric metaphors, Plath distances the reader from the poem and gives the reader a chance to understand her. Despite her fascination with this “celebration,” Plath has resort to her “bottle of pink fizz” to ease the pain. She watches as the “Redcoats” run down her hand and wonders “[w]hose side are they one?” Ultimately, Plath is unable to decide if the bleeding is a good or bad thing; her ambiguity with pain is a troubling aspect. Somewhere deep in her mind, her “homunculus” tells her the truth. She is “ill.” As she tries to “kill” this “thin papery feeling” of being alive, she calls herself a “saboteur” and a “Kamikaze man.” She acknowledges her efforts to inflict pain on herself, yet she does nothing to confront this problem. Referring to her bandage as a “Gauze Ku Klux Klan,” Plath makes a disturbing comparison, but more importantly she makes a reference to “Babushka,” which most likely alludes to the Grandmother of the Russian Revolution. By using this comparison, Plath is comparing how she is at a turning point in her life where her “pulp of [her] heart” is “darken[ed]” and “tarnish[ed].” As Plath concludes the poem, she finally calls herself a “trepanned veteran,” a “dirty girl,” but above all a “thumb stump.” Her scar will remain there forever and serves as a reminder of a small cut that would eventually lead to more. Her last stanza directs all the negativity towards herself, finally casting a light on the root of her darkness. || Stasis in darkness. Then the substanceless blue Pour of tor and distances. God's lioness, How one we grow, Pivot of heels and knees! -- The furrow Splits and passes, sister to The brown arc Of the neck I cannot catch, Nigger-eye Berries cast dark Hooks Black sweet blood mouthfuls, Shadows. Something else Hauls me through air Thighs, hair; Flakes from my heels. White Godiva, I unpeel Dead hands, dead stringencies. And now I Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas. The child's cry Melts in the wall. And I Am the arrow, The dew that flies, Suicidal, at one with the drive Into the red Eye, the cauldron of morning. || **Ariel Analysis** Written just five months before her suicide, Plath’s “Ariel” is probably one of her most complicated poems. Before the poem even starts, its title “Ariel” can allude to a variety of possible and different ideas. From the spirit in Shakespeare’s //Tempest// to a holy city of Jerusalem in the Old Testament, Ariel’s literal meaning refers to a horse that Plath used to ride frequently. Like riding the horse, “Ariel” takes the reader from “darkness” to “morning,” a journey across Plath’s mind. In free verse, Plath’s speaker starts the poem with the only line that exists by itself, “[s]tasis in darkness.” Aptly, this fragment lacks an action, which perfectly reflects its haunting nothingness. From this stagnant darkness to the “substanceless blue,” Plath’s speakers rides on her “God’s lioness,” as they both “grow.” She and her horse are essentially one across this journey. With a “pivot of heels and knees,” the earth “splits and passes” as Plath’s speaker race across the land, desperately trying to cling on to the “brown arc” that she “cannot catch.” This great velocity of travel represents how Plath views the course of the beginning of her life as a blur. Such imagery also refers to a sexual excitement from the journey. The first thrill, but it soon disappears. Failing to hold on to the “brown arc” of her horse, the speaker falls onto these “nigger-eye” berries with thorny “hooks,” and she tastes a mouthful of “black sweet blood.” This inability to catcher herself from her fall symbolizes Plath’s inability to salvage herself from depression. After the fall, the only thing that remains are the “shadows,” which signifies a turning point in the poem. However, “something else” grabs Plath’s speaker and “hauls her though the air” with “flakes” flying off from her “heels.” This external force that grabs the speaker represents a mysterious force that Plath cannot explain; it is a self-destructive force that has led Plath down her path to misery. She acknowledges it but not does understand it. All of a sudden, Plath’s speaker is now the “white Godiva,” a reference to an Anglo-Saxon legend of a woman riding a horse naked to make a statement. Contrasting with the previous idea of “darkness” and “shadows,” the speaker’s “white” complexion along with its allusion represents some newly found power. She “unpeels” the deadness and the “stringencies,” exerting control. It is the beginning of change, a “glitter of seas.” Contrasting with Plath’s previous swelling of motherhood, the “child’s cry” now only “melts in the wall.” Plath’s attachment with her children and motherhood is being severed, transforming her into a deadly “arrow” that kills. Conversely, the “dew” evaporates and is killed. Plath juxtaposes these two ideas to create an ambiguity between life and death, ultimately reflecting her indifference to them both. “Suicidal,” Plath’s speaker is “driv[ing]” into the “red eye” and into the “cauldron of morning.” At first, Plath seems to end the journey at morning, which may appear optimistic due to the idea of a rebirth. However, “morning” and “mourning” are homophones, in which the latter holds a more significant meaning. Hiding her true intentions, the “red eye” and “cauldron” of “morning” ends the poem at the brink of destruction. In this boiling “cauldron” of tumultuous emotions, this rebirth of the “morning” and the “mourning” of death clearly foreshadow Plath’s suicide. Her last journey. ||
 * **Metaphors ** (March 20, 1959)
 * **The Colossus** (1959)
 * **Morning Song** (February 19, 1961)
 * **I am Vertical** (March 28, 1961)
 * **Mirror** (October 23, 1961)
 * **Among the Narcissi** (April 5, 1962)
 * **Poppies in July** (July 20, 1962)
 * **Daddy** (October 12, 1962)
 * **Cut** (October 24, 1962)
 * **Ariel ** (October 27, 1962)

= = = = =[|First Voicethread]= = = =[|Second Voicethread]=

__Works Cited__

Bloom, Harold, ed. //Sylvia Plath//. 1. Broomall, PA: Chelsea House Publishers, 2001. Print.

Plath, Sylvia. //The Collected Poems//. New York City: First HarperPerennial, 1981.

Photo from above: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/e/e4/Sylvia_plath.jpg/220px-Sylvia_plath.jpg

*Texts from poems taken from http://poemhunter.com/sylvia-plath/ *

<span style="display: block; height: 1px; left: -40px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; position: absolute; top: -25px; width: 1px;">(October 12, 1962)