Poetry Sunday: Letter in November

Sylvia Plath has always been a bit of an enigma for me. She was undoubtedly a writer of enormous talent, but it always seemed to me that the imagery that she used was more designed to obfuscate than to reveal and to draw the reader in.

 Then I ran across this poem while searching through the archives of the Poetry Foundation and I was struck by her brilliant use of the imagery of color to express emotions. She talks of the world turning color and refers to pods of the laburnum (poisonous); then she goes through a litany of colors, starting with black, then "tawn," green which is soft and delectable and cushions her lovingly, on through red which seems to make her "stupidly happy," and finally gold. She loves the gold-ruddy balls on her seventy apple trees, as well as their gold leaves. But seemingly she cannot leave us with this warm and happy image and she contrasts it with the "thick gray death-soup" which apparently surrounded her.

 We know that she suffered from clinical depression throughout her life and this poem, it seems to me, is a perfect reflection of that. She cannot simply revel in the beautiful November colors. She is constantly brought back to the gray. 

 Letter in November

 by Sylvia Plath

  Love, the world
Suddenly turns, turns color.
 The streetlight
Splits through the rat's tail
Pods of the laburnum at nine in the morning.

 It is the Arctic,

 This little black
Circle, with its tawn silk grasses - babies hair.

 There is a green in the air,
Soft, delectable.

 It cushions me lovingly.

 I am flushed and warm.

 I think I may be enormous,
I am so stupidly happy,
My Wellingtons
Squelching and squelching through the beautiful red.

 This is my property.

 Two times a day
I pace it, sniffing
The barbarous holly with its viridian
Scallops, pure iron,

 And the wall of odd corpses.

 I love them.

 I love them like history.

 The apples are golden,
Imagine it ----

 My seventy trees
Holding their gold-ruddy balls
In a thick gray death-soup,
Their million
Gold leaves metal and breathless.

 O love, O celibate.

 Nobody but me 
Walks the waist high wet.

 The irreplaceable 
Golds bleed and deepen, the mouths of Thermopylae.

Comments

  1. CarmenNovember 6, 2016 at 5:09 PM

    Hmmm...It's kind of dark with occasional happiness thrown in. I'm not sure I like it, but it reflects the grayness of November quite well.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersNovember 6, 2016 at 5:39 PM

      It certainly could be seen as a reflection of the gray days of November and of the gray days and nights of Plath's soul.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...
Read more

The Investigator by John Sandford: A review

Image
  I have read a few of John Sandford's books in the Prey series featuring Lucas Davenport. This book is a literal offspring of that series. It's the first in a series featuring Davenport's adopted daughter Letty Davenport. Letty is in her mid-20s and a graduate of Stanford. She works for a U.S. senator named Christopher Colles in a desk job but she's bored with her assignments. Then the senator offers her a chance to go into the field as a liaison between his office and the Department of Homeland Security.  In her first assignment in that position, she is sent to Texas along with DHS investigator John Kaiser to try to find out what is happening in regard to thefts of crude oil. The senator is not so concerned about the lost oil but wants to know where the money from its sale is going. Who is selling the oil and what they are doing with the profits? The suspicion is that a particularly nasty militia group led by a woman is involved. Letty and Kaiser head out to Texas, de...
Read more

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...
Read more