It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea, And comes from a country far away as health.
It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea, And comes from a country far away as health.Tags: Essay On English As A Means Of CommunicationEssay In Blue By John EdmondsonDissertation CitationCreative Writing Classes Monmouth County NjSchool Pride EssaysHuman Resource Thesis ProposalFree Online Business Plan SoftwareProposal Template For Research Paper
Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley I watched my teaset, my bureaus of linen, my books Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head. I didn't want any flowers, I only wanted To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.
How free it is, you have no idea how free ---- The peacefulness is so big it dazes you, And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.
From — the magnificent collection of the surviving BBC recordings, preserved by the British Library Sound Archive — comes Plath’s exquisite reading of her poem “Tulips,” written in 1961 and published in Plath’s posthumous volume ), one of the most memorable and important poetry collections in modern literature.
Penned two years after Plath’s lovely children’s story about the perils of self-consciousness and two years before her suicide, “Tulips” was inspired by a bouquet of flowers the poet received while recovering from an appendectomy at the hospital and bespeaks in equal measure a serene inner stillness and a subtle existential emptiness, which Plath’s evocative voice, at once sensual and stern, channels with unequaled mesmerism: The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.
I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.
They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep.
Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage — My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox, My husband and child smiling out of the family photo; Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.
(Curley, Maureen 2)Failing at her art and at manipulating the Docktor she vows revenge against her enemies.(Salem Press 1)...
Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands. I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses And my history to the anaesthetist and my body to surgeons.