Sylvia Plath Poems
- 51. Magi
The abstracts hover like dull angels:
Nothing so vulgar as a nose or an eye Bossing the ethereal blanks of their face-ovals.
- 52. Doom Of Exiles
Now we, returning from the vaulted domes
Of our colossal sleep, come home to find A tall metropolis of catacombs
- 53. Bluebeard
I am sending back the key
that let me into bluebeard's study; because he would make love to me
- 54. The Stones
This is the city where men are mended.
I lie on a great anvil. The flat blue sky-circle
- 55. Burning The Letters
I made a fire; being tired
Of the white fists of old Letters and their death rattle
- 56. Rhyme
I've got a stubborn goose whose gut's
Honeycombed with golden eggs, Yet won't lay one.
- 57. Flute Notes From A Reedy Pond
Now coldness comes sifting down, layer after layer,
To our bower at the lily root. Overhead the old umbrellas of summer
- 58. Terminal
Riding home from credulous blue domes,
the dreamer reins his waking appetite in panic at the crop of catacombs
- 59. The Manor Garden
The fountains are dry and the roses over.
Incense of death. Your day approaches. The pears fatten like little buddhas.
- 60. Recantation
'Tea leaves I've given up,
And that crooked line On the queen's palm
- 61. To 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.)
- 62. Hardcastle Crags
Flintlike, her feet struck
Such a racket of echoes from the steely street, Tacking in moon-blued crooks from the black
- 63. Fable Of The Rhododendron Stealers
I walked the unwalked garden of rose-beds
In the public park; at home felt the want Of a single rose present to imagine
- 64. 'Célibataire'
Or, cette jeune fille pointilleuse
Lors d'une cÃ©rÃ©monieuse promenade en avril Avec son dernier soupirant
- 65. The Ravaged Face
Outlandish as a circus, the ravaged face
Parades the marketplace, lurid and stricken By some unutterable chagrin,
- 66. The Ghost's Leavetaking
Enter the chilly no-man's land of about
Five o'clock in the morning, the no-color void Where the waking head rubbishes out the draggled lot
- 67. Denouement Villanelle
The telegram says you have gone away
And left our bankrupt circus on its own; There is nothing more for me to say.
- 68. In Midas' Country
Meadows of gold dust. The silver
Currents of the Connecticut fan And meander in bland pleatings under
- 69. Maenad
Once I was ordinary:
Sat by my father's bean tree Eating the fingers of wisdom.
- 70. The Sleepers
No map traces the street
Where those two sleepers are. We have lost track of it.
- 71. The Courage Of Shutting-Up
The courage of the shut mouth, in spite of artillery!
The line pink and quiet, a worm, basking. There are black disks behind it, the disks of outrage,
- 72. Ouija
It is a chilly god, a god of shades,
Rises to the glass from his black fathoms. At the window, those unborn, those undone
- 73. Moonrise
Grub-white mulberries redden among leaves.
I'll go out and sit in white like they do, Doing nothing. July's juice rounds their nubs.
- 74. Female Author
All day she plays at chess with the bones of the world:
Favored (while suddenly the rains begin Beyond the window) she lies on cushions curled
- 75. Alicante Lullaby
In Alicante they bowl the barrels
Bumblingly over the nubs of the cobbles Past the yellow-paella eateries,
- 76. The Companionable Ills
The nose-end that twitches, the old imperfectionsâ??-
Tolerable now as moles on the face Put up with until chagrin gives place
- 77. Finisterre
This was the land's end: the last fingers, knuckled and rheumatic,
Cramped on nothing. Black Admonitory cliffs, and the sea exploding
- 78. Whitsun
This is not what I meant:
Stucco arches, the banked rocks sunning in rows, Bald eyes or petrified eggs,
- 79. Blue Moles
They're out of the dark's ragbag, these two Moles dead in the pebbled rut,
- 80. The Hermit At Outermost House
Sky and sea, horizon-hinged
Tablets of blank blue, couldn't, Clapped shut, flatten this man out.
- 81. I Want, I Want
Open-mouthed, the baby god
Immense, bald, though baby-headed, Cried out for the mother's dug.
- 82. Amnesiac
No use, no use, now, begging Recognize!
There is nothing to do with such a beautiful blank but smooth it. Name, house, car keys,
- 83. The Hanging Man
By the roots of my hair some god got hold of me.
I sizzled in his blue volts like a desert prophet.
- 84. The Detective
What was she doing when it blew in
Over the seven hills, the red furrow, the blue mountain? Was she arranging cups? It is important.
- 85. The Shrike
When night comes black
Such royal dreams beckon this man As lift him apart
- 86. Heavy Woman
Irrefutable, beautifully smug
As Venus, pedestalled on a half-shell Shawled in blond hair and the salt
- 87. Private Ground
First frost, and I walk among the rose-fruit, the marble toes
Of the Greek beauties you brought Off Europe's relic heap
- 88. The Goring
Arena dust rusted by four bulls' blood to a dull redness,
The afternoon at a bad end under the crowd's truculence, The ritual death each time botched among dropped capes, ill-judged
- 89. Childless Woman
Rattles its pod, the moon Discharges itself from the tree with nowhere to go.
- 90. The Fearful
This man makes a pseudonym
And crawls behind it like a worm.
- 91. Touch-And-Go
Sing praise for statuary:
For those anchored attitudes And staunch stone eyes that stare
- 92. Who
The month of flowering's finished. The fruit's in,
Eaten or rotten. I am all mouth. October's the month for storage.
- 93. Lament
The sting of bees took away my father
who walked in a swarming shroud of wings and scorned the tick of the falling weather.
- 94. Verbal Calisthenics
My love for you is more
athletic than a verb, Agile as a star
- 95. Soliloquy Of The Solipsist
Soliloquy Of The Solipsist
I? I walk alone;
- 96. Pheasant
You said you would kill it this morning.
Do not kill it. It startles me still, The jut of that odd, dark head, pacing
- 97. Dark Wood, Dark Water
This wood burns a dark
Incense. Pale moss drips In elbow-scarves, beards
- 98. A Winter Ship
At this wharf there are no grand landings to speak of.
Red and orange barges list and blister Shackled to the dock, outmoded, gaudy,
- 99. April Aubade
Worship this world of watercolor mood
in glass pagodas hung with veils of green where diamonds jangle hymns within the blood
- 100. A Sorcerer Bids Farewell To Seem
I'm through with this grand looking-glass hotel
where adjectives play croquet with flamingo nouns; methinks I shall absent me for a while