Beautiful and unusual poetry
Sylvia Plath's poetry is so unique. It is so very deep but hauntingly true in so many different ways. Sylvia died on February 11, 1963 by her own hands but left her very sensitive thoughts through her poetry. This book contains 224 poems that she wrote after 1956 together with a further 50 poems that were chosen from her pre-1956 work.
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 is so long
I think it is a 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.
October 23, 1961