Category Archives: Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath: On The Difficulty Of Conjuring Up A Dryad

Ravening through the persistent bric-à-brac Of blunt pencils, rose-sprigged coffee cup, Postage stamps, stacked books’ clamor and yawp, Neighborhood cockcrow—all nature’s prodigal backtalk, The vaunting mind Snubs impromptu spiels of wind And wrestles to impose Its own order on what … Continue reading

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Doomsday, Sylvia Plath

Doomsday The idiot bird leaps out and drunken leans Atop the broken universal clock: The hour is crowed in lunatic thirteens. Our painted stages fall apart by scenes While all the actors halt in mortal shock: The idiot bird leaps … Continue reading

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