Sylvia Plath was an incredibly talented writer, and it was evident that she was extremely intelligent.

She had a remarkable ability to create an abundance of words using hyphens, such as mouth-hole, after-hell, map-headed, and rose-and-larkspurred. There were dozens upon dozens of such words in this collection. Similarly, the vocabulary level was astonishingly high. I felt as if I had to look up a word every other line. I thought to myself, "yo, there's no way she knew all these words. She must have had a thesaurus sitting right there while writing" lol. However, I must admit that the way she combined words was entirely new and unique. It was difficult to describe, but the combinations were so unusual that they always caught my poetic eye and compelled me to slow down and consider the actual meaning being conveyed. She also had a penchant for alliteration, and this collection was filled with it.

Unfortunately, for those of average intelligence like myself, I found much of the poetry to be rather ambiguous. I couldn't determine if it was just me or if it was intentional on Plath's part. Nevertheless, I appreciated the fact that I could sense the emotions within the poem even if I didn't understand every line or the overall theme.

Lastly, as many have already pointed out, this collection is quite depressing. It had a (unsurprisingly) similar tone to The Bell Jar. Women are oppressed, everything seems meaningless, and so on. However, I would add that the collection wasn't merely depressing; it was haunting. There was something eerie about the way she portrayed the meaninglessness of the world she witnessed, something sinister in the blank monotony, and something unfathomably evil and inescapable in the oppression. It definitely sent shivers down my spine when I thought about it. Knowing that she took her own life only added to the creepy atmosphere.

Anyway, it was good stuff! Sometimes it was way beyond my comprehension, but it was definitely interesting to ponder over.

It took me an incredibly long time to read this collection of poems.

Most of the poems had a profound impact on me, as each one gave me a unique feeling that seemed to linger and resonate within me. I simply didn't want to brush it aside too quickly by moving on to another poem.

The more academic aspects of this poetry were indeed beyond my full comprehension. However, despite that, certain vivid imagery and clever turns of phrase managed to evoke deep thoughts and emotions within me.

These thoughts and feelings were so profound and touched me at a very early stage. It was as if the poems had a magical power to reach into the depths of my being and stir something within.

Overall, the experience of reading these poems was both challenging and rewarding, leaving me with a newfound appreciation for the art of poetry.

This is a dull school.

I am a root, a stone, an owl pellet,

lacking dreams of any kind.

Mother, you are the sole mouth

I long to be a tongue for. Mother of otherness,

devour me. Wastebasket gaper, shadow of doorways.

I said: I must remember this, being small.

There were such huge flowers,

purple and red mouths, extremely lovely.

The hoops of blackberry stems made me weep.

Now they illuminate me like an electric bulb.

For weeks on end, I can recall nothing whatsoever.

My favorite poems in this collection are truly captivating.

There's "Sow", which perhaps delves into the nature of growth and sustenance.

"The Colossus" might paint a vivid picture of a massive and imposing figure.

"A Winter Ship" could evoke the harshness and beauty of winter on the sea.

"Full Fathom Five" perhaps takes us deep into the mysteries of the ocean.

"Blue Moles" might offer a unique and imaginative vision.

"Medallion" is especially striking with its graphic description of dead things.

"Moonrise" could capture the magic and mystery of the moon rising.

"The Beekeepers Daughter" might tell an interesting story.

And "The Burnt-Out Sea" is my absolute favorite.

Sylvia Plath's summer poetry is remarkable. She writes about dead things that wash up on the shore with such graphic detail.

The lines from "Medallion" are particularly powerful: "And I saw white maggots coil / Thin as pins in the dark bruises / Where his innards bulged as if / He were digesting a mouse."

Her words bring these scenes to life in a way that is both disturbing and fascinating.

Sylvia Plath's debut bundle is a dark exploration of nature, death, and decay. The poems are often labyrinthine and difficult to understand, but Plath's talent shines through. The Colossus, the first collection, features poems that return to themes of death, decay, and dissection, set in seemingly ordinary suburban America. Nature, both domesticated and wild, is also a prominent theme, as seen in Watercolour of Grantchester Meadows. Metaphors, despite the overall dark tone, is a playful poem that still conveys a sense of doom. Some poems, like Full Fathom Five, convey dark menace more directly. The Disquieting Muses is a touching ode to her mother, while Poem for a Birthday, the longest piece, has multiple themes and memorable sentences. Overall, the bundle is a complex and challenging read that rewards careful study.

The Colossus presents a world where death and decay lurk beneath the surface of the ordinary.

Nature, in all its forms, is both beautiful and terrifying.

Plath's use of metaphors adds depth and complexity to her poems.

The Disquieting Muses and Poem for a Birthday offer glimpses into Plath's personal life and emotions.

This debut bundle is a must-read for fans of Plath and anyone interested in exploring the darker side of human nature.

Reading Sylvia Plath is truly an extraordinary experience. Her unique play with language, the unexpected ornateness that sometimes emerges in her poems, the captivating rhythm of the syllables, and the deliciously dark atmosphere she so often creates all have a profound fascination for me. I must admit that I don't always fully understand all of her metaphors. More than once, I have had to reach for my dictionary to uncover the precise meaning of a word. However, the vividness and rawness of the overall effect manage to carry me through to the very end.

  The old god, too, writes aureate poetry
In tarnished modes, maundering among the wastes,
Fair chronicler of every foul declension.
Age, and ages of prose, have uncoiled
His talking whirlwind, abated his excessive temper
When words, like locusts, drummed the darkening air
And left the cobs to rattle, bitten clean.

The Colossus is Plath's first collection of poetry and the only one published during her lifetime. But you wouldn't be able to tell that just from reading it. Perhaps only a select few initial details give it away. Some of the poems seem naively playful, yet even those are polished and hold their own charm.

I had a suspicion that Plath would outlast my freshman literary education. Everyone reads Plath during their first few years of university. It has almost become a cliché. But when I recall how my first-year lit professor, a man in his fifties, cried on stage in front of 200 students while lecturing on Plath, I realize that there is something more profound to reading this poetess than just the pretense of being well-read. When I remember the way hearing a recording of Sylvia Plath reading "Daddy" seared my skin, I know that Plath's work is truly special and that anyone can find a piece that speaks to them. The Colossus may not outrank Ariel, but it does provide a satisfying reading experience.

It offers a glimpse into the mind and artistry of a remarkable poet, one whose work continues to resonate with readers today.

The collection is a testament to Plath's talent and her ability to create powerful and evocative poetry that leaves a lasting impression.

Whether you are a seasoned poetry lover or just beginning to explore the world of verse, The Colossus is well worth a read.

The Stones

Here in this strange place, they possess the power to doctor not only heads but any limb. On Fridays, a curious sight unfolds as the little children come.
They bring their hooks, perhaps a symbol of their hardships or imperfections, and trade them for hands, as if seeking a new beginning or a more complete form.
Dead men, in their passing, leave their eyes behind, as if offering a gift or a sacrifice to those who remain.
Love, it seems, is the uniform of my bald nurse. It is what she wears, what she embodies.
Yet, love is also the bone and sinew of my curse. It is both the strength and the weakness within me.
The vase, once broken and now reconstructed, houses the elusive rose. It is a symbol of hope and beauty rising from the ashes of destruction.
Ten fingers, skillfully shaping a bowl for shadows, add an air of mystery and artistry to this place.
My mendings itch, a reminder of the repairs and the healing that is taking place. But there is nothing to do but wait and watch as I slowly become good as new.

—The Stones.

Sylvia has become an author for me in recent times, a person, a woman especially close. Her creativity also begins to be significant for me. I feel it is somehow analogous to the lyricism of my convictions, sometimes even too bitter, but accurately revealing what is disturbing, sticky in reality, and sometimes just - despite all the atrocities, sufferings, all this violence - beautiful, moving, putting every metaphysical cell of the soul into itchy tremors.

The symbols of Plath, her way of thinking, the map of metaphors and associations, are like a complex, mathematically detailed autopsy of social, psychological reality. Subjectively objective due to the penetration of observations and reflections. The form is also so accurate, scrupulous. The lack of rhythm, the freedom (of form!) of her poems is necessary and important - because why should women be locked in the shackles of rules that were shaped mainly by intrusive men? Her poetry has a shining form due to the semantic means that are simply overwhelming.

I love and am glad that I can break my glass clusters together with Plath's poetry, which unfortunately, one of her clusters could not be broken. I also cannot come to terms with the fact that such an outstanding volume was dedicated to a man who was not so much cruel in general to his being, but for her. The bitterness of this cruel injustice somehow also corrodes my heart.

I've heard certain criticisms of Plath's work before.

Mostly, they consist of the fact that a lot of her poems are too personal to be truly understood fully.

In the case of this collection, I have to admit that I agree to some extent.

I just didn't really understand a significant number of the poems.

However, that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy any of them. In fact, I did have some enjoyment.

I have a major soft spot for her other works, especially Ariel, her most famous poetry collection.

I think that while the same criticisms may have some merit there, the majority of the poems in Ariel are really good and affecting.

But with this collection, it's just the opposite.

It makes me sad to give this a low rating because I really do like Sylvia Plath.

I've read three other works by her and didn't have any issues.

This one, unfortunately, just didn't make sense to me.

Perhaps I need to read it again with a different perspective or do more research to truly appreciate its depth.

But for now, based on my initial reading, I can't give it a higher rating.

They could torture me to death and I would still keep shouting to the world, until I exhale my last sigh, that El Coloso is a thousand times better than Ariel. This Sylvia, I really like her. I like her truly. And do you know that I also like her? Her "A Ted" on the first page.

«Among cypresses
I sit and the charm of your hair

and your striated bones penetrate
from their ancient anarchy to the edge
of the horizon. Creating so much ruin
requires more than a ray. At night
I crouch in your ear, against the wind,

counting red stars and plums.
The sun rises from the bottom of your tongue
and my hours copulate with your shadow.
I no longer seek the scraping of keels on
the black stones of the beach.»

This passage expresses a passionate and intense love or admiration. The author is willing to endure extreme pain to proclaim their preference for El Coloso over Ariel. The mention of Sylvia and her work "A Ted" adds another layer of interest. The poem within the text seems to describe a sensual and perhaps somewhat mysterious connection. The imagery of sitting among cypresses, the charm of hair, and the penetration of bones create a vivid and evocative scene. The idea of creating ruin and the relationship between the sun, hours, and shadow further enhance the atmosphere. Overall, it is a powerful and engaging piece of writing that leaves the reader with a sense of the depth of the author's emotions.

I confess that I have great difficulty in understanding poetry, especially the works of certain poets, and Sylvia Plath is one of them. However, I decided to give this collection of hers a try.

I have rated it four stars because Plath's poems are undoubtedly what I would describe as "rich" and perhaps even brilliant. But on the other hand, as I have stated, I have trouble comprehending them.

She makes use of an extensive vocabulary, and many of the words she uses are ones I have never come across before.

She writes a great deal about death.

She took her own life at the age of 30 after the breakdown of her marriage to Ted Hughes.

Perhaps if I knew more about Plath's life, I would be able to better understand her poems.

Here is the first verse of her poem titled "Two views of a Cadaver Room":

The day she visited the dissection room

They had four men laid out, black as burnt turkey,

Already half unstrung. A vinegary fume

Of the death vats clung to them;

The white-smocked boys started working.

The head of his cadaver had caved in,

And she could scarcely make out anything

In that rubble of skull plates and old leather.

A sallow piece of string held it together.

In their jars the snail-nosed babies moon and glow,

He hands her the cut-out heart like a crooked heirloom.

She also writes about nature, although perhaps the following poem is more about leave-taking:

Here are the first two verses from "Departure":

The figs in the fig tree in the yard are green;

Green, also, the grapes on the green vine

Shading the brickred porch tiles.

The money's run out.

How nature, sensing this, compounds her bitters.

Ungifted, ungrieved, our leave-taking.

The sun shines on unripe corn.

Cats play in the stalks.

Judge for yourself.

Maybe poetry isn't my cup of tea.
There are some poems that I think are extremely intelligent and ingenious. They seem to have a special charm that can touch the deepest part of my heart.
However, there are also some poems that just don't make any sense to me at all. I try to understand them, but I still can't figure out what the poets are trying to convey.
I guess everyone has their own preferences when it comes to literature. Some people love poetry, while others prefer novels or other forms of writing.
Even though poetry may not be my thing, I still respect the art form and the efforts of the poets who create these beautiful works.
Maybe one day, I will have a breakthrough and be able to appreciate poetry in a whole new way.