Mam olbrzymią słabość do Plath. Sylvia Plath is an extremely talented and influential poet. Her works are filled with deep emotions, raw honesty, and a unique perspective on life and death. The way she uses words to express her inner turmoil and the complex human experience is truly captivating. I am constantly drawn to her poetry, as it has the power to touch my soul and make me think about the world in a different way. Each time I read her poems, I discover something new and gain a deeper understanding of her genius. Her writing style is both beautiful and haunting, leaving a lasting impression on me. I can't help but be in awe of her talent and the impact her works have had on the literary world.

Sylvia Plath is an extraordinary poet, and it's truly incredible how she manages to amaze me every single time.

Some of my absolute favorites among her works include "The Rival," "Mirror (!)," "Elm," "The Arrival of the Bee Box," "Lady Lazarus," and "Edge."

Her poetry is pure genius. In the poem "Mirror," she writes two groups of nine verses to discuss gestation, and it's simply astonishing.

Now, this particular passage will resonate within me for a very long time:

"Is it the sea you hear in me,
its dissatisfactions?
Or the voice of nothing, that was your madness?

Love is a shadow.
How you lie and cry after it
Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.

I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
Scorched to the root
My red filaments burn and stand, a hand of wires.

Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs.
A wind of such violence
Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.

I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.

Its snaky acid kiss.
It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults
that kill, that kill, that kill. "

Plath's words have a powerful and lasting impact, delving deep into the human psyche and emotions.

What frightens me the most, I think, is the death of the imagination.

When the sky outside is just pink and the rooftops are black: that photographic mind that paradoxically reveals to us the truth, but the truth of the world, which is worthless. What I desire is that synthesizing spirit, that force that "gives form" and makes it sprout prolifically, creating its own words with more inventiveness than God.

If I sit here and do nothing, the world continues to beat like a flaccid drum, without meaning.

Imagination is like a spark that can ignite a world of possibilities. Without it, our lives become dull and monotonous. We need to constantly nourish and exercise our imagination to see the world in new and exciting ways.

Let us not be afraid to let our imaginations run wild, to dream big, and to create something truly unique. Because it is through our imagination that we can bring meaning and purpose to our lives and make a difference in the world.

This is an excellent piece of poetry with an interesting selection and order.

However, the translation seems to have a few flaws.

Nevertheless, it makes up for it with the introduction of literary theory at the end.

The theory states that the book itself is biased and maintains a construction of Plath that is much smaller than her death.

Perhaps a more accurate translation could have enhanced the overall impact of the poetry.

Nonetheless, the inclusion of the literary theory adds an extra layer of depth and complexity to the analysis.

It makes the reader think about the different ways in which a writer can be represented and the importance of considering multiple perspectives.

Overall, this is a thought-provoking piece that combines the beauty of poetry with the intellectual rigor of literary theory.

I must admit that I really struggled a great deal with Plath's poetry. In fact, I still do to some extent. However, once I delved into her biography, suddenly everything seemed to fall into place. It became significantly easier for me to work through her poems. I can't claim that I am anywhere near understanding all the diverse and complex meanings within her works. But then again, all I initially wanted was just a starting point, a jumping-off point into the world of Plath. And that's exactly what I got. So here's to this new beginning...

There were an abundance of beautiful lines in her poetry, and it was filled with so much raw and intense emotion.

Take for example the lines: Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well. These words are so powerful and thought-provoking, leaving a lasting impression on the reader. They seem to capture a part of Plath's unique perspective on life and death, and add to the overall allure and mystery of her poetry.

I am simply too stupid for poetry, so I won't give a rating.

However, every respect to Mrs. Silvia.

Poetry is a form of art that requires a certain level of understanding and appreciation.

I may not have the necessary skills or knowledge to evaluate it properly.

But that doesn't mean I don't recognize the talent and effort that goes into creating it.

Mrs. Silvia seems to have a passion for poetry, and I respect that.

Maybe one day, I will be able to understand and enjoy it as much as she does.

Until then, I will continue to admire her work from a distance.

I have been reading several pages of this every night for over a month.

And each night has been more fulfilling than the previous one.

She writes in such a unique way that is extremely hard to describe.

It's a feeling that hits right in the stomach.

The girl in the story was really struggling, and the dark parts were truly dark as fuck, not that fake-dark feeling like some of the stuff in Poe.

Anyways, I love her. It's a pity she's gone too soon.

3

Interesting to read, but not really my type of poetry. This statement reflects a common sentiment among many readers. While a particular piece of poetry may have its own charm and appeal, it might not resonate with everyone on a personal level.

Poetry is a highly subjective art form, and what one person finds deeply moving and inspiring, another may simply find interesting or even unappealing. The reasons for this can vary greatly. Some people may prefer a more straightforward and narrative style of poetry, while others are drawn to the more abstract and symbolic.

However, just because a particular type of poetry is not to our taste does not mean we cannot appreciate its value. By exploring different styles and forms of poetry, we can expand our literary horizons and gain a greater understanding and appreciation of this beautiful art form.

It was truly impossible to read Plath's poems without the shadow of her death constantly lingering in one's mind. The question of whether we should approach her works through such a tragic lens is indeed a matter up for intense debate.

On one hand, some might argue that her death gives an added layer of poignancy and depth to her words. It makes us question the inner turmoil and emotions that she must have been experiencing while penning those lines.

On the other hand, others might believe that we should focus solely on the beauty and power of her language and ideas, independent of her tragic end.

Regardless of where one stands in this debate, there is no denying that her words are exquisitely beautiful and her ideas have a haunting quality that lingers long after the final stanza is read.

She has an uncanny ability to articulate the most profound feelings and a yearning to be that resonates universally. In my personal opinion, her poems such as "In Plaster", "I Am Vertical", and "Daddy" are especially worthy of note.

If you have the time and inclination, I highly recommend checking them out. You are sure to be captivated by the raw emotion and unique perspective that Plath brings to the page.

I've recently come to the conclusion that I won't be able to finish books of poetry that are longer than 100 pages. However, the pages of this particular book are so small that perhaps I'll manage to get through all 258 of them. This is what I read while standing in front of the poetry bookcase at Nice Price Books. Otis, at the end of his leash, was waiting patiently on a floor that clearly hadn't been cleaned in years.

Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?

You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns.

And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin
of a mouth.


(....And suddenly I needed Georgia O'Keefe in the room, stat!)

The words of the poem seemed to dance before my eyes, painting vivid images in my mind. The description of the poppies as little hell flames was both captivating and a bit disturbing. I found myself lost in the rhythm and the beauty of the language, forgetting for a moment about the dusty floor and the waiting Otis. It was as if the poem had transported me to another world, a world of fire and passion, where nothing was as it seemed.

Clownlike, you are happiest when on your hands,

Your feet reaching towards the stars, and with a moon-skulled appearance.

Gilled like a fish, you have a common-sense thumbs-down on the dodo's mode.

Wrapped up in yourself like a spool, you trawl your dark, just as owls do.

Mute as a turnip from the Fourth of July to All Fools' Day,

O high-riser, my little loaf.

Vague as fog and looked for like mail,

You are farther off than Australia.

Bent-backed Atlas, our traveled prawn,

You are snug as a bud and at home like a sprat in a pickle jug.

A creel of eels, all ripples,

Jumpy as a Mexican bean.

Right, like a well-done sum,

You are a clean slate, with your own face on.

This description paints a vivid picture of a unique and somewhat mysterious being, with a combination of characteristics that make it stand out. It seems to have a sense of playfulness (like a clown), a connection to the elements (gilled like a fish), and an air of mystery (vague as fog). The various comparisons used, such as being like a spool, a prawn, and a bean, add to the rich and diverse image of this entity. Overall, it is a fascinating and engaging piece of writing that invites the reader to imagine and explore this strange and wonderful creature.

This little book is truly a treasure.

It contains most of my beloved Plath poems, which are like precious gems waiting to be discovered.

It serves as a perfect dose of Plath's unique literary charm, always ready to accompany me wherever I go.

Every year, without fail, I take this book with me to the ocean.

The combination of the vast and powerful ocean and Plath's profound and emotional poems creates a truly magical experience.

As I sit on the beach, listening to the waves crash and reading these poems, I feel a sense of connection and inspiration.

This little book has become an essential part of my annual ocean retreat, and I cherish the moments I spend with it and Plath's words.

It enriches my soul and allows me to explore the depths of my own emotions in a way that only Plath's poetry can.

I am grateful to have this collection and look forward to many more years of taking it to the ocean and being moved by Plath's genius.