2015: The Year of Reading Women discussion
P's
>
Ariel by Sylvia Plath
message 51:
by
Bloodorange
(new)
Jan 17, 2015 12:03PM
Re: Thalidomide - the imagery and connotations used are so systematically, overwhelmingly negative and depressing, it's hard for me to see anything beyond that.
reply
|
flag
I had a similar reaction, Bloodorange. I'm going to mention a few things about Thalidomide in case there are younger members of the group that might not have heard of the drug--it has not been prescribed during pregnancy for fifty years. Thalidomide was on the market in the late 1950s-early 1960s around the time that Plath was pregnant with her children. It was a sedative that was also used to treat morning sickness, but was found to cause birth defects including neurological problems and deformed limbs. This was back before the days of ultrasound where the doctor could visualize the developing fetus. I would imagine that Plath knew of women who had taken Thalidomide that spent the rest of their pregnancy fearing the worst. When I took Developmental Biology in college, I remember seeing pictures of some "Thalidomide babies" that were heartbreaking.
The poem tells about a pregnant woman who has very negative feelings toward her baby who might have birth defects. She also has some maternal feelings for the baby: "All night I carpenter/A space for the thing I am given,/A love/Of two wet eyes and a screech." But considering that the baby is called "the thing" instead of "the child", the poem is overwhelmingly negative. It's understandable to be very scared, but the woman seems to be disgusted with the unborn infant, rather than empathetic. All the worrying is falling on the pregnant woman, rather than the father whose sperm is the "White spit/Of indifference!"
Thank you, Connie. You have unravelled what was, for me, a bundle of emotions, Plath's and mine (I'm a relatively new mum, and however unsentimental I usually am, my brain simply shut down at 'two wet eyes and a screech').I must say that to my ear, the word 'carpenter' sounds ambiguous, perhaps even menacing. Everything about the poem seems to connote destruction, failure, or death.
Bloodorange wrote: "Thank you, Connie. You have unravelled what was, for me, a bundle of emotions, Plath's and mine (I'm a relatively new mum, and however unsentimental I usually am, my brain simply shut down at 'two ..."There is nothing warm and cozy in this poem so I can understand why you reacted that way. My daughters are adults, but you never forget your children as newborns.
Maybe Plath was angry, and trying to get a strong reaction by writing such a shockingly negative poem. Although she does not mention the responsibility of the drug manufacturer that put profits ahead of adequate testing, it came to my mind when thinking about how thalidomide changed the lives of so many babies and parents.
Connie, thank you for having posted that comment about the drug Thalidomine and its use in the 50-60s and for the subsequent exchange of impressions with Bloodorange.I agree it's a very dark and haunting poem, yes, but also powerful and full of juicy imagery. I wanted to mention the layout of the poem because it reminds me of Emily Dickinson, both stylistically and in structure. Short lines, sparse punctuation, dashes and unfinished sentences that cut the thoughts abruptly half-way through, mimicking the gestation process of a child being formed in the womb.
It seems as if Plath is amputating her sentences echoing her ambiguous thoughts on maternity, almost as if in giving "birth" to the poem, she lets go of the fears/bitterness/frustration that plague her.
Also, the sudden introduction of the cracked glass and red fruits that fall (connoting blood) in the final three lines of the poem made me think of a stillborn baby, a miscarriage, or even an abortion.
The dropped mercury could be a hallucinatory reference for the silvery moon at the beginning, which I assimilated to the half-formed face of the foetus.
I am not a mother and I don't know whether I will ever be, but I can empathize with the fear and rejection a pregnant woman might feel when faced with the possibility of having a baby with physical or mental disorders. And in the lines "All night I carpenter a space for the thing I am given, / A love" I detected feelings of love and protectiveness for the life that is growing inside her, so maybe Plath wasn't repulsed by the idea of motherhood in general but was indirectly demanding freedom for women to decide about their bodies, and thus, vouching for abortion if needed, echoing other feminist voices of the time like De Beauvoir's.
Thanks for the ongoing comments, guys. I'm lurking and appreciating the comments; please pardon if I'm not currently in a fit state of mind for taking part in very effective poetry analysis.Would you like the next poem already?
I would, but can wait for the others:)
Dolors: Carpentering a space makes me think of a casket:/
Bloodorange wrote: "Dolors: Carpentering a space makes me think of a casket:/"It made me think of a casket because of this poem by Ingrid Jonkerhttp://www.poetryinternationalweb.net...
In this poem she writes about her abortion and this line evokes the image: "carpenter seals a coffin that's bought / I ready myself for the nought."
It was translated to rhyme so if I would give a more direct translation without heeding rhyme structure it would read: "Carpenter building a coffin.", which to me sounds more ominous.
To me Ingrid Jonker was the best poet South Africa ever had. She is often compared to Sylvia Plath because of biographical similarities. She committed suicide not long after Plath, but Ingrid did a Virginia Woolf and walked into the ocean.
I am finding now that many of Ingrid's and Plath's themes are similar.
Yolande wrote: "Bloodorange wrote: "Dolors: Carpentering a space makes me think of a casket:/"It made me think of a casket because of this poem by Ingrid Jonkerhttp://www.poetryinternationalweb.n..."
Great post Yolande which let me to ponder whether Plath's was "carpentering" a metaphorical coffin for the baby or for a parcel of her life. Quite ominous, yet redolent of the themes we discussed to death in the BJ thread.
Yolande, that's an interesting idea of a coffin. I was thinking that "carpentering a space" was referring to the changes in the womb, but a coffin seems to fit the mood of the poem better.Dolors, those were wonderful observations. You made the ending of the poem much clearer.
Traveler, I'm ready for another poem unless others would like to wait.
Dolors, thank you for your post - it really elucidated some of the poem's imagery for me.Yolande, that was a great poem and a quick connection - I will definitely look into Jonker's poetry.
Sorry for the terseness of my posts today, but I only used a cellphone until now and had just a few moments to peek, read and respond :/
All these poems are so sad...Okay, next one:
The Applicant
First, are you our sort of a person?
Do you wear
A glass eye, false teeth or a crutch,
A brace or a hook,
Rubber breasts or a rubber crotch,
Stitches to show something's missing? No, no? Then
How can we give you a thing?
Stop crying.
Open your hand.
Empty? Empty. Here is a hand
To fill it and willing
To bring teacups and roll away headaches
And do whatever you tell it.
Will you marry it?
It is guaranteed
To thumb shut your eyes at the end
And dissolve of sorrow.
We make new stock from the salt.
I notice you are stark naked.
How about this suit——
Black and stiff, but not a bad fit.
Will you marry it?
It is waterproof, shatterproof, proof
Against fire and bombs through the roof.
Believe me, they'll bury you in it.
Now your head, excuse me, is empty.
I have the ticket for that.
Come here, sweetie, out of the closet.
Well, what do you think of that?
Naked as paper to start
But in twenty-five years she'll be silver,
In fifty, gold.
A living doll, everywhere you look.
It can sew, it can cook,
It can talk, talk, talk.
It works, there is nothing wrong with it.
You have a hole, it's a poultice.
You have an eye, it's an image.
My boy, it's your last resort.
Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.
================================
Well, that's bleak... It even reminds me a little bit of TS Eliot's The Hollow Men
This bit seems to point to the submissive little wife >>>"To fill it and willing
To bring teacups and roll away headaches
And do whatever you tell it.
Will you marry it?"
Totally as an aside, and not directly relevant to the poem:
Apparently Hughes expected of Plath to be the little wife and she wasn't too happy with that.
Traveller wrote: "This bit seems to point to the submissive little wife >>>"To fill it and willing
To bring teacups and roll away headaches
And do whatever you tell it.
Will you marry it?"
Totally as an aside, an..."
Yes, the fact that she says: "here is a hand" "will you marry it?
"A living doll, everywhere you look.
It can sew, it can cook.
It can talk talk talk."
She focuses not on a person but a hand. And the repetition of "it" dehumanizes the woman so that she is only an object. In the eyes of her husband she is merely a doll who has to take care of all his needs. But a doll is a disposable thing. There is no personal connection to it so it can easily be thrown away and exchanged for another doll.
Yolande wrote: "She focuses not on a person but a hand. And the repetition of "it" dehumanizes the woman so that she is only an object. In the eyes of her husband she is merely a doll who has to take care of all his needs. But a doll is a disposable thing. There is no personal connection to it so it can easily be thrown away and exchanged for another doll."
Yes, absolutely. The rubber and other appendages also makes it feel more like a thing, a doll, not a human. Btw, Yolande, this makes me think of the book we might be reading on the new Unknown Paths group in March. Oops, let me send you a PM before i get into trouble for going off topic again. :P
Plath's words on the poem, as quoted in Sylvia Plath: An Introduction to the Poetry, 2E by Susan Bassnett (where I'm trying not to peek - but I wanted to confirm my impression that women are administered to men by a mysterious institution):One of her strongest, most bitterly feminist poems is ‘The Applicant’, dated 11 October 1962. Introducing this poem for a BBC radio reading, Sylvia Plath describes the I-speaker as ‘an executive, a sort of exacting supersalesman’, who wants to be sure that ‘the applicant for his marvellous product really needs it and will treat it right’."On the whole, it reminds me of 'I Want A Wife' by Judy Brady. But why the images of disability at the beginning? It seems that a woman, a wife, is a sort of prosthesis.
Traveller wrote: "This bit seems to point to the submissive little wife >>>"To fill it and willing
To bring teacups and roll away headaches
And do whatever you tell it.
Will you marry it?"
...
Apparently Hughes expected of Plath to be the little wife and she wasn't too happy with that. "
Having read a lot about Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath's relationship, I'm not sure that it's factually accurate (if we care about that in relation to our poetry) to put this on Hughes. There were *all kinds of* crosscurrents and tendencies - and competition - in their relationship, but as far as I'm aware and have read, gendered expectations by Hughes were certainly much less than in the average marriage of the time. Plath's expectations of herself, however, is another story - including expectations she had of marriage and her marital relationship. She wanted a husband and children - she wanted a strong (male) character for a partner. She also wanted a writing career. Perhaps even more complicating, she strove for immortality through her writing. I.e., her ambition was of an uncommon kind. Plath's mother had gendered expectations for her which greatly affected Plath's sense of self. Her father dying when she was young also greatly affected her. Most of the biographical information on Plath suggests that both were factors not only for the pressures she felt but also in the drive and desires she felt. Plath was also something of an introverted personality, which means that emotional desires and pressures may have been felt in an overwhelmingly intense way. This (amateur analysis) is an interesting overview of her personality in terms of drives, repression (by self and other social factors) and intensities.
Traveller wrote: "All these poems are so sad...Okay, next one:
The Applicant
First, are you our sort of a person?
Do you wear
A glass eye, false teeth or a crutch,
A brace or a hook,
Rubber breasts or a rubber c..."
Interesting. One thing I appreciate about both Plath and Sexton's poetry is the voice and strong dramatic approach to topics. There's always some (dark) humour lurking.
One thing that struck me about the poem is how it speaks about both genders and "paper doll" roles - a self "marrying" the role (one's own and another), as it were.
I notice you are stark naked.
How about this suit——
Black and stiff, but not a bad fit.
Will you marry it?
Bloodorange wrote: "Thank you, Connie. You have unravelled what was, for me, a bundle of emotions, Plath's and mine (I'm a relatively new mum, and however unsentimental I usually am, my brain simply shut down at 'two ..."This poem and people's reactions to it are really intriguing to me. Again, I did read it in the vein of a sort of "drama" of the experience - similar to Shakespeare's language.
Something that I couldn't quite work out but have an inkling about is this - EDIT >> *in "Thalidomide," I mean - sorry, should have mentioned I was going back to the previous poem; something that was still niggling for me in this* -
O half moon—-
Half-brain, luminosity—-
Negro, masked like a white,
Your dark
Amputations crawl and appall—-
Spidery, unsafe.
What glove
What leatheriness
Has protected
Me from that shadow—-
The indelible buds.
Knuckles at shoulder-blades, the
Faces that
Shove into being, dragging
The lopped
Blood-caul of absences.
It sounds to me almost like she is understanding the Thalidomide as bringing out something inherent that is usually suppressed. (The use of racist imagery is also disturbing - tho I don't know if it can be read in any way other than making use of the 'dark-light' symbolism/contrast.) The "indelible buds," "Knuckles at shoulder-blades" - the half-moon - all speak to the dark nature. I agree that this word "carpentering" is *extremely* ominous in this context, as I think Bloodorange pointed out (I also like the amazing Ingrid Jonker poem suggested by Yolande; hadn't heard of her work before so thank you for that!). The word reminds me of Edgar Allan Poe, for some reason. That kind of horror-tinged language. It also suggests to me a kind of continuous, dark labour, like in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein - Victor Frankenstein in relation to his monster, which was also a dark reflection of himself/humanity. Something gone horribly awry.
Obscureason wrote: "Traveller wrote: "This bit seems to point to the submissive little wife >>>"To fill it and willing
To bring teacups and roll away headaches
And do whatever you tell it.
Will you marry it?"
...
Ap..."
..which is why I said: Totally as an aside, and not directly relevant to the poem: ;) I was referring to her being upset because he expected her to sew his buttons on. Like I said, not relevant to the poem... it was simply something which occurred to me as I read the poem, but that does not mean it relates to it.
Re Obscureason's post 70: The Thalidomide prevents the normal differentiation of cells in pregnancy. Instead of arms and legs, the baby only has the buds of these limbs. It also can affect neurological differentiation so there can be blindness, diminished mental capacity, etc.I'm thinking she is using the word negro as dark or dangerous. The drug was dangerous, but masked as white (safe). But it left the child with shortened limbs (amputations).
But not every child whose mother took Thalidomide was harmed. "What glove/What leatheriness/Has protected/Me from that shadow" There is a precise sequence of cell differentiation, with some of the most important occuring early in the pregancy. If the mother only took the Thalidomide later, her child might have been protected from the harmful drug. A miscarriage, which was very common for these babies, is also protecting her from having a baby with deformed limbs.
Traveller wrote: "Obscureason wrote: "Traveller wrote: "This bit seems to point to the submissive little wife >>>"To fill it and willing
To bring teacups and roll away headaches
And do whatever you tell it.
Will yo..."
Yes, asides, Traveller - you and Shakespeare!! ;) :D This particular aside for me coloured the conversation in a way that spoke only to a small part of the factual reality of Plath's situation - interesting in itself as a reaction to the poem - but also had the effect of making occur to *me* the larger picture based more closely on the reality of the situation. If you get what I'm saying.
Something that always feels really joyous to me about literary discussion is how it brings out different points because people emphasize different parts of a text. An initial response isn't the only response. I'm viewing the discussion as an opportunity to read and think about these poems and learn more and potentially shift and refract thinking. Pretty sure we'd be on the same page there, no? A kaleidoscope rather than a telescope; a park rather than a road leading to one place.
Thanks for clarifying how you were thinking of it. I hope it's okay that I added other information.
Connie wrote: "Re Obscureason's post 70: The Thalidomide prevents the normal differentiation of cells in pregnancy. Instead of arms and legs, the baby only has the buds of these limbs. It also can affect neuro..."Thanks for that Connie. So, metaphorically speaking, the Thalidomide would be something that deformed humanity? (Probably more accurate to pose that as a question. This poem is still fascinating me.) Perhaps still a connection to be made there with the monstrous in terms of unintended consequences being a reflection of human foibles/dark side?
In a final comment (from me anyway) on the poem "Thalidomide" I wanted to share this, from good old Wikipedia:
A child "born with the caul" has a portion of a birth membrane remaining on the head. There are two types of caul membranes, and there are four ways such cauls can appear.
The most common caul type is a piece of the thin, translucent inner lining of the amnion which breaks away and forms tightly against the head during the birthing process. “Infrequently, in past ages as now, a baby is born with a thin, translucent tissue, a fragment of the amniotic membrane, covering its head. The remnant is known as a caul."[2] Such a caul typically clings to the head and face, but on rarer occasions drapes over the head and partly down the torso. In Germany, this would be called a "helmet" (Galea) for boys; and in Italy, for girls, a "fillet" (vitta) or "shirt" (indusium, camisia).[3] In Poland, it is called a "a bonnet" ("czepek"), for both genders.
The lesser common (unknown) type of caul tissue is adhered to the face and head by attachment points and is looped behind the ears, making the removal process more complex. In extremely rare cases, the thicker caul encases the infant's entire body, resembling a cocoon.
The rarest caul type is a thick, soft membrane of unknown tissue type, which presumably forms against the infant's head during gestation. "Cornelius Gemma, a sixteenth century physician ... described it quaintly as being '... the remnant of another membrane, much softer than the amnion, but nevertheless more solid....'"[2]
I'm finding this interesting not least for the way it brings into the equation the connection between mother and child, between the 'monstrous' being and the bearer. I also read somewhere that this poem could be read in terms of the drug mediating the pregnant body, as something that has to be "normalized." Apparently "Thalidomide" is considered to be one of Plath's more difficult poems. Um, yeah.
But the poem at hand now is "The Applicant." Again, I'm intrigued by the title and how it works in relation to the speaker of the poem as a pernicious salesman. It is indeed a most bitter poem. I like what Bloodorange suggested about the wife as prosthesis ... the salesman says, "First, are you our sort of a person?/ Do you wear/ A glass eye, false teeth or a crutch,/ A brace or a hook,/ Rubber breasts or a rubber crotch,// Stitches to show something's missing? No, no? Then/ How can we give you a thing?"
For the "thing" to work, the buyer has to be a proper buyer, to be properly in need ...
The speaker in "The Applicant" reminded me of a carnival salesman hawking his wares to applicants that are interchangeable robots, not actual humans. The men are the black suits, the providers who push paper all day, but don't find their jobs fulfilling. The women are only there to smooth the life of the men by sewing, cooking, and looking attractive. This was the way that Plath looked at the state of marriage in the 1950s-60s. Everyone was conforming to a cookie-cutter life.
Sorry for the mess, but may I refer to Connie's older posts on 'The Rabbit Catcher' and 'Thalidomide' for a moment?Connie wrote: "Sylvia Plath wrote "The Rabbit Catcher" in May 1962. In 1998, Ted Hughes published a book of poems, Birthday Letters. He also wrote a poem titled "The Rabbit Catcher", a response to..."
Thank you Connie! Not only does Hughes' poem shed much-needed light on the situation, but it also stresses, by comparison, how unapologetic, almost arrogant Plath's poetic voice was: this becomes obvious in contrast to relatively straithforward poetic account of the situation.
I cannot stop thinking of what Esther thought in The Bell Jar: "I wanted to hone myself on till I grew saintly and thin and essential as the blade of a knife" - it seems Plath achieved that in Ariel (minus 'saintly', of course).
Connie wrote: "But not every child whose mother took Thalidomide was harmed. "What glove/What leatheriness/Has protected/Me from that shadow" There is a precise sequence of cell differentiation, with some of the most important occuring early in the pregancy.
Thank you for explaining that! I couldn't grasp the meaning of this line (and, by extension, of the whole poem).
(On the whole, I think I'll stick to Carol Ann Duffy in the future - Plath is way out of my league:) )
Obscureason wrote: "In a final comment (from me anyway) on the poem "Thalidomide" I wanted to share this, from good old Wikipedia:A child "born with the caul" has a portion of a birth membrane remaining on the head.... In Germany, this would be called a "helmet" (Galea) for boys; and in Italy, for girls, a "fillet" (vitta) or "shirt" (indusium, camisia).[3] In Poland, it is called a "a bonnet" ("czepek"), for both genders.
Just a side remark - I'm not sure about the West, but in Poland, being born "w czepku" (with the caul), was traditionally considered a good omen for the child - something Plath certainly didn't seem to be aware of;) We even have a saying reflecting this superstition - a lucky person can be called "born with a caul', and the sense would still be recognized.
Thanks for the interesting information about the caul, Obsureason and Bloodorange. I've heard that saving the caul is a protection against drowning in some superstitious communities.
Ha, strangely enough when I read about the caul I was thinking of a similar reference in my community where there is a superstitious belief indicated by the saying "born with the helmet" which means that you have the gift to see the supernatural world, so basically a psychic. It seems this caul supposedly gives one unusual abilities ;)
Yolande wrote: "Ha, strangely enough when I read about the caul I was thinking of a similar reference in my community where there is a superstitious belief indicated by the saying "born with the helmet" which mean..."Wow, missed that Hughes poem - thanks from me too, Connie & to Bloodorange for bringing it to the fore again.
You cried: ‘Murderers!’
You were weeping with a rage
That cared nothing for rabbits. You were locked
Into some chamber gasping for oxygen
Where I could not find you, or really hear you,
Let alone understand you.
In those snares
You’d caught something.
Had you caught something in me,
Nocturnal and unknown to me? Or was it
Your doomed self, your tortured, crying,
Suffocating self?
(italics my emphasis)
These lines are interesting in view of the "helmet" as well, as something that separates you from the world. Perhaps its both a protection and potential suffocation or death. Many saints are also ascetics ("a person who renounces material comforts and leads a life of austere self-discipline, especially as an act of religious devotion").
Bloodorange, the caul as lucky and (Connie) as protection against drowning are both super interesting! It reminds me of Kristeva's work on the child and amniotic fluid >> the maternal body that upsets the patriarchal order, esp. rules of proper separation - partly what's "monstrous" about it (can see more on this from Embodying the Monster: Encounters with the Vulnerable Self >> here ). It might also be suggested that this lack of boundary or separation in terms of the feminine & emotional overflow/overreaction ("improper" reaction) is equally upsetting of the patriarchal order... & might be a fruitful approach to Plath's poetry. I also love the possibility of the "caul" as something that might allow access to the supernatural, an/other world, Yolande. Again, could be thought of as a lack of proper separation between worlds?
You saw baby-eyed
Strangled innocents, I saw sacred
Ancient custom.
These few lines, for example, also from Hughes' poem, suggest that Plath's reaction to the rabbits is "improper" - too much, too emotional - & definitely too feminine - the "correct" reaction is assimilating the violence and containing/understanding the act in terms of "ancient sacred custom." There are entire Greek plays written about women who transgress such social mores, not least through emotions that are similarly "improper."
Continuing on my Plath reading last night, I found this 1971 NYRB article about Sylvia Plath's work (including The Bell Jar) by someone who would have been a older peer - Elizabeth Hardwick (1916-2007) Sleepless Nights (I think she's come up on Reading Women?). It's enlightening. What I love about her essay is that it sees Plath's sharp edges and impossible while allowing her all of her genius. It also puts into context the radical nature of Plath's work - "radical" in the sense of Plath pushing all of the cultural boundaries/expectations for women/artists.
Obscureason wrote: "Continuing on my Plath reading last night, I found this 1971 NYRB article about Sylvia Plath's work (including The Bell Jar) by someone who would have been a older peer - Elizabeth Hardwick (1916-2007) Sleepless Nights (I think she's come up on Reading Women?)."Thanks for the article, Obscureason! I'm halfway through it.
Just a note on the rhythm:The repetitions in the last fragment of 'The Applicant' made me think of a scene in Othello when Othello implies that Desdemona is sexually available to Lodovico:
Ay; you did wish that I would make her turn:
Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on,
And turn again; and she can weep, sir, weep;
And she's obedient, as you say, obedient,
Very obedient. (4.1.252-257)
Bloodorange wrote: "Just a note on the rhythm:The repetitions in the last fragment of 'The Applicant' made me think of a scene in Othello when Othello implies that Desdemona is sexually available to Lodovico:
Ay; yo..."
Yes, brilliant! I loved the repetition at the end of "The Applicant."
Great quote from "Othello", Bloodorange. She's another woman who is being treated like she's a "Chatty Cathy" doll.
Very interesting article by Elizabeth Hardwick, Obscureason. I had heard her name before because she was married to Robert Lowell, but I had never read anything by her. I liked her writing so maybe I'll check out her short stories sometime.
Isn't it time now for another poem? I hope Trav won't get offened if I post this one, since I now have more time on my hands. If I understand correctly, this ought to be 'Barren Woman'. One thing: If you have a restored edition, please check whether the formatting / spelling are correct (are Apollos really bald-eyed?).
Barren WomanEmpty, I echo to the least footfall,
Museum without statues, grand with pillars, porticoes, rotundas.
In my courtyard a fountain leaps and sinks back into itself,
Nun-hearted and blind to the world. Marble lilies
Exhale their pallor like scent.
I imagine myself with a great public,
Mother of a white Nike and several bald-eyed Apollos.
Instead, the dead injure me with attentions, and nothing can happen.
Blank-faced and mum as a nurse.
Sorry, Bloodorange. I was planning to come here earlier today, but got distracted, so it's all good. :)
Bloodorange wrote: "Barren WomanEmpty, I echo to the least footfall,
Museum without statues, grand with pillars, porticoes, rotundas.
In my courtyard a fountain leaps and sinks back into itself,
Nun-hearted and blin..."
I like the way she describes herself/emotional state in architectural/landscape terms in the first stanza - as though the "barren woman" is its own architecture/landscape.
What's touching to me about the poem is how her desires (to be "with a great public"; a mother of many) deviate so sharply from how she is feeling the reality of her life or situation. As though wanting to "give birth" to good, but instead able to accommodate only emptiness and nothingness.
"And nothing can happen" is such a lonely line.
***
Apollo: God of music, arts, knowledge, healing, plague, prophecy, poetry, manly beauty and archery.
Nike is the goddess of strength, speed, and victory.
It's probably a bit shameless of me to rely on Wikipedia, but here's a (LINK CORRECTED) list of Greek gods and goddesses that might come in handy for Plath's poetry.
Re: Nike and Apollo: It strikes me that while Apollo might seem a typical choice for a statue of a man, Nike is less obvious. Why not Athena or Diana?Secondly: It is interesting to see the reversal of the museum imagery which first appears in 'Morning Song'; the water imagery is also curiously used here. This is no longer a 'passive' body of water, but not running water, either; instead, we have a forced- and close-circuit fountain, which symbolises futility, not joy, and a kind of self-obsession, compulsion.
I love how she introduces words 'nun', 'mum', 'nurse', and the idea of unwanted, forced, superficial/fake virginity.
On the whole, this poem seems to be relatively straightforward - when looking for it online, I've seen it referenced on pages describing patient experience, which suggests it should be easy to relate to.
Bloodorange wrote: "Re: Nike and Apollo: It strikes me that while Apollo might seem a typical choice for a statue of a man, Nike is less obvious. Why not Athena or Diana?Secondly: It is interesting to see the revers..."
Great insight re. closed loop of a fountain, Bloodorange - and interesting in relation to other Plath water imagery. I will pay more attention to the water themes now.
I see both Nike and Apollo as having "young," aspirational qualities, rather than fully formed or more adult traits. I can see why Athena, birthed from the father, wouldn't appeal, and Diana/Artemis, being goddess of childbirth, is also more of a maternal or adult figure. Nike and Apollo both personify a sort of spirit of youthful adventure and triumph.
Re. Greek & Roman gods/goddesses: This is better!
Statues usually don't have eyelashes, and sometimes lack the iris or other details of the eye, so maybe that's where she is getting the phrase "bald-eyed Apollos".She feels empty like a "museum without statues", and she wants other people "a great public" to be admiring her children like we admire the statues of the gods (Nike and Apollo).
Interesting observations, Obscureason and Bloodorange.
Obscureason wrote: "I see both Nike and Apollo as having "young," aspirational qualities, rather than fully formed or more adult traits."I get your point. Eos could make another choice, but she's less recognizable.
As for Diana/Artemis: she's a very complex goddess (bloodthirsty/ chaste/ maternal) and outside the maternity context I think she could appeal to Plath.
Connie wrote: "Statues usually don't have eyelashes, and sometimes lack the iris or other details of the eye, so maybe that's where she is getting the phrase "bald-eyed Apollos"..."Yes, I like that, Connie! That is an intriguing phrase. Bloodorange, Diana is a complex goddess that would probably appeal to Plath, I think you're right - but perhaps not in terms of "offspring"?
If we want to think of "offspring" on symbolic terms, too, perhaps it's why here Plath is expressing not some of those more "controversial" traits but rather her own more innocent, untainted and idealistic desire (again that question of fecundity in spiritual and artistic terms)?
Apollo also "often appears in the company of the Muses," which could also relate back to the arts and the aspirational feeling here.
Obscureason wrote: "If we want to think of "offspring" on symbolic terms, too, perhaps it's why here Plath is expressing not some of those more "controversial" traits but rather her own more innocent, untainted and idealistic desire (again that question of fecundity in spiritual and artistic terms)?"The fact that this poem subjects itself to this interpretation seems to me to be the proof of its strength, yet also of our association of fertility with artistic creativity (which is, from what I recall, a rather modern concept). Still, I think that the key to its meaning lies in the museal imagery we already saw in 'Morning Song', where it is clearly related to childbirth:
Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.(I find it fascinating that just a few poems into the collection we can see a discernible poetic language.)
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.
Since the weekend is getting close, here is the next one:Lady Lazarus
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it——
A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot
A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.
Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?——
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.
Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand and foot——
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies
These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.
The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut
As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I’ve a call.
It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
It’s the theatrical
Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:
‘A miracle!’
That knocks me out.
There is a charge
For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart——
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
Ash, ash—
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
Bloodorange wrote: "Obscureason wrote: "If we want to think of "offspring" on symbolic terms, too, perhaps it's why here Plath is expressing not some of those more "controversial" traits but rather her own more innoce..."I agree, it is intriguing to see the themes and discernible poetic language, as you call it, emerge. The word "museum" comes from the word "muse" - which is based on Greek mythology: "The traditional names and specialties of the nine Muses, daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, are: Calliope (epic poetry), Clio (history), Erato (love poetry, lyric art), Euterpe (music, especially flute), Melpomene (tragedy), Polymnia (hymns), Terpsichore (dance), Thalia (comedy), Urania (astronomy)."
"Morning Song" was written 19 February 1961; "Barren Woman" just two days later, on 21 February 1961.
- Ted + Sylvia married in 1956
- daughter Frieda was born on 1 April 1960
- October, Plath published her first collection of poetry, The Colossus
- February 1961, Plath has a miscarriage
- August 1961 finishes The Bell Jar
- son Nicholas born January 1962
- 1961, the couple leases their flat to Assia and David Wevill
- June 1962, Plath has a car accident (she described it as one of many suicide attempts)
- July 1962, Plath discovers Hughes + Assia having an affair
She was very depressed (and possibly somewhat manic) during that time, obviously. But there is still speculation, however, about whether even the suicide was definitively intended. She was 30 when she died.
"Lady Lazarus," "The Applicant," "The Couriers" and "Thalidomide" were all written in late Oct./early Nov. 1962. "The Rabbit Catcher" is from May 1962. "Sheep in Fog" is later still than the four 1962 poems; it was written in late Dec. 1962-Jan. 1963. She committed suicide on Feb. 11, 1963.
"Out of the ashI rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air"
These will always be my favourite lines of her poetry, I just love the dramatic image it creates :)
Also, Lady Lazarus seems to have such a rhythmic beat to it that I feel like somebody should write some music for it and turn it into a song.
Yolande, that is a wonderful stanza, giving the image of the Phoenix rising from the ashes.Obscureason, the timeline is very helpful.
2015: The Year of Reading Women
Books mentioned in this topic
Sylvia Plath: A Literary Life (other topics)Giving Up: The Last Days of Sylvia Plath (other topics)
American Isis: The Life and Art of Sylvia Plath (other topics)
Embodying the Monster: Encounters with the Vulnerable Self (other topics)
Sleepless Nights (other topics)
More...
Authors mentioned in this topic
Edgar Allan Poe (other topics)Ingrid Jonker (other topics)
Ingrid Jonker (other topics)
