♥ Loving Sylvia Plath ♥
via paperandsalt.org (see for recipe)
**Sylvia Plath: Lemon Pudding Cakes**
In her awesome article Baking with Sylvia (hence the name for the theme week!) published on 15 February 2003 in The Guardian, Kate Moses, the author of Wintering: The Novel of Sylvia Plath, tells us that Sylvia Plath documented in her 1962 daily calendar that she made lemon pudding cake when she was writing Lady Lazarus.
Some time beweeen 3 January 1957 and 11 March 1957, Sylvia Plath wrote in her Journals: "Instead of studying Locke, for instance, or writing - I go make an apple pie, or study The Joy Of Cooking, reading it like a rare novel."
Nicole from paperandsalt.org says that the recipe “is nearly identical to the1950s The Joy of Cooking”. So it is highly probable that Sylvia Plath made exactly the same cake while composing one of the greatest poems ever written! ;) 
Recreate and enjoy! ;)

via paperandsalt.org (see for recipe)

**Sylvia Plath: Lemon Pudding Cakes**

In her awesome article Baking with Sylvia (hence the name for the theme week!) published on 15 February 2003 in The Guardian, Kate Moses, the author of Wintering: The Novel of Sylvia Plath, tells us that Sylvia Plath documented in her 1962 daily calendar that she made lemon pudding cake when she was writing Lady Lazarus.

Some time beweeen 3 January 1957 and 11 March 1957, Sylvia Plath wrote in her Journals: "Instead of studying Locke, for instance, or writing - I go make an apple pie, or study The Joy Of Cooking, reading it like a rare novel."

Nicole from paperandsalt.org says that the recipe “is nearly identical to the1950s The Joy of Cooking”. So it is highly probable that Sylvia Plath made exactly the same cake while composing one of the greatest poems ever written! ;) 

Recreate and enjoy! ;)

**Sylvia Plath’s Heavenly Sponge Cake**

The last time Rose came to tea I had a big fancy sponge cake made with 6 eggs (…). I broached it for Rose. She made a praising remark. Gobbled it.

—written 1962, Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath


For the recipe, see Peter K. Steinberg’s blog sylviaplathinfo.blogspot.com:

"Very light (though heavier and more dense than angel food cake) with a scrumptiously crispy sugary top and a nice flavor of lemon throughout, which surprised us as there is really so little in there. We recommend cutting large portions and serving with a hot beverage (tea or mocha, perhaps) and your favorite book by or about Sylvia Plath."

(…)

"Plath made various sponge cakes in her time: some lemon, some orange, and likely some other. She made a sponge cake several times in North Tawton."

(…)

"She (…) made a sponge cake on 21 April 1962 (…) and two days after she wrote "Elm".


For a vegan sponge cake version, see Charlotte White’s recipe from the Food Network UK: http://www.foodnetwork.co.uk/recipes/vegan-sponge-cake.html

yummybooksblog:

A lemon meringue pie for Sylvia Plath. 
Read the full post and get the recipe HERE


“Baked a lemon meringue pie, cooled lemon custard & crust on cold bathroom windowsill, stirring in black night & stars.”
"I make a damn good lemon meringue pie.”  
"Tonight I shall somehow manage dinner for 5 & coffee for an extra two with ease. My trusty angel-topped lemon meringue pie - if I serve a dinner once a week I lose my nervousness."
—Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, 28 August 1957 - 14 October 1958

yummybooksblog:

A lemon meringue pie for Sylvia Plath. 

Read the full post and get the recipe HERE

“Baked a lemon meringue pie, cooled lemon custard & crust on cold bathroom windowsill, stirring in black night & stars.”

"I make a damn good lemon meringue pie.” 

"Tonight I shall somehow manage dinner for 5 & coffee for an extra two with ease. My trusty angel-topped lemon meringue pie - if I serve a dinner once a week I lose my nervousness."

—Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, 28 August 1957 - 14 October 1958

"Baking with Sylvia Plath"-week!

With Easter coming up, I deciced it’s time for a “Baking with Sylvia Plath”-week! ;)

Shame on those of you who are thinking something bad right now! ;)

The week will be entirely about one of Sylvia Plath’s greatest passions: BAKING!

Maybe you get inspired and try one of the cakes Sylvia loved to make back in the day when she was struggling to become the perfect poet and the perfect housewife! ;)

I’m certainly going to bake one of these, can’t decide which one to pick though! ;)

You are welcome to let me know, if you happen to try one of these recipes! :)

Happy 129th Birthday, Otto Plath!
(April 13, 1885 – November 5, 1940)
Picture: Otto Plath, 1930
***
  Daddy
    You do not do, you do not do    Any more, black shoe    In which I have lived like a foot    For thirty years, poor and white,    Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.    Daddy, I have had to kill you.    You died before I had time—-    Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,    Ghastly statue with one gray toe    Big as a Frisco seal    And a head in the freakish Atlantic    Where it pours bean green over blue    In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.    I used to pray to recover you.    Ach, du.    In the German tongue, in the Polish town    Scraped flat by the roller    Of wars, wars, wars.    But the name of the town is common.    My Polack friend    Says there are a dozen or two.    So I never could tell where you    Put your foot, your root,    I never could talk to you.    The tongue stuck in my jaw.    It stuck in a barb wire snare.    Ich, ich, ich, ich,    I could hardly speak.    I thought every German was you.    And the language obscene    An engine, an engine,    Chuffing me off like a Jew.    A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.    I began to talk like a Jew.    I think I may well be a Jew.    The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna    Are not very pure or true.    With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck    And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack    I may be a bit of a Jew.    I have always been scared of you,    With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.    And your neat mustache    And your Aryan eye, bright blue.    Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You——    Not God but a swastika    So black no sky could squeak through.    Every woman adores a Fascist,    The boot in the face, the brute    Brute heart of a brute like you.    You stand at the blackboard, daddy,    In the picture I have of you,    A cleft in your chin instead of your foot    But no less a devil for that, no not    Any less the black man who    Bit my pretty red heart in two.    I was ten when they buried you.    At twenty I tried to die    And get back, back, back to you.    I thought even the bones would do.    But they pulled me out of the sack,    And they stuck me together with glue.    And then I knew what to do.    I made a model of you,    A man in black with a Meinkampf look    And a love of the rack and the screw.    And I said I do, I do.    So daddy, I’m finally through.    The black telephone’s off at the root,    The voices just can’t worm through.    If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two—-    The vampire who said he was you    And drank my blood for a year,    Seven years, if you want to know.    Daddy, you can lie back now.    There’s a stake in your fat black heart    And the villagers never liked you.    They are dancing and stamping on you.    They always knew it was you.    Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.
    —written October 12, 1962

Happy 129th Birthday, Otto Plath!

(April 13, 1885 – November 5, 1940)

Picture: Otto Plath, 1930

***

  Daddy

    You do not do, you do not do
    Any more, black shoe
    In which I have lived like a foot
    For thirty years, poor and white,
    Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

    Daddy, I have had to kill you.
    You died before I had time—-
    Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
    Ghastly statue with one gray toe
    Big as a Frisco seal

    And a head in the freakish Atlantic
    Where it pours bean green over blue
    In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
    I used to pray to recover you.
    Ach, du.

    In the German tongue, in the Polish town
    Scraped flat by the roller
    Of wars, wars, wars.
    But the name of the town is common.
    My Polack friend

    Says there are a dozen or two.
    So I never could tell where you
    Put your foot, your root,
    I never could talk to you.
    The tongue stuck in my jaw.

    It stuck in a barb wire snare.
    Ich, ich, ich, ich,
    I could hardly speak.
    I thought every German was you.
    And the language obscene

    An engine, an engine,
    Chuffing me off like a Jew.
    A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
    I began to talk like a Jew.
    I think I may well be a Jew.

    The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
    Are not very pure or true.
    With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
    And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
    I may be a bit of a Jew.

    I have always been scared of you,
    With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
    And your neat mustache
    And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
    Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You——

    Not God but a swastika
    So black no sky could squeak through.
    Every woman adores a Fascist,
    The boot in the face, the brute
    Brute heart of a brute like you.

    You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
    In the picture I have of you,
    A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
    But no less a devil for that, no not
    Any less the black man who

    Bit my pretty red heart in two.
    I was ten when they buried you.
    At twenty I tried to die
    And get back, back, back to you.
    I thought even the bones would do.

    But they pulled me out of the sack,
    And they stuck me together with glue.
    And then I knew what to do.
    I made a model of you,
    A man in black with a Meinkampf look

    And a love of the rack and the screw.
    And I said I do, I do.
    So daddy, I’m finally through.
    The black telephone’s off at the root,
    The voices just can’t worm through.

    If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two—-
    The vampire who said he was you
    And drank my blood for a year,
    Seven years, if you want to know.
    Daddy, you can lie back now.

    There’s a stake in your fat black heart
    And the villagers never liked you.
    They are dancing and stamping on you.
    They always knew it was you.
    Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.

    —written October 12, 1962

circussoul:

Sylvia Plath in blue and pink by Annie Kevans

via the-declaration.org

By Cindy Song

Media Used: White Charcoal, Ballpoint Pen, Watercolor on Wood

“An investigation on the correlation between insanity and creativity. My subjects are creative, artistic women who suffered from mental disorders or found themselves in crazy situations. Each portrait includes a visual and symbolic mani­festation of my interpretation of their personalities and minds.”

You should also check out her awesome paintings of Virginia Woolf, Zelda Fitzgerald and Anne Frank!

via the-declaration.org

You should also check out her awesome paintings of Virginia Woolf, Zelda Fitzgerald and Anne Frank!

via nybooks.com
Sylvia Plath by David Levine
This drawing originally appeared in the May 29, 1997 issue with James Fenton’s article Lady Lazarus.

via nybooks.com

Sylvia Plath by David Levine

This drawing originally appeared in the May 29, 1997 issue with James Fenton’s article Lady Lazarus.

via kiana-rochelle (Kiana McCormick) @ deviantart.com:
Art projectSylvia PlathPossibly one of the greatest poets EVER.
watercolors

via kiana-rochelle (Kiana McCormick) @ deviantart.com:

Art project
Sylvia Plath
Possibly one of the greatest poets EVER.

watercolors

via ArtbyMelindaHagman on Etsy
Melinda Hagman - Sylvia Plath
You should definitely check out the rest of her portfolio, there are really cool paintings of Bukowski, Kerouac, Vonnegut, Nabokov, Poe, Wilde and others!

via ArtbyMelindaHagman on Etsy

Melinda Hagman - Sylvia Plath

You should definitely check out the rest of her portfolio, there are really cool paintings of Bukowski, Kerouac, Vonnegut, Nabokov, Poe, Wilde and others!

theglasscast:

My drawing of SP #sylviaplath #drawing #sketching #art #penandink #poetry #me #hollyblue

theglasscast:

My drawing of SP #sylviaplath #drawing #sketching #art #penandink #poetry #me #hollyblue

The “Sylvia-Plath-Portrait” week part 4!

Another week, another topic… this week there are some pretty cool Sylvia Plath portrait paintings & sketches & drawings coming up. Not BY Sylvia Plath, but OF her!

Enjoy :)

If you want to take a look at the last portrait-weeks back in in 2010, 2012 and 2013, click here!

WTF???? How could she!!?? Back in 2010, Julia Stiles was planning to shot the movie in spring 2011, but she let the rights expire and gave up in the summer of 2012???

Was I really the only one, who still believed the movie will come out some time in the future?? I’m truly devastated!!! :( :(

Childhood PhotographMy mother is laughing,Holding me against the bulgeOf my unborn brother, kitten stranglingIn my eager palms.My father photographs us,All his eggs in one basket,Bundled in my mother’s arms.
—Frieda Hughes Stonepicker & The Book of Mirrors, 2009
**********************************************************************************************
Picture: ‘Frieda, Mr Bear & fat mummy at our door between the two box bushes in the December sunshine' (Sylvia's note on the back of this 1961 photograph taken by Ted a month before NIck was born).
—Ronald Hayman The Death and Life of Sylvia Plath, 1992

Childhood Photograph

My mother is laughing,
Holding me against the bulge
Of my unborn brother, kitten strangling
In my eager palms.
My father photographs us,
All his eggs in one basket,
Bundled in my mother’s arms.

Frieda Hughes Stonepicker & The Book of Mirrors, 2009

**********************************************************************************************

Picture: ‘Frieda, Mr Bear & fat mummy at our door between the two box bushes in the December sunshine' (Sylvia's note on the back of this 1961 photograph taken by Ted a month before NIck was born).

—Ronald Hayman The Death and Life of Sylvia Plath, 1992