♥ Loving Sylvia Plath ♥
austonas:

-Sylvia Plath /1932 – 1963/ 

Apprehensions
There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself—-Infinite, green, utterly untouchable.Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also.They are my medium.The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights.A gray wall now, clawed and bloody.Is there no way out of the mind?Steps at my back spiral into a well.There are no trees or birds in this world,There is only sourness.This red wall winces continually :A red fist, opening and closing,Two gray, papery bags—-This is what I am made of , this and a terrorOf being wheeled off under crosses and a rain of pietas.On a black wall, unidentifiable birdsSwivel thier heads and cry.There is no talk of immortality among these!Cold blanks approach us :They move in a hurry. 
—written 28 May 1962

austonas:

-Sylvia Plath /1932 – 1963/ 

Apprehensions

There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself—-
Infinite, green, utterly untouchable.
Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also.
They are my medium.
The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights.

A gray wall now, clawed and bloody.
Is there no way out of the mind?
Steps at my back spiral into a well.
There are no trees or birds in this world,
There is only sourness.

This red wall winces continually :
A red fist, opening and closing,
Two gray, papery bags—-
This is what I am made of , this and a terror
Of being wheeled off under crosses and a rain of pietas.

On a black wall, unidentifiable birds
Swivel thier heads and cry.
There is no talk of immortality among these!
Cold blanks approach us :
They move in a hurry.

—written 28 May 1962

sylviaplathink:

bnfem:

New tattoo!

To Eva Descending the Stair
A Villanelle
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear;The wheels revolve, the universe keeps running.(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)The asteroids turn traitor in the air,And planets plot with old elliptic cunning;Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.Red the unraveled rose sings in your hair:Blood springs eternal if the heart be burning.(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)Cryptic stars wind up the atmosphere,In solar schemes the titled suns go turning;Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.Loud the immortal nightingales declare:Love flames forever if the flesh be yearning.(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)Circling zodiac compels the year.Intolerant beauty never will be learning.Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)
—The Collected Poems (Juvenilia  1952-1956), 1981

sylviaplathink:

bnfem:

New tattoo!

To Eva Descending the Stair

A Villanelle

Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear;
The wheels revolve, the universe keeps running.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)

The asteroids turn traitor in the air,
And planets plot with old elliptic cunning;
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.

Red the unraveled rose sings in your hair:
Blood springs eternal if the heart be burning.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)

Cryptic stars wind up the atmosphere,
In solar schemes the titled suns go turning;
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.

Loud the immortal nightingales declare:
Love flames forever if the flesh be yearning.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)

Circling zodiac compels the year.
Intolerant beauty never will be learning.
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)

The Collected Poems (Juvenilia 1952-1956), 1981

sylviaplathink:

via cassxx@deviantart.com
Tulips
The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-inI am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietlyAs the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nursesAnd my history to the anaesthetist and my body to surgeons.They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuffLike an eye between two white lids that will not shut.Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,So it is impossible to tell how many there are.My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as waterTends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently.They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep.Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage ——My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox,My husband and child smiling out of the family photo;Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boatStubbornly hanging on to my name and address.They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolleyI watched my teaset, my bureaus of linen, my booksSink out of sight, and the water went over my head.I am a nun now, I have never been so pure.I didn’t want any flowers, I only wantedTo lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.How free it is, you have no idea how free ——The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine themShutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.Even through the gift paper I could hear them breatheLightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down,Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their colour,A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.The tulips turn to me, and the window behind meWhere once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadowBetween the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.Before they came the air was calm enough,Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a riverSnags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.They concentrate my attention, that was happyPlaying and resting without committing itself.The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closesIts bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,And comes from a country far away as health.



—written 18 March 1961

sylviaplathink:

via cassxx@deviantart.com

Tulips

The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.
Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in
I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly
As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.
I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.
I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses
And my history to the anaesthetist and my body to surgeons.

They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff
Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.
Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.
The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,
They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,
Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,
So it is impossible to tell how many there are.

My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water
Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently.
They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep.
Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage ——
My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox,
My husband and child smiling out of the family photo;
Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.

I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat
Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.
Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley
I watched my teaset, my bureaus of linen, my books
Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head.
I am a nun now, I have never been so pure.

I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted
To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.
How free it is, you have no idea how free ——
The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,
And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.
It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them
Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.

The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe
Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.
Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.
They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down,
Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their colour,
A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.

Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.
The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me
Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,
And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow
Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,
And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.
The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.

Before they came the air was calm enough,
Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.
Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.
Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river
Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.
They concentrate my attention, that was happy
Playing and resting without committing itself.

The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.
The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;
They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,
And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes
Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.
The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,
And comes from a country far away as health.
—written 18 March 1961

sylviaplathink:

Submitted by Simon T.:

" ‘Ariel’ - A facsimile of the last lines written in Ms Plath’s own hand”

I
Am the arrow, the dew that flies
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red
Eye, the cauldron of morning.

From the facsimile draft number 3 of the poem ‘Ariel’.
Can be found in Ariel.The Restored Edition. A Facsimile of Plath’s Manuscript, Reinstating Her Original Selection and Arrangement

Ariel

Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.

God’s lioness,
How one we grow,
Pivot of heels and knees! - The furrow

Splits and passes, sister to
The brown arc
Of the neck I cannot catch,

Nigger-eye
Berries cast dark
Hooks -

Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Shadows.
Something else

Hauls me through air -
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.

White
Godiva, I unpeel -
Dead hands, dead stringencies.

And now I
Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.
The child’s cry

Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,

The dew that flies
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red

Eye, the cauldron of morning.

—written October 27, 1962

The “Sylvia Plath tattoo-week” featuring other poems than ‘Mad Girl’s Love Song’ or ‘Lady Lazarus’ - part 1! ;)

In honor of the National Poetry Month, we are going to have a "Sylvia Plath poems-week" with a twist, because these poems, or parts of them, will be tattoed! ;)

As I already mentioned above, this week will NOT include the poems ‘Mad Girl’s Love Song’ or ‘Lady Lazarus’, because there are so many tattoos of these out there that they deserve their own weeks. ;)

I hope you like! :)

P.S.: For plenty of other Sylvia Plath tattoos, check out my other blog http://sylviaplathink.tumblr.com/

And remember, you can always submit yout ink to: lovingsylviaplath@gmail.com

Does anyone here own Linda Wagner-Martin's Sylvia Plath: A Biography,1987?

If so, pelase message me! I need your help as soon as possible!

Thank you http://summdawg.tumblr.com/ for helping me out! :)

smartie-brand-lubricant:

lovingsylvia:

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…

This is literally the funniest idea ever. This is funny on, like, five levels. LovingSylvia admin, you are my soul now. I will follow you anywhere. You are my god.

loganloves19:

lovingsylvia:

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…

im pretty sure the only thing sylvia baked was her head……..

YOU ARE DAMN WRONG!!

cloudyskiesandcatharsis:

Fictitious Dishes, Famous Meals From Literature by Dinah Fried

You should also check out fictitiousdishes.com for: 

The Secret Garden

http://payload255.cargocollective.com/1/14/468028/7410439/Fictitious_Dishes_thesecretgarden_WEB.jpg

The Great Gatsby

http://payload255.cargocollective.com/1/14/468028/7410439/Fictitious_Dishes_thegreatgatsby_WEB.jpg

The Metamorphosis

http://payload255.cargocollective.com/1/14/468028/7410439/Fictitious_Dishes_themetamorphosis_WEB.jpg

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas 

http://payload255.cargocollective.com/1/14/468028/7410439/Fictitious_Dishes_fearandloathinginlasvegas_WEB.jpg

A Confederacy of Dunces

http://payload255.cargocollective.com/1/14/468028/7410439/Fictitious_Dishes_aconfederacyofdunces_WEB.jpg

You can buy the book here!

Dinah also has a tumblr: http://fictitiousdishes.tumblr.com/ ;)

I definitely need to buy one, since there are fifty pics in there and we’ve only seen fifteen! ;)

At the bottom of http://fictitiousdishes.com/, there is a list of all the meals included in Fictitious Dishes and I can’t wait to see:Little Women, Lolita, Rebecca,Gone with the Wind,Middlesex, American Psycho, Emma, Valley of the Dolls & Ulysses! Wait, what am I saying… I want to see them ALL!!! ;)

ediblenovels:

Inspired by The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

image

"…I saw avocado pear after avocado pear being stuffed with crabmeat and mayonnaise and photographed under brilliant lights. I saw the delicate, pink-mottled claw meat poking seductively through its blanket of mayonnaise and the bland yellow year
cup with its rim of alligator-green cradling the whole mess.” (p. 48)

Ingredients:

  • 1 lb crab meat
  • 1 small bunch fresh cilantro
  • 1 small bunch flat-leaf parsley
  • 1/2 small red onion
  • 1 ripe mango
  • 1/2 package grape tomatoes
  • Juice of 3 medium limes
  • 2 Tablespoons Olive oil
  • 1 Tablespoon Champagne vinegar (optional–I like extra acid)
  • Salt and pepper to taste
  • 6 ripe avocados

http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m3bguwE2oS1qe2hi0.jpg

Directions:

Drain crabmeat well and pick through to make sure there are no shells or cartilage then toss in a bowl. Chop red onion into a small dice, along with mango, cilantro and parsley and add to the crab meat. Slice grape tomatoes in half and mix in. Juice two limes over the salad and mix until well-combined. Add salt and pepper to taste. Slice avocados in half, remove pits and pile crab salad into the center. Because there is no mayo or mustard  the salad may not stay perfectly scooped but that’s okay. Serve with hot sauce and crisp white wine or margaritas.

Recipe and images by Cara, at yummy-books

Cooking with Esther Greenwood ;)

So, today we arrived at the end of our "Baking with Sylvia Plath"-week.

I hope you enjoyed these yummy recipes for the: Lemon Meringue Pie, Heavenly Sponge Cake, Lemon Pudding Cakes, Fig and Plum Torte, and Tomato Soup Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting.

Today, I’m going to give you a bonus… no baking goods, but a recipe Esther Greenwood would surely enjoy a lot: Crab-Stuffed Avocados!! ;)

pic and a great article on Sylvia Plath and her baking exploits via thedabbler.co.uk
**Sylvia Plath’s Tomato Soup Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting**
The Tomato Soup Cake seems to be the most popular one among Sylvia Plath’s favorite baking goods, another recipe from Sylvia’s bible The Joy of Cooking.
Scholars such as Kate Moses (see for recipe using raisins, walnuts), P.H. Davies (see for recipes using sultanas, prunes, almonds) or Graywolf Press (see for recipe using raisins, pecans or walnuts) have already dared to bake the Depression-era treat aka known as the Mystery Cake, apparently very popular in the 1930s, even though many seem to view the concept of putting tomato soup in a cake, in Erin Kottke’s words “simultaneously repulsive and appealing”.
In her awesome article Baking with Sylvia (hence the name for the theme week!) published on 15 February 2003 by 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 tomato soup cake on the day (14 November 1962) she composed her poem Death & Co. 
Kate Moses also tells us that "Plath loved it, and she made it over and over; she wrote to her mother to inquire about the size of tomato soup cans in America, because the first cake she made in England was "a bit wet"."
I think, this will be the first Sylvia Plath cake I’m going to make, even though I’m kinda scared and repulsed myself. HAHAH! ;)
For vegan Sylvia Plath inspired Tomato Cupcakes, see fablesfortables.com! :)
P.S.: It’s really funny how the Barbara Laage/Sylvia Plath craziness invaded the internet: in her tomato soup cake recipe Maria Denardo from elizabethstreet.com uses the wrong picture and claims it is  Sylvia Plath! LOL! ;)

pic and a great article on Sylvia Plath and her baking exploits via thedabbler.co.uk

**Sylvia Plath’s Tomato Soup Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting**

The Tomato Soup Cake seems to be the most popular one among Sylvia Plath’s favorite baking goods, another recipe from Sylvia’s bible The Joy of Cooking.

Scholars such as Kate Moses (see for recipe using raisins, walnuts), P.H. Davies (see for recipes using sultanas, prunes, almonds) or Graywolf Press (see for recipe using raisins, pecans or walnuts) have already dared to bake the Depression-era treat aka known as the Mystery Cake, apparently very popular in the 1930s, even though many seem to view the concept of putting tomato soup in a cake, in Erin Kottke’s words “simultaneously repulsive and appealing”.

In her awesome article Baking with Sylvia (hence the name for the theme week!) published on 15 February 2003 by 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 tomato soup cake on the day (14 November 1962) she composed her poem Death & Co.

Kate Moses also tells us that "Plath loved it, and she made it over and over; she wrote to her mother to inquire about the size of tomato soup cans in America, because the first cake she made in England was "a bit wet"."

I think, this will be the first Sylvia Plath cake I’m going to make, even though I’m kinda scared and repulsed myself. HAHAH! ;)

For vegan Sylvia Plath inspired Tomato Cupcakes, see fablesfortables.com! :)

P.S.: It’s really funny how the Barbara Laage/Sylvia Plath craziness invaded the internet: in her tomato soup cake recipe Maria Denardo from elizabethstreet.com uses the wrong picture and claims it is  Sylvia Plath! LOL! ;)

via moonshineandlemon.blogspot.com (see for recipe)

**Sylvia Plath | Fig and Plum Torte**


Maria K. from her blog moonshineandlemon.blogspot.com describes her cake in the following way:

"Not wishing to choose between figs and plums, I decided to use both in this heavenly combination of two fruit; more fig than plum, more torte than cake."

Today’s cake is not exactly a cake Sylvia Plath made, but it is one she could have made, because figs and plums were always present in her writing. The most prominent examples are of course the fig tree portrayed in The Bell Jar ("I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree…") or one of her earlier poems published in November 1950 in Seventeen magazine with the title "Ode to a Bitten Plum".

In her Letters Home Sylvia mentions seeing fig- and plum-trees. And in her Unabridged Journals she writes on 6 March 1956:

"I was thinking of the few times in my life I have felt I was all alive, tensed, using everything in me: mind and body, instead of giving away little crumbs, lest the audience be glutted with too much plum-cake."

Apart from this, there are are many poems in Sylvia Plath’sThe Collected Poems" that contain images of figs and plums:

"The Colossus"
Counting the red stars and those of plum-color.

"The Zookeeper’s Wife"
Blueblack, a spectacular plum fruit.

"Nick and the Candlestick"
They weld to me like plums.

"Jilted"
While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green, and tart,
Droops upon its wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.

"The Beggars"
These goatish tragedians who
Hawk misfortune like figs and chickens

"Departure"
The figs on the fig tree in the yard are green;

"The Net-Menders"
Sun grains their crow-colors,
Purples the fig in the leaf’s shadow, turns the dust pink.

So, here you go… The Fig and Plum Torte, which could also be called The Bell Jar Cake! ;)

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 between 23-29 October.
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 between 23-29 October.

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