Best poet of the 20th century and oh what she could have given us had her depression not taken her; her son too in the end. No pity in the poems but raw truth.
@Fernando Vidal Munhoz No. Anne is brilliant in her own way. "All My Pretty Ones" is just as effective emotionally as "Daddy." They each produced great poems, and they both had unique and original poetic voices. Sexton began it, the "confessional school," simply because she knew no other way to write, but Lowell and Plath quickly jumped on board. They knew a good thing when they heard it. All three of them paid a high price for the exploration of their inner terrains. Plath and Sexton gassed themselves to death -- one in an oven, the other in a garage -- and Lowell drank and smoked himself into the ground, partaking of behaviors that were in direct contradiction to his doctor's advice.
I’ll forever blame Ted. He was a cruel brute. A cheat and his words during the radio program plus Assia’s bragging about her pregnancy murd*ered our Sylvia. Her letters to her Mother during the first part, well only part of their marriage and before he beat the baby out of her womb, she was so happy. I’ve never experienced such happiness. He ruined all of that and he, along with the lover who aborted his baby after Sylvia’s death along with another after, wanted her dead. He told her so after being caught cheating and leaving her alone over 12 hours for a 1 hour lunch. He claimed the woman was middle aged so how dare her accuse! Sylvia was many things but stupid she never was. She got angry and broke a table and ripped up some of his work. That was the excuse he gave to beating her so badly the baby miscarried. Assia, the witch home wrecking lover, had his baby later. Yet shockingly he refused to marry her and he had more affairs. He wouldn’t live with her but lied and said he would. She lived in our Sylvia’s home where she died, using all of her things and slept in her bed with Sylvia’s husband. After she knew for sure he was never going to wed, love or treat the child as his own she murdered the child and killed herself exactly how darling Sylvia Plath did. She couldn’t feel guilt. She wanted revenge. She did nothing but erase her and the poor 4 yo girl out of history. She will always be the evil one. Assia Wevill should have stayed with her first husband or her second. Thank God they escaped. Thank the devil she ruined our Sylvia. Rest in Bliss Sylvia Plath. You were very loved Edited- spelling
Oh The transparent vail of my youth with its mystic traumas of each birthday breaking my focus into life. Ripping my hair out again in these echoes of occasions over and over each year the day is the same as the last yet one more year to mourn my life into it final day. It is now I know so much that I love the beauty of all these moments when now is all that they are. Moment to moment but now is now and will never fade.
small correction: one of the lines was transcribed incorrectly. "Where split lives congeal..." should be "When spilt lives congeal...", i.e. it's spilt, not split. There are some versions online that have it as "split", but you can clearly hear from the recording that it's "spilt", and other versions of the poem (that you can also find online) have it as so.
Dark and compelling. Such great writing. Perfect Plath, no warm up, straight into the nitty griitty. 'What is this, behind this veil...' Go on then: what is it? Answer that question and you have cracked it.
Read her Stories in German. Absolutely brillant stuff. Not a single dot too much. Balanced and of a notable poetic Sound. Even in her prose. Even in Deutsch. 😇✌
Am I the only one who's always found a pretty obvious sexual meaning within many lines in this poem? "Has it Breasts".. "I think it wants me".. even "bedding" and "breath".. "can you not give it to me?" "do not be ashamed--I do not mind if it is small"... "no scream at the end" could just as easily allude to an orgasm, as to death. The "spilt lives" line possibly refers to semen.. and just the quality and the almost flirtation in the way she delivers certain lines in the poem have always reinforced this thought but i never read any analysis mentioning it
I thought the same thing. I didn’t pick up on the “spilt lives” because I notice the text actually said “split lives”, so I wondered if you misread it or it was mistyped
@@Shmyrkyoure right, most texts have it split. it always sounded like spilt to me.. i like it more as spilt but any sort of "lives" congealing and stiffening within sheets seems to be as subtle as a cannon
@@raypalmerperformer I definitely think she said spilt too. And the point you made definitely gives it a very specific meaning 😂 she definitely does seem to be very sexual in an almost suppressed sort of way
@@Shmyrk I suppose it could/coulda been split, though it still ends up somewhat sexual. If it’s split lives congealing and stiffening to history, it could mean like estranged lovers (split lives) reconnecting (congeal) and solidifying(stiffen) their bond while they both occupy her sheets. Although “the cold dead center” of her bed doesn’t sound very positive
si fuera la muerte, admiraría su profunda gravedad, sus ojos atemporales sabría que estabas siendo serio. entonces allí habría una nobleza, un cumpleaños y el cuchillo no esculpiría si no que entraría puro y limpio como el llanto de un bebé y el universo se deslizaría de mi lado
L “‘Sylvan’ meant ‘savage’ in those woods Piero de Cosimo loved to draw...” --W. H. Auden Honestly, I do admire Sylvia Plath, but I can’t think of anything worse than picking drapes with her, especially in January, so depressing... and so unnecessary, I mean the expenye ( of course ) especially if you knew you were going ro die soon anyway. She always knew.
i don't think she always knew. what people don't say about her is that she was fighting to get better! read this, it's very interesting: bellejar.ca/2015/10/28/what-i-wish-everyone-knew-about-sylvia-plath/
She sacrificed her freedom for a man because she thought he loved her but he cheated so she was living her worst fear of being a complacent house donkey trapped with a cheating orangutan.
Best poet of the 20th century and oh what she could have given us had her depression not taken her; her son too in the end. No pity in the poems but raw truth.
Well, she gave us her depression, and it was unfortunate for her and spectacular for us. If she'd been happy-go-lucky we wouldn't have Ariel.
Best American poet of the 20th century*
@@lukaj2883 Yes, you are right. Best American poet.
@Fernando Vidal Munhoz No. Anne is brilliant in her own way. "All My Pretty Ones" is just as effective emotionally as "Daddy." They each produced great poems, and they both had unique and original poetic voices. Sexton began it, the "confessional school," simply because she knew no other way to write, but Lowell and Plath quickly jumped on board. They knew a good thing when they heard it. All three of them paid a high price for the exploration of their inner terrains. Plath and Sexton gassed themselves to death -- one in an oven, the other in a garage -- and Lowell drank and smoked himself into the ground, partaking of behaviors that were in direct contradiction to his doctor's advice.
I’ll forever blame Ted. He was a cruel brute. A cheat and his words during the radio program plus Assia’s bragging about her pregnancy murd*ered
our Sylvia. Her letters to her Mother during the first part, well only part of their marriage and before he beat the baby out of her womb, she was so happy. I’ve never experienced such happiness. He ruined all of that and he, along with the lover who aborted his baby after Sylvia’s death along with another after, wanted her dead. He told her so after being caught cheating and leaving her alone over 12 hours for a 1 hour lunch. He claimed the woman was middle aged so how dare her accuse! Sylvia was many things but stupid she never was. She got angry and broke a table and ripped up some of his work. That was the excuse he gave to beating her so badly the baby miscarried. Assia, the witch home wrecking lover, had his baby later. Yet shockingly he refused to marry her and he had more affairs. He wouldn’t live with her but lied and said he would. She lived in our Sylvia’s home where she died, using all of her things and slept in her bed with Sylvia’s husband. After she knew for sure he was never going to wed, love or treat the child as his own she murdered the child and killed herself exactly how darling Sylvia Plath did. She couldn’t feel guilt. She wanted revenge. She did nothing but erase her and the poor 4 yo girl out of history. She will always be the evil one. Assia Wevill should have stayed with her first husband or her second. Thank God they escaped. Thank the devil she ruined our Sylvia. Rest in Bliss Sylvia Plath. You were very loved
Edited- spelling
The way she pierces the beads words into rosary, it's just beautiful. All my love to her! ❤️
Oh The transparent vail of my youth with its mystic traumas of each birthday breaking my focus into life. Ripping my hair out again in these echoes of occasions over and over each year the day is the same as the last yet one more year to mourn my life into it final day. It is now I know so much that I love the beauty of all these moments when now is all that they are. Moment to moment but now is now and will never fade.
small correction: one of the lines was transcribed incorrectly.
"Where split lives congeal..." should be "When spilt lives congeal...", i.e. it's spilt, not split. There are some versions online that have it as "split", but you can clearly hear from the recording that it's "spilt", and other versions of the poem (that you can also find online) have it as so.
Wish you a very Happy Birthday Sylvia. We're so glad to find you. Maybe one day I'll dedicate my book to you.
Dark and compelling.
Such great writing.
Perfect Plath, no warm up, straight into the nitty griitty.
'What is this, behind this veil...'
Go on then: what is it?
Answer that question and you have cracked it.
Sylvia - my love.
Good Morning🌹 Thank you very much 🌿 for I heard this poem and I'm grateful for this day and my life 💐.
Read her Stories in German. Absolutely brillant stuff. Not a single dot too much. Balanced and of a notable poetic Sound. Even in her prose. Even in Deutsch. 😇✌
Thank you💕 one of my very favorites..
Am I the only one who's always found a pretty obvious sexual meaning within many lines in this poem? "Has it Breasts".. "I think it wants me".. even "bedding" and "breath".. "can you not give it to me?" "do not be ashamed--I do not mind if it is small"... "no scream at the end" could just as easily allude to an orgasm, as to death. The "spilt lives" line possibly refers to semen.. and just the quality and the almost flirtation in the way she delivers certain lines in the poem have always reinforced this thought but i never read any analysis mentioning it
"stiffen" "Let it not come by the [male], finger by finger"
"delivered"
"there would be a birthday"
"enter"
Indeed.
I thought the same thing. I didn’t pick up on the “spilt lives” because I notice the text actually said “split lives”, so I wondered if you misread it or it was mistyped
@@Shmyrkyoure right, most texts have it split. it always sounded like spilt to me.. i like it more as spilt but any sort of "lives" congealing and stiffening within sheets seems to be as subtle as a cannon
@@raypalmerperformer I definitely think she said spilt too. And the point you made definitely gives it a very specific meaning 😂 she definitely does seem to be very sexual in an almost suppressed sort of way
@@Shmyrk I suppose it could/coulda been split, though it still ends up somewhat sexual. If it’s split lives congealing and stiffening to history, it could mean like estranged lovers (split lives) reconnecting (congeal) and solidifying(stiffen) their bond while they both occupy her sheets. Although “the cold dead center” of her bed doesn’t sound very positive
Good God, Plath was a poetic monster.
i adore her and this poem
It'll always be Sylvia
I always wonder if we could be friends.
My Birthday is next week on June 13th. I just want an uncomplicated pizza. That is all.
My favorite 😍
si fuera la muerte, admiraría su profunda gravedad, sus ojos atemporales
sabría que estabas siendo serio.
entonces allí habría una nobleza, un cumpleaños
y el cuchillo no esculpiría si no que entraría
puro y limpio como el llanto de un bebé
y el universo se deslizaría de mi lado
I noticed the test here says "split" lives but Plath read "spilt."
PLEASE correct her name in the title! Thank you ! :) *Sylvia
+Danielle Favorite Wow I can't believe I've had this video up for two years and never caught that before, haha thanks for pointing that out :)
Tiffany Ladeira haha np! :)
Sylvia 🥀
How did she recorded these?? Just curious.
I believe it was for the BBC...
R.I.P Sylvia❤️❤️
L
“‘Sylvan’ meant ‘savage’ in those woods
Piero de Cosimo loved to draw...”
--W. H. Auden
Honestly, I do admire Sylvia Plath, but I can’t think of anything worse than picking drapes with her, especially in January, so depressing... and so unnecessary, I mean the expenye ( of course ) especially if you knew you were going ro die soon anyway. She always knew.
Have you met her??
i don't think she always knew. what people don't say about her is that she was fighting to get better! read this, it's very interesting: bellejar.ca/2015/10/28/what-i-wish-everyone-knew-about-sylvia-plath/
wow she was really suicidal also i think she disliked babies or something...
I don't know why but your comment made me chuckle. lol
She disliked false pledges, & so motherhood was not agreeable to her
She made so many baby similes 😂
Poo
She sacrificed her freedom for a man because she thought he loved her but he cheated so she was living her worst fear of being a complacent house donkey trapped with a cheating orangutan.