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Perhaps you considered yourself an oracle, Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other. Thirty years now I have labored To dredge the silt from your throat. I am none the wiser.
Sylvia Plath
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Sylvia Plath
Age: 30 †
Born: 1932
Born: October 27
Died: 1963
Died: February 11
Autobiographer
Diarist
Essayist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Victoria Lucas
Sylvia Plath Hughes
Considered
Dredge
None
Mouthpiece
Perhaps
Labored
Dead
Oracle
Years
Oracles
Wiser
Throat
Thirty
Silt
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If only a group of people were more important to me than the idea of a Novel, I might begin a novel.
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What I want back is what I was Before the bed, before the knife, Before the brooch-pin and the salve Fixed me in this parenthesis Horses fluent in the wind, A place, a time gone out of mind.
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So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.
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I felt very low. I had been unmasked only that morning by Jay Cee herself, and I felt now that all the uncomfortable suspicions I had about myself were coming true. After nineteen years of running after good marks and prizes and grants of one sort and another, I was letting up, slowing down, dropping clean out of race.
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For the few little successes I may seem to have, there are acres of misgivings and self-doubt.
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Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart?
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That afternoon my mother had brought me the roses. Save them for my funeral, I'd said.
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Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.
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The silence between us was so profound I thought part of it must be my fault.
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How frail the human heart must be - a mirrored pool of thought.
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And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
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