Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Aurelia Plath written c. August 1951
As I am,
I see through a golden space
I'm trapped in amber sap,
Onto the outside I look
Within the inside I am firm
Fossilized, undiscerned
-s's.
you're so busy, so that's why
and she is busy, and I don't have to ask and they're also busy, they don’t have the time busy in life, busy tonight what is ‘busy’ for? you don't answer me at all what is your ‘busy’ for? busy with your own life are your friends busy with their lives, or are their lives yours? oh yours, yours, you never get bored what is your busy for?
-s’s.
your face changes when you think of a memory
Crushed dearly beneath plush blanket, blue sounds awaken
I woke up, morning early brightness
touched the ground and touched my whole face
Cold and white mist enveloped the space within
walking into buildings armored in smells of fresh paper
Sitting softly low rising presence, I am to stay patient,
Wear the act, contract, observe, and write
-s.s.
How long do you keep pumping them out of your blood through writing,
Only for them to loiter by your veins and come right back in?
like flaming fruit
like water and shells
like justice jailed
into jam
smeared all over on a loaf
take all of your time,
your heavy heartstrings,
and go
tired of noticing the hills, gold over the fields,
I’m tired of noticing that, and all that's real,
your distant breeze, and every little thing
I've been noticing, every little thing, but no one else ever will
they won’t try to, they never will
-s’s.
and you
are singing in a million trees
get dressed
and you
have nobody left to envy
and you
see me for another time
and you
Say nothing
as you
walk past me
-s’s.
-s's.
The Face of Another (1996) Dir. Hiroshi Teshigahara