Thank you for the intro and the photo. I can never get enough of Sylvia. It is almost as if she is a child of mine away at school or overseas! I have to hear her voice and see her every few days, or I really start missing her. Silly, I know. I've never had this feeling before, except with my own daughter, of course, and now my grandson. I think her lovely voice is so much older and wiser than her beautiful, childlike face. She just soothes me! Thank you again.

This is just excellent...And so cool to hear her reading it & give the intro.

Over many years I have empathised, smiled and been moved to tears over the poetry of Sylvia Plath and I greatly admire her poetic gift, tragically cut short too soon. However, as with the work of many other poets I cannot hear them read by their creator without feeling greatly disappointed. The words seem to sound cold, wooden and plodding, without emotion or dramatic passion and, puzzlingly, the flow from one unpunctuated line to the next is missing as the reader seems to halt before going on as if there is a full stop. I really feel that the best way to listen to poems is to have them read by actors. Their natural gifts and dramatic training can convey all the passion and drama of the words that the reader has experienced when first encountering the poem. I would be interested to know if any one else feel this way. ❤❤

I love her voice.

if only she'd allowed a frown or a spirited outburst to betray her company, if only we all wailed and wilted at the shrill coldness of the world we learn to live in as children; then perhaps these disquieting muses might find themselves rosy in cheeks. Afterall, isn't the distinguishing character of the hero that he has no fear to betray?

I really love this audio, although her voice sounds different if compared to the other audios; she sounds less passionate here, to my ears. I also find the picture very interesting because she's smiling so much and seems genuinely happy, even though she resented her mother. there are excerpts in her journals in which she speaks very rudely of her and show her hate towards her... but i guess it would depend on the year this pic was taken.. anyhow - I love Sylvia. she's one of my biggest inspirations in writing, and I feel a special connection to her as a human being, 'cause I feel that deep down we're the same.

Thank you 💙 for this To hear her , makes me realize that it wasn't a bleak poem at all, what wit Ms. Plath writ with"

Or what disfigured and unsightly Cousin did you so unwisely keep Unasked to my christening, that she Sent these ladies in her stead With heads like darning-eggs to nod And nod and nod at foot and head And at the left side of my crib? Mother, who made to order stories Of Mixie Blackshort the heroic bear, Mother, whose witches always, always, Got baked into gingerbread, I wonder Whether you saw them, whether you said Words to rid me of those three ladies Nodding by night around my bed, Mouthless, eyeless, with stitched bald head. In the hurricane, when father's twelve Study windows bellied in Like bubbles about to break, you fed My brother and me cookies and Ovaltine And helped the two of us to choir: "Thor is angry: boom boom boom! Thor is angry: we don't care!" But those ladies broke the panes. When on tiptoe the schoolgirls danced, Blinking flashlights like fireflies And singing the glowworm song, I could Not lift a foot in the twinkle-dress But, heavy-footed, stood aside In the shadow cast by my dismal-headed Godmothers, and you cried and cried: And the shadow stretched, the lights went out. Mother, you sent me to piano lessons And praised my arabesques and trills Although each teacher found my touch Oddly wooden in spite of scales And the hours of practicing, my ear Tone-deaf and yes, unteachable. I learned, I learned, I learned elsewhere, From muses unhired by you, dear mother, I woke one day to see you, mother, Floating above me in bluest air On a green balloon bright with a million Flowers and bluebirds that never were Never, never, found anywhere. But the little planet bobbed away Like a soap-bubble as you called: Come here! And I faced my traveling companions. Day now, night now, at head, side, feet, They stand their vigil in gowns of stone, Faces blank as the day I was born, Their shadows long in the setting sun That never brightens or goes down. And this is the kingdom you bore me to, Mother, mother. But no frown of mine Will betray the company I keep.

LOVE THIS Thanks so much for posting!

the aching pace

💜💜💜

SISTERS OF MADNESS

Awesome thanks!

I hear the genius in her voice. But also the madness beneath the genius.