A companion piece could be hawk roosting or pike.

As a simpleton, I’ll never put her genius or her depth of understanding of life (at such a young age) or her sophistication and maturity or her naivety and innocense into word, but she was obsessed with “ time”: Always reminding herself that the future is not real, or the past, but that she has only present moment, and so she must live every day to her fullest. She was kept driven. She was 18 then, and such a sophisticated concept must have been more nagging than comforting to her. She worried about nuclear ( atomic) war in her teens and the plight of the world. She hated that she had to fight boys off, and go home “ unsatisfied” while they, grabbed what they could and went home “without a conscience.”. She hated being a girl… fighting off boys… trying to stay a virgin, while the boys did not. She also wanted a boy who loved her mind, not just her body. She wanted also, to be able to be interested in men without the man taking her interest as sexual. She “ loved people” and wanted to get to know as many human beings as deeply as possible, but she found it hard with men. What woman c couldn’t relate to that observation even today? She felt stifled. She looked at a white fence and called it a “ stiff ruffle”. She looked at the moon and called it a “ hood of bone”. I look at the moon and call it the moon! She was of a very special mind. Her mistake was marrying another great mind- or poet. She needed someone to keep her grounded. He wasn’t it.

I’m here in 2024

Who are watching this in 2024😂😅 👇

Is this her real voice?

Hi, Tudor! Thanks a lot for sharing this poem; it's beautiful. Aren't you planning on uploading more videos like this? I really like them! Do you have Instagram? Goodbye!

Wish this was on Spotify

Join us for an exclusive interview with the CEO of Binance for insights into future developments

Life's a playground, so wear that smile proud.

The first poet I ever read. Thus began a lifelong love affair with poetry.

"I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die and get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, and they stuck me together with glue." that is so sad she deserved so much better

well i accidentally listened to this so many times that i've got it memorized

Brilliance

She really stradled those phonemes

As a Polish person, I'm confused.

The white light is artificial, and hygienic as heaven. The microbes cannot survive it. They are departing in their transparent garments, turned aside From the scalpels and the rubber hands. The scalded sheet is a snowfield, frozen and peaceful. The body under it is in my hands. As usual there is no face. A lump of Chinese white With seven holes thumbed in. The soul is another light. I have not seen it; it does not fly up. Tonight it has receded like a ship's light. It is a garden I have to do with -- tubers and fruit Oozing their jammy substances, A mat of roots. My assistants hook them back. Stenches and colors assail me. This is the lung-tree. These orchids are splendid. They spot and coil like snakes. The heart is a red bell-bloom, in distress. I am so small In comparison to these organs! I worm and hack in a purple wilderness. The blood is a sunset. I admire it. I am up to my elbows in it, red and squeaking. Still is seeps me up, it is not exhausted. So magical! A hot spring I must seal off and let fill The intricate, blue piping under this pale marble. How I admire the Romans -- Aqeducts, the Baths of Caracella, the eagle nose! The body is a Roman thing. It has shut its mouth on the stone pill of repose. It is a statue the orderlies are wheeling off. I have perfected it. I am left with and arm or a leg, A set of teeth, or stones To rattle in a bottle and take home, And tissues in slices-a pathological salami. Tonight the parts are entombed in an icebox. Tomorrow they will swim In vinegar like saints' relics. Tomorrow the patient will have a clean, pink plastic limb. Over one bed in the ward, a small blue light Announces a new soul. The bed is blue. Tonight, for this person, blue is a beautiful color. The angels of morphia have borne him up. He floats an inch from the ceiling, Smelling the dawn drafts. I walk among sleepers in gauze sarcophagi. The red night lights are flat moons. They are dull with blood. I am the sun, in my white coat, Grey faces, shuttered by drugs, follow me like flowers.

The line "Ich,ich -- I could barely speak" hits in a different way when she says it -- she literally cannot pronounce the "ch" in "ich". I also noticed the prevalency of the word "do" -- which Plath obviously knew means ''you" in German. You, you, not you! Just my thoughts -- I never saw this anywhere.

Rest in Peace Sylvia. ❤️

Would help if she didn’t call a horse a “lioness”

Didn’t understand a word

Gölde anımsıyor nağmeler bir sabahı, sözlerim yeşil su damlası..

"Every woman adores a fascist" Wow girl...

I don't get it but that was amazing

Too wordy get to the point

All her poems are so deep, she was literally saying that she planned to k*** herself and she knew no one would stop her

02:59

Amber brandyfinger..

My eyes are never dry by the time I finish listening to this. Sometimes I sob uncontrollably. Other times, a single tear rolls down my cheek. I don’t know if it’s the pain in her voice and the words and the fact that I can relate to her pain, but it gets me every time.

One of my favorite poems it even inspired me to write a poem of the same meter ❤

كاجولوووه روشنوووه

اوه اوه عاوز البت تموت لما تشوفنى

"Its like the military but for being nice, instead of shooting bullets we act sweet like sprite." -Sylvia Plath

To hear the voice of my idol. Her use of ther English language and the imagery. I would have loved to have seen her at a poetry reading........

This poem is chilling ❤

jesus what an amazing poem.

The amused shout a miracle it knocks me out

1:33

Next to 'Elm' the best of the best.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna, is not very pure or true.

"Does not my heat astound you?" Connor OMalley recently did a recording of this poem that I really enjoyed.

N..... eyed berries....? Not acceptable.

She’s good.

I been listening to this since y when I was 15

A genius

IT RHYMES IT FUCKING RHYMES!!!!!

"Sylvia Plath reading her own work. This is so magical, beyond what I could imagi- WHO WAS THAT?! WHAT ANIMAL COUGHED DURING HER READING?!"

Wow.... Wow. This is the first time I've heard her voice. It is not what I expected. It's so much much much MORE. It's so haunting and it's so deep and fitting and true to the feeling and the words.

Nobody was brave enough to speak of suicide for fear of Asylyms, I still am and have been in many. They wanted to give me ECT's at 11. I was dealing with sexual, emotional and physical abuse along with being treated by a pedophile priest for my "homosexuality". His answer was a playgirl and heterosexual pornography while he played with himself. 😂 I have to laugh now that I've had a drink. My mother, mommy dearest knew and kept sending me back. I was the victim though I hate the word, Munchausen by Proxy by a family filled with incest. I finally cut my wrists to shreds with a dull knife steak knife until I hit my artery, they hadn't yet taught us enough anatomy. Suddenly my mother burst through the door asking and I quote WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO US? I was astounded, bleeding out as she screamed at me. I had broken the facade, the perfect family facade. I still have the scars and I'm 35. I had them inked over when I was in my early 20's by my late dead fiance. Why do they say late? You're not late or early anymore? You just are and then you aren't anymore. I've died twice and I cannot tell you how beautiful it is. You'll see it and be angry if you come back, feeling robbed, raped and an urge to get back that is uncontrollable. Don't try it, I'm not saying that dying is the answer but just have nothing to fear.

the villagers are dancing and stamping on you

When I first heard this, I was astonished how English she sounded. Expected more of a NA accent.