Sylvia Plath
Sylvia Plath (October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963) was an American poet, novelist, and short-story writer. Born in Boston, Massachusetts, she studied at Smith College and Newnham College at the University of Cambridge, before receiving acclaim as a poet and writer. She married fellow poet Ted Hughes in 1956; they lived together in the United States and then England, and had two children, Frieda and Nicholas. Plath suffered from depression for much of her adult life, and in 1963 she committed suicide. Controversy continues to surround the events of her life and death, as well as her writing and legacy.
Plath is credited with advancing the genre of confessional poetry and is best known for her two published collections, The Colossus and Other Poems and Ariel. In 1982, she won a posthumous Pulitzer Prize for The Collected Poems. She also wrote The Bell Jar, a semi-autobiographical novel published shortly before her death. We have copies of her Collected Poems and The bell Jar in the library for those girls interested. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_Plath |
This extract was taken from Sylivia's diary when she was 17 years old. It shows a profound maturity, insight and mastery of language already developing.........
Diary of a seventeen year old girl.......
As of today – I have decided to keep a diary again – just a place where I can write my thoughts and opinions when I have a moment. Somehow I have to keep and hold the rapture of being 17. Every day is so precious I feel infinitely sad at the thought of all this time melting father and farther away from me as I grow older. Now, now is the perfect time of my life.
In reflecting back up on these last 16 years, I can see tragedies and happiness, all relative – all unimportant now – fit only to smile upon a bit mistily. I still do not know myself. Perhaps I never will. But I feel free – unbound by responsibility, I still can come up to my own private room, with my drawings hanging on the walls…and pictures pinned up over my bureau. It is a room suited to me – tailored, uncluttered, and peaceful… I love the quiet lines of the furniture, the two bookcases filled with poetry books and fairy tales saved from childhood.
At the present moment I am very happy, sitting at my desk, looking out at the bare trees around the house across the street…Always I want to be an observer. I want to be affected by life deeply, but never so blinded that I cannot see my share of existence in a wry, humorous light and mock myself as I mock others.
I am afraid of getting older. I am afraid of getting married. Spare me from cooking three meals a day – spare me from the relentless cage of routine and rote. I want to be free – free to know people and their backgrounds – free to move to different parts of the world so I may learn that there are other morals and standards besides my own. I want, I think, to be omniscient… I think I would like to call myself “The girl who wanted to be God.” Yet if I were not in this body, where would I be – perhaps I am destined to be classified and qualified. But oh, I cry out against it. I am I – I am powerful – but to what extent? I am I.
Sometimes I try to put myself in another’s place, and I am frightened when I find I am almost succeeding. How awful to be anyone but I. I have a terrible egotism. I love my flesh, my face, my limbs with overwhelming devotion. I know that I am “too tall” and have a fat nose, and yet I pose and prink before the mirror, seeing more and more how lovely I am… I have erected in my mind an image of myself – idealistic and beautiful. Is not that image, free from blemish, the true self – the true perfection? Am I wrong when this image insinuates itself between me and the merciless mirror? (Oh, even now I glance back on what I have just written – how foolish it sounds, how overdramatic.)
Never, never, never will I reach the perfection I long for with all my soul – my paintings, my poems, my stories – all poor, poor reflections… for I have been too thoroughly conditioned to the conventional surroundings of this community… my vanity desires luxuries which I can never have…
I am continually more aware of the power which chance plays in my life… There will come a time when I must face myself at last. Even now I dread the big choices which loom up in my life – what college? What career? I am afraid. I feel uncertain. What is best for me? What do I want? I do not know. I love freedom. I deplore constrictions and limitations… I am not as wise as I have thought. I can now see, as from a valley, the roads lying open for me, but I cannot see the end – the consequences…
Oh, I love now, with all my fears and forebodings, for now I still am not completely molded. My life is still just beginning. I am strong. I long for a cause to devote my energies to…
http://chapawee.wordpress.com/2011/06/10/reflections-of-a-17-year-old-by-sylvia-plath/.
Diary of a seventeen year old girl.......
As of today – I have decided to keep a diary again – just a place where I can write my thoughts and opinions when I have a moment. Somehow I have to keep and hold the rapture of being 17. Every day is so precious I feel infinitely sad at the thought of all this time melting father and farther away from me as I grow older. Now, now is the perfect time of my life.
In reflecting back up on these last 16 years, I can see tragedies and happiness, all relative – all unimportant now – fit only to smile upon a bit mistily. I still do not know myself. Perhaps I never will. But I feel free – unbound by responsibility, I still can come up to my own private room, with my drawings hanging on the walls…and pictures pinned up over my bureau. It is a room suited to me – tailored, uncluttered, and peaceful… I love the quiet lines of the furniture, the two bookcases filled with poetry books and fairy tales saved from childhood.
At the present moment I am very happy, sitting at my desk, looking out at the bare trees around the house across the street…Always I want to be an observer. I want to be affected by life deeply, but never so blinded that I cannot see my share of existence in a wry, humorous light and mock myself as I mock others.
I am afraid of getting older. I am afraid of getting married. Spare me from cooking three meals a day – spare me from the relentless cage of routine and rote. I want to be free – free to know people and their backgrounds – free to move to different parts of the world so I may learn that there are other morals and standards besides my own. I want, I think, to be omniscient… I think I would like to call myself “The girl who wanted to be God.” Yet if I were not in this body, where would I be – perhaps I am destined to be classified and qualified. But oh, I cry out against it. I am I – I am powerful – but to what extent? I am I.
Sometimes I try to put myself in another’s place, and I am frightened when I find I am almost succeeding. How awful to be anyone but I. I have a terrible egotism. I love my flesh, my face, my limbs with overwhelming devotion. I know that I am “too tall” and have a fat nose, and yet I pose and prink before the mirror, seeing more and more how lovely I am… I have erected in my mind an image of myself – idealistic and beautiful. Is not that image, free from blemish, the true self – the true perfection? Am I wrong when this image insinuates itself between me and the merciless mirror? (Oh, even now I glance back on what I have just written – how foolish it sounds, how overdramatic.)
Never, never, never will I reach the perfection I long for with all my soul – my paintings, my poems, my stories – all poor, poor reflections… for I have been too thoroughly conditioned to the conventional surroundings of this community… my vanity desires luxuries which I can never have…
I am continually more aware of the power which chance plays in my life… There will come a time when I must face myself at last. Even now I dread the big choices which loom up in my life – what college? What career? I am afraid. I feel uncertain. What is best for me? What do I want? I do not know. I love freedom. I deplore constrictions and limitations… I am not as wise as I have thought. I can now see, as from a valley, the roads lying open for me, but I cannot see the end – the consequences…
Oh, I love now, with all my fears and forebodings, for now I still am not completely molded. My life is still just beginning. I am strong. I long for a cause to devote my energies to…
http://chapawee.wordpress.com/2011/06/10/reflections-of-a-17-year-old-by-sylvia-plath/.
The Girl Who Would be God from Suzie Hanna on Vimeo.
This animated film was commissioned for the Sylvia Plath 75th Year Symposium 2007 held at the Rothermere American Institute Oxford. The inspiration for the film includes a journal entry made by Sylvia Plath on November 13th 1949, her juvenilia poems 'Cinderella' and 'Aerialist', her teenaged drawings and paintings and her own musical interests. The film reflects aspects of Plath's teenage years alongside musical genres, art and design practice and cultural styles of the period. Dr Sally Bayley (Oxford) and Dr Kathleen Connors (Indiana) advised on the production, and provided access to much of the inspirational material from their research for publication of 'Eye Rhymes: Sylvia Plath's Art of the Visual'. Directed by Suzie Hanna (animation) and Tom Simmons (sound), this film is featured in 'Representing Sylvia Plath' edited by Dr Sally Bayley and Dr Tracy Brain, published by CUP 2011. Joey Cook (16) played the part of the girl, selected stills from video footage of her were composited into frames made of painted and collaged paper elements.