Tuesday poem: 'Sylvia fights off the boys'

Sylvia fights off the boys

Every time, it comes around
to this
I know when to expect it

He will caress my face with
his forefinger, his floppy
fringe hanging over
his eyes
He will trace
the scar on my cheek
back and forth
erasing it, and he will say
‘How did you get this?’

and each time
I tell another story

But the truth of it is
it was a rollerskating accident

and the truth of it is
a pirate with his rapier

and the truth of it is
I am a rotting apple
and it is my worm

and the truth of it is
it was the sharp bite of death

and the truth of it is
I hit my face climbing out
of my grave

but the truth of it is
good girls don’t have scars




A couple of days ago it was Sylvia Plath's 80th birthday, or, rather, it would have been if she had lived.

I'm glad she's remembered, though I often feel she's remembered for all the wrong reasons. She was a gifted poet – I can't believe she died at age 30. Who writes poetry that good before they're 30? How good would she have got if she'd lived longer? It's that death that gets in the way, that gets between us and her poetry. I guess that's just how it is.

When I was studying her, one thing that really struck me is what an all-American girl she had been. There was more to her than that, of course. This poem is my take on her at that stage of her life, when she was an all-American girl, going out with all-American boys. Though probably it's really about me. I have a scar on my face too, hence my obsession with hers. (Mine was acquired at a younger age, at primary school, when the boy playing cricket said 'Don't touch the ball', which had just flown past me. I, being contrary, immediately picked it up and ran away with it. He caught me and pushed me off a bank (it wasn't very high) and I cut my face.) 'Sylvia fights off the boys' is in My Iron Spine. Just to prove my obsession, there's another poem in there about Sylvia (and Ted) and her scar (and his scar).

I haven't blogged in ages, partly because I've been slack, and partly because I've been away. I might blog about that sometime. It was awesome.

For more Tuesday Poems, visit the hub blog over here: http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com.

Tuesday poem: 'Lady Lazarus' by Sylvia Plath

(If you can't see the video embedded above, you can find it here on YouTube: http://youtu.be/esBLxyTFDxE

I love hearing recordings of Sylvia Plath reading her work. She has such a rich voice, and she brings out the rhythms and rhymes in her poems. I think the quality I like the most about her voice is that there's some kind of ironic edge to it - a wryness? Maybe it isn't an edge - perhaps it's a bubble of a laugh, just held in.

Anyway, 'Lady Lazarus' is one of the poems of Plath's that I especially loved when I studied her. I should read some more of her work again - I think I'd find I now connected with poems that I couldn't understand then.

More Tuesday Poems via the hub blog! http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/

Tuesday Poem: 'Daddy' by Sylvia Plath (as read by Sylvia Plath)

If you can't view this embedded video, you can watch it on YouTube here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6hHjctqSBwM

A quick Tuesday Poem today. I stumbled across this yesterday, and goodness me it's so exciting to hear Plath read her own poem - to hear what her voice sounded like for one (I have listening to recordings of her a long time ago, but I don't remember her voice being so deep), and also to hear how she reads this - where she puts stresses, the rhythm she uses, where she pauses.

When I came across this, I also came across the only surviving recording of Virginia Woolf's voice, and I know there will be so many other wonderful treasures of poets reading their work and writers voices, but I'm afraid to get started looking for them, because where will it end!?

Well, you can go and have a look for poetry on Youtube, but you can also go look for more Tuesday Poems on the Tuesday Poem blog: http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/