Thursday, February 9, 2012

Nick and the Candlestick

by : Sylvia Plath

I am a miner. The light burns blue.
Waxy stalactites
Drip and thicken, tears

The earthen womb
Exudes from its dead boredom.
Black bat airs

Wrap me, raggy shawls,
Cold homicides.
They weld to me like plums.

Old cave of calcium
Icicles, old echoer.
Even the newts are white,

Those holy Joes.
And the fish, the fish -
Christ! they are panes of ice,

A vice of knives,
A piranha
Religion, drinking

Its first communion out of my live toes.
The candle
Gulps and recovers its small altitude,

Its yellows hearten.
O love, how did you get here?
O embryo

Remembering, even in sleep,
Your crossed position.
The blood blooms clean

In you, ruby.
The pain
You wake to is not yours.

Love, love,
I have hung our cave with roses,
With soft rugs -

The last of Victoriana.
Let the stars
Plummet to their dark address,

Let the mercuric
Atoms that cripple drip
Into the terrible well,

You are the one
Solid the spaces lean on, envious.
You are the baby in the barn.

My Very Own Responce : This poem shows love by describing uglyness. Plath does something with her poems that either hits you softly on the hand or shatters your nose. The sence forcung your mind to think of the worst things while translating it into something utterliy beautiful like love. She talks of pure love. The uglyness that love is but that is so dersirable. The poem itself is so crazy and cannot be shun in anyway. It probs your mind unexplainable with no pardons and none are needed for the balence of beauty and crazyness.

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