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Sylvia Plath

syvplath

About Me


Nothing is real except the present and already I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I too will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don't want to die.
It's sad to be able only to mouth other poets. I want someone to mouth me.
If only I can find him... the man who will be intelligent, yet physically magnetic and personable. If I can offer that combination, why shouldn't I expect it in a man?
Write about your own experience. By that experience someone else may be a bit richer some day. Read widely of others experiences in thought and action--stretch to others even though it hurts and strains and would be more comfortable to snuggle back in the comforting cotton-wool of blissful ignorance! Hurl yourself at goals above your head and bear the lacerations that come when you slip and make a fool of yourself. Try always, as long as you have breath in your body, to take the hard way, the Spartan way--and work, work, work to build yourself into a rich continually evolving entity!
I will cultivate restraint. I will stop being a loud-mouthed puppy that falls all over people in a frantic effort to attract them. I want desperately to be liked. I have gone through a long period of awkward, self-conscious unpopularity. Although I could be called an extrovert now, there are still recurrent traces of my old inferiority complex. I put new people on a pedestal, worshipping them for their surprising kindness to me, for their benevolent notice.
And there is the fallacy of existence: the idea that one would be happy forever and aye with a given situation or series of accomplishments. Why did Virginia Woolf commit suicide? Or Sara Teasdale? Or the other brilliant women--neurotic? Was their writing sublimation (oh, horrible word!) of deep, basic desires? If only I knew. If only I knew how high I could set my goals, my requirements for my life! I am in the position of a blind girl playing with a slide-ruler of values. I am now at the nadir of my calculating powers.
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The Life and Works of Sylvia Plath
- 1932 - Sylvia Plath born (27 October) in Boston, Massachusetts, the daughter of Aurelia Schober and Otto Emil Plath. Aurelia was first-generation American, Otto had emigrated to the US fromthe German-speaking Polish corridor as a young man. Aurelia Plath worked as a teacher and as a secretary. Otto Plath was Professor of Entomology at Boston University and an expert on bees.
- 1935 - Birth of Sylvia’s brother, Warren.
- 1939 - Outbreak of World War II.
- 1940 - Death of Otto Plath after complications arising from diabetes.
- 1941 - Pearl Harbor; US enters World War II.
- 1942 - Aurelia, Sylvia and Warren move to Wellesley, Massachusetts.
- 1945 - Atomic bombs detonated at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. End of World War II.
- 1950–1951 - Plath attends Smith College, Northampton (majoring in English) on a scholarship granted by novelist Olive Higgins Prouty.
- 1950–1953 - Korean War.
- 1950–1954 - McCarthyism.
- 1953 -(Early January) Plath fractures her leg in a skiing accident. (June) Execution of Ethel and Julius Rosenberg for espionage. (Summer) Plath takes up a guest editorship at Mademoiselle magazine, New York. Returns home exhausted and close to breakdown, ECT administered, suicide attempt and hospitalization.
- 1954 - Post-World War II food rationing in Britain ends.
- 1955 - Graduates from Smith College summa cum laude and travels to England on a Fulbright Scholarship to study at Newnham College, Cambridge.
- 1956 - (25 February) meets Ted Hughes at the launch party for a student magazine. (16 June) marries Ted Hughes in London. Honeymoon in Benidorm, Spain.
- 1957–1959 - Plath and Hughes in the US.
- 1957 - Plath teaches at Smith College.
- 1958 - Plath attends Robert Lowell’s writing workshop at Boston University alongside Anne Sexton, takes a secretarial post in a psychiatric clinic, enters therapy with Dr Ruth Beuscher.
- 1959 - Travel through the US and period at Yaddo, the writers’ colony. (December) Plath and Hughes return to live in England.
- 1960 - (April) Plath’s and Hughes’s daughter, Frieda, born in London. (31 October) Plath’s first collection of poetry, The Colossus, published in the UK.
- 1961 - (February) Miscarriage and appen..omy. (March to May) Writing The Bell Jar. (Late August/early September) Plath, Hughes and Frieda move to North Tawton, Devon. Antinuclear demonstrations take place in London.
- 1962 - (January) a son, Nicholas, born in Devon. The Colossus published for the first time in the US (14 May). (19 August) ‘Three Women’ broadcast on BBC radio. (October) Plath and Hughes separate; Hughes leaves North Tawton. Cuban Missile Crisis. (December) Plath and children move to London.
- 1963 - (January) The Bell Jar published in London under the pseudonym Victoria Lucas.
(11 February 1963) Sylvia Plath dies by suicide.
- 1965 - (11 March) Ariel published in the UK.
- 1966 - (June) Ariel published in the US. (1 September) The Bell Jar published in the UK under Plath’s own name.
- 1971 - (14 April) The Bell Jar published in the US under Plath’s own name. Crossing the Water published (May UK/September US). Winter Trees published in the UK (September).
- 1972 - (September) Winter Trees published in the US.
- 1975 - (December) Letters Home published in the US.
- 1976 - (April) Letters Home published in the UK. The Bed Book (1959?) published.
- 1977 - Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams published in the UK.
- 1979 - Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams published in the US.
- 1981 - Collected Poems published.
- 1982 - Collected Poems awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.
(The Cambridge Companion to Sylvia Plath, ed. Jo Gill)
***
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My Blog

Life After Death

&I don't believe there is life after death in the literal sense. I don't believe my individual ego or spirit is unique and important enough to wake up after burial and soar to bliss and pink clouds in...
Posted by Sylvia Plath on Thu, 01 Nov 2007 04:46:00 PST

Ill never see him again, and maybe its a good thing

And the blood of love welled up in my heart with a slow pain. Now I'll never see him again, and maybe it's a good thing. He walked out of my life last night for once and for all. I know with sickening...
Posted by Sylvia Plath on Sun, 05 Aug 2007 04:48:00 PST

Not To Be Sentimental...

... After being conditioned as a child to the lovely never-never land of magic, of fairy queens and virginal maidens, of little princes and their rose buches, of poignant bears and Eyore-ish donkeys, ...
Posted by Sylvia Plath on Tue, 17 Jul 2007 01:17:00 PST

Such sharp, brief, pistol-shot sentences!

... Linda is the sort of girl you don't remember when you meet her for the second time. She is rather homely, and nondescript as an art gum eraser. Her eyes are nervous and bright like neurotic goldfi...
Posted by Sylvia Plath on Tue, 03 Jul 2007 10:21:00 PST

I don't care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual

I wonder how I ever thought I was desirable. But inside, I know. I used to have sparkle, self-assurance. I didn't want to say I didn't give a damn about him, but just wanted to be kissed good and hard...
Posted by Sylvia Plath on Tue, 26 Jun 2007 01:16:00 PST

I saw his lips form the words,

Let's face it: I'm scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess, I'm afraid for myself... the old primitive urge for survival. It's getting so I live each moment with terrible intensity. Last night, driv...
Posted by Sylvia Plath on Sat, 23 Jun 2007 11:12:00 PST