what's a meta for?
I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.
Sylvia Plath
this is an excellent poem! only the second from Sylvia Plath and already I'm intrigued by how she came to take her own life. It doesn't seem to be the writing of a failing person, more a fighter, someone I'd expect to be a survivor! maybe she concluded life was pointless, futile, boring...
obviously I have no first hand experience of her condition but I have been around and heard, and overheard, women tell of the discomforts of carrying child. would they have chosen the same expressions as Plath? there's layers of meaning in those lines.
4 Comments:
9 syllables...Oh, I've just learned something...Thanks!
nine syllables each line, nine lines, nine months of pregnancy. :o)
people that take their own life can show their brightest side I think as a way to struggle against that strong desire to end life...I am now thinking about Violeta Parra, a different life, a similar success and the same end
it's a strange and tragic business for sure - yes, i think i understand that could be what happens inside.
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