>I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
Is there anyone who can convey the universal human condition and sheer pathos of our shared existence like Sylvia Plath?
>As for minute joys: as I was saying: do you realize the illicit sensuous delight I get from picking my nose? I always have, ever since I was a child–there are so many subtle variations of sensation. A delicate, pointed-nailed fifth finger can catch under dry scabs and flakes of mucous in the nostril and draw them out to be looked at, crumbled between fingers, and flicked to the floor in minute crusts. Or a heavier, more determined forefinger can reach up and smear down-and-out the soft, resilient, elastic greenish-yellow smallish blobs of mucous, roll them round and jelly-like between thumb and forefinger, and spread them on the under surface of a desk or chair where they will harden into organic crusts. How many desks and chairs have I thus secretively befouled since childhood? Or sometimes there will be blood mingled with the mucous in dry brown scabs, or bright sudden wet red on the finger that scraped too rudely the nasal membranes. God, what a sexual satisfaction! It is absorbing to look with new sudden eyes on the old worn habits: to see a sudden luxurious and pestilential “snot green sea”, and shiver with the shock of recognition.
Is there anyone who can convey the universal human condition and sheer pathos of Picking Your Nose like Sylvia Plath?
Ted Hughes got to ram his dick up her pussy and down her throat.
>not eating the boogers for an immune boost
Please stop ruining my thread you fucking misogynists.
I got up to the word "crotch" before my dick started to tingle and I stopped reading.
Mythsogyny doesn't exist. It's a meme invented by babies who want to pretend they're oppressed.
I'm gonna read her diaries soon. The Bell Jar is okay but it seems like this is the only memorable quote, desu.
Anne Sexton is my poetfu tbqh laddies.
she's a good one
liked her but she's just flower name dropping a lot of times
i'm cool with that,
I'd drop my name in her flower, if you catch my fast and furious Tokyo drift.
I like where this thread is going
>Is there anyone who can convey the universal human condition and sheer pathos of our shared existence like Sylvia Plath?
Yes.
you do?
pockets ain't empty cuz ;^)
This has actually convinced me to read plath now.
Thanks, so far I've been able to get by just telling women that I've read Plath and how great she is and since women pretty much only read YA fiction, they're usually impressed without being able to tell that I'm full of shit.
I really wish that any of this post was a lie.
literally just rehashing buridan's ass
these literary folks won't catch that reference you scallywag
I'd let her sit in the crotch of my fig tree, then when we got tired I'd preheat the oven and we'd commit suicide together surrounded by the smell of fresh-baked fig pies
Who /Wisława Szymborska/ here? Better than Plath, different but maybe same ebin level as Sexton.
I like you user. Stupid bitches don't deserve more (knowledge), you do.
>too much fuck UGH
Typical woman.
She literally wrote this herself
>I think the future age will find that to prefer the late Sylvia Plath to Mr. Kenneth Burke because she ostensibly wrote poems and he wrote criticism will seem equally absurd. That remark makes clear that I do not share the current esteem for the work of the late Sylvia Plath who seems to me an absurdly bad and hysterical verse writer.
I think this will be the first time I've done this, but misogyny actually deserves to be called on this one. Plath is good, and for Bloom to dismiss her oeuvre as 'hysterical' is not just unfair, but irrational. It's a kind of tone-deafness that he reserves for the feminine.
>wimin suck amirite?
>-le bloom man
>you can't criticize her because she's a woman!
It's not that; it just doesn't make sense. 'She ostensibly wrote poems.' Whether you think she's a great or not, to say, 'Poems -- if you can call them that,' is outright childish.
A childishness, in my opinion, that is best explained by Plath having maybe hit a nerve with the old sack of dust.
There's never been a book that upset me more than the bell jar.
>muh forced parable
It doesn't matter how good the hidden narrative might be, if the immediate narrative is shit, the parable is shit.
Thats unironically great stuff
this, as well as the fact that hysterical is an explicitly gendered ad hominem. a literal invention of the 19th century psychoanalysts to justify their impoundment of women who were upset with their prudish controlling husbands.
>That would be to say that the verse-writer Felicia Hemans is a considerably larger figure than her contemporary William Hazlitt. Or that our era’s Felicia Hemans, Sylvia Plath, is a considerably larger literary figure than, say, the late Wilson Knight. This is clearly not the case. Miss Plath is a bad verse writer. I read Knight with pleasure and profit, if at times wonder and shock. These are obvious points but obviously one will have to go on making them. Almost everything now written and published and praised in the United States as verse isn’t even verse, let alone poetry. It’s just typing, or word processing. As a matter of fact, it’s usually just glib rhetoric or social resentment. Just as almost everything that we now call criticism is in fact just journalism.
How can a parable ever be "unforced"?
When both levels work. Famous example: The ring parable in Nathan the Wise. The story works and feels natural both on the immediate level and the hidden one.
What OP posted seems amateurish at best.
Topkek. Even though I can relate to feeling helpless I think a lot of writers are using their novels as a form of catharsis. If that's true I don't want to dig through emotional garbage to find plots and morals.
Don't say shit like that as though it's uncontroversial. There's a reason it didn't appear in my argument.
While I think his use of "hysterical" to describe her poetry is unfortunate and indeed prejudiced, Plath is in fact quite a terrible poet, and if we are able to get past the connotations of "hysterical," I think we will find he is more or less right. If by "hysterical" he means, that she uses an intentionally banal style and vocabulary to express ugly emotions, I think he would be perfectly right. Take her very popular "Daddy." All she has done is versified a section of a Freud textbook, as regurgitated by an ineloquent adolescent. In the thing in the OP, she certainly is expressing an inherently beautiful idea, but in the most cliched and overtrodden way imaginable. She says nothing here not already said by Hamlet, Ernest Dowson, and innumerous others; all she has done is translate the idea into a bourgeois late-20th-century American dialect, with words like "plopped." Browning or Vermeer are allowed to express the ugly idea or emotion, or use the ugly word or shade, because they are masters of the craft and are inherently receptive to beauty. Plath is not, regardless of her cause of death.
You thought Daddy was Freudian? Bruh, it was more political than 'muh daddy's mean'
The fact that your think an artist must write 'beautiful' work before writing ugly ones show an inability to look upon once work by itself and appraise it. Daddy is sonically rich bro
A boring analogy about how she wants all the dicks but also feels pressure to settle down... you like this? This is what impresses you people?
This is as ordinary as it gets.
Fantastic