Category Archives: Plath Sylvia

The Applicant by Sylvia Plath

Posted on November 10, 2014 by Russell Boyle

First, are you our sort of a person? Do you wear A glass eye, false teeth or a crutch, A brace or a hook, Rubber breasts or a rubber crotch, Stitches to show something’s missing? No, no? Then How can … Continue reading →

Posted in Plath Sylvia | Tagged are you our sort of a person?, disabilities, employment, first, gender, interview, literature, marriage, modern life, poem, poet, poetry, Russell Boyle, russellboyle.com, satire, sexuality, social commentary, The Applicant by Sylvia Plath, Western culture, writing | 3 Comments

Words by Sylvia Plath

Posted on November 7, 2014 by Russell Boyle

Axes After whose stroke the wood rings, And the echoes! Echoes traveling Off from the center like horses. The sap Wells like tears, like the Water striving To re-establish its mirror Over the rock That drops and turns, A white … Continue reading →

Posted in Plath Sylvia | Tagged Axes After whose stroke the wood rings, literature, metaphor, passionate poetry, poem, poet, poetry, Russell Boyle, russellboyle.com, Words by Sylvia Plath, Words dry and riderless, writing | Leave a comment

Fever 103° by Sylvia Plath

Posted on August 24, 2014 by Russell Boyle

Pure? What does it mean? The tongues of hell Are dull, dull as the triple Tongues of dull, fat Cerberus Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable Of licking clean The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin. The tinder cries. The … Continue reading →

Posted in Plath Sylvia | Tagged Fever 103° by Sylvia Plath, literature, love, poem, poet, poetry, Pure? What does it mean?, Russell Boyle, sexual desire, sin, terror, torment, writing | 1 Comment

Mushrooms by Sylvia Plath

Posted on April 9, 2014 by Russell Boyle

Overnight, very Whitely, discreetly, Very quietly Our toes, our noses Take hold on the loam, Acquire the air. Nobody sees us, Stops us, betrays us; The small grains make room. Soft fists insist on Heaving the needles, The leafy bedding, … Continue reading →

Posted in Plath Sylvia | Tagged 1932-1963, 1950, discreetly, feminism, literature, Mushrooms by Sylvia Plath, Our foot’s in the door, Overnight, poem, poet, poetry, Very quietly, very Whitely, We shall by morning inherit the earth, Wellesley High School, writing | 2 Comments

Crossing The Water by Sylvia Plath

Posted on July 20, 2013 by Russell Boyle

Black lake, black boat, two black, cut-paper people. Where do the black trees go that drink here? Their shadows must cover Canada. A little light is filtering from the water flowers. Their leaves do not wish us to hurry: They … Continue reading →

Posted in Plath Sylvia | Tagged black boat, Black lake, blackness, boyle, Crossing The Water by Sylvia Plath, cut-paper people, death, depression, poem, poetry, Russell Boyle, suicidal, two black, writing, www.russellboyle.com | 4 Comments

Daddy by Sylvia Plath

Posted on December 18, 2012 by Russell Boyle

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to kill you. You … Continue reading →

Posted in Plath Sylvia | Tagged any more, Auschwitz, bastard, Belsen, black, black shoe, cruel, Dachau, Daddy, Fascist, I have had to kill you, Jew, Meinkampf, Nazi, poem, poetry, Russell Boyle, swastika, Sylvia Plath, torture, Vampire, Vienna, writing, you do not do | Leave a comment

Morning Song by Sylvia Plath

Posted on September 26, 2012 by Russell Boyle

Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements. Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue. In a drafty museum, your nakedness Shadows our … Continue reading →

Posted in Plath Sylvia | Tagged boyle-young, boyleyoung, favourite, Love set you going like a fat gold watch, poem, poetry, Russell Boyle, russellboyle, russellboyle.com, Sylvia Plath | Leave a comment

The Moon and the Yew Tree by Sylvia Plath

Posted on September 4, 2012 by Russell Boyle

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary. The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue. The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God, Prickling my ankles and murmuring on … Continue reading →

Posted in Plath Sylvia | Tagged boyle, boyle-young, boyleyoung, cold and planetary, favourite, Plath Sylvia, poem, poetry, russell, russellboyle, russellboyle.com, Sylvia, The Moon and the Yew Tree, This is the light of the mind | 2 Comments