2004 Paper 2 - Section 3

To say 'I like' the poetry of Plath would be a great understatement of my appreciation of her work. Reading the works of Sylvia Plath has been an intense and compelling experience. One poem which fascinated me was 'Mirror'. The voice which emerges in this poem is one of cold precision — 'I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.' This entity is chillingly aware of its own power, 'Whatever I see I swallow immediately/Just as it is.' The word 'swallow' is excellently chosen, in my opinion, as it suggests that this mirror can eat us alive and absorb us. Are we so consumed with self-image and reflections of ourselves? When does the relationship between self and self-image become an unhealthy one? The mirror's power is emphasised again, more forcefully: 'The eye of a little god, four-cornered.' Its shape interested me; not round or oval, but angular with sharp corners. Yet just at this point, I feel the mirror's power is destabilised and some control is lost. This is, after all, a 'little god'. There seems to be something pathetic about this and I felt a note of neurosis or instability begins to assert itself in the lines: 'Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall./It is pink, with speckles'. There are limits to the power of this little god which is confined forever to this room. The word 'I' is used eleven times in this poem and it conveys a persona which is very self-obsessed and narcissistic. The figure of Narcissus from Greek fables is evoked in the second stanza when the mirror becomes a lake. The relationship between the woman and the lake is co-dependent and it is the woman who has given the power to the mirror/lake. The lake needs the woman to come and replace 'the darkness', and the woman needs to see herself 'for what she really is' in the lake. This poem intrigued me with the questions it raised about the relationship between self and persona, between self and self-image. The tone and structure are tightly controlled, yet a loss of control threatens and is felt in the atmosphere. The final haunting image is grotesque but memorable: 'In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.' In an age obsessed with image, we need to examine our obsessions and hold them up for scrutiny, just as Plath does in 'Mirror'. Some people find Plath depressing but I find her work strangely energising! Her imagery assaults me sometimes but it is so alive and forceful that it just does not depress this reader. This can be said of 'Elm'. It deals with a harrowing, distorted reality, but its expression of this nightmarish landscape has the vitality and force of the electric shocks which she alludes to in this poem. 'Mirror' spoke of darkness, reaches and depth. Depth is addressed in the opening line of this poem, 'I know the bottom, she says'. Like 'Mirror', the persona shifts. The elm tree is also powerful, fearless and knowing. It sees how the female persona is troubled and seems unconcerned — Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse. Suffering is presented here as an 'atrocity' and the images which follow are horrifying. A sense of fragmentation and loss of control is conveyed in the lines: Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs A wind of such violence Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek. Sound effects are essential in conveying the sinister, haunting atmosphere. The use of sibilance creates a sense of evil: Its snaky acids hiss It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults That kill, that kill, that kill. It may seem strange or morbid to like such imagery, but Plath's work leaves me in awe of the power of words to capture and convey meaning. There may be terrible darkness within us and around us, but how could we bear anything without the words to express and communicate our feelings to others? 'Poppies in July' has proved very popular with my peers. The imagery and the concepts impressed us. The title suggests something delightful, but the opening line tells us that these flowers are 'little hell flames'. Something that appears to be sweet and beautiful can bring great pain. Pain is clearly present in this poem — 'A mouth just bloodied' — but the poet's relationship with pain is complex and not easily grasped. On the one hand pain is something she longs for, if only because it is a physical sensation: If I could bleed, or sleep! — If my mouth could marry a hurt like that! Yet the poet longs for the 'opiates, your nauseous capsules' of the poppies and she also asks that their 'liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule/Dulling and stilling.' It is well known that this poem arose from very real emotional pain, but the poet seems to be exhausted, and too wearied to experience pain for much longer. I like this poem because it challenges me and refuses to be pinned down by one interpretation or understanding. This was evident in class discussion where a variety of interpretations were offered by my classmates. A poem which I found uplifting was 'Black Rook in Rainy Weather'. This poem addresses the frustration of writer's block and the long wait for inspiration. When I have to write a composition and desperately scavenge for ideas which might get me started, like Plath, I don't expect a miracle Or an accident To set the sight on fire In my eye. Just as I might long for an idea or a prompt, Plath often desires 'some backtalk/From the mute sky'. Like many poets before her, Plath looks to the natural elements for inspiration. As a spiritual person, I really liked the spiritual imagery which is linked with moments of inspiration — 'celestial … burning … hallowing … angel … miracles …'. When the moment of inspiration comes, it is a miracle of sorts and the poet herself cannot fully explain it: I only know that a rook Ordering its black feathers can so shine As to seize my senses, haul My eyelids up … This must be a wonderful sensation and the poet seems grateful that she has been bestowed with the gift of creative talent. I especially loved that she did not glorify her creative gifts; even a genius must work, work, work, 'trekking stubborn through this season/Of fatigue', in order to reach her goal. And even when she has attained her goal, she is not fully satisfied; it is merely 'a content/Of sorts'. We are also made aware that such miracles are not frequent happenings; the poem finishes with 'the long wait for the angel/For that rare, random descent'. I loved that this poem ended with the poet waiting again for inspiration, because it gave me the sense that poetry and creativity is never finished; it is ongoing. Other poems impressed me also. In 'Child' and 'Morning Song', motherhood and childbirth were conveyed without the saccharine cliches and sentiment which normally surround them. 'Pheasant' was an interesting exploration of the uneasy relationship between mankind and nature. Her poetry is memorable but I don't need to remember it. I will keep returning to these poems, and I look forward to reading much more of her work without the shadowy influence of the exams.