Emily Dickinson & Sylvia

Plath
By Akeisha Kantor
 Emily Sylvia
Dickinson Plath
- Cyclical
- Inferiority towards - Human existence
Rebirth
certain recurrence characterized by
- Mortality resilience and
- Isolation autonomy

- Alienation
Transcendentalism & Dark Romanticism

Recluse

Intuition & spirituality > materialism

Massachusetts during the civil war

• Her poetry began to reflect death

Dealing with existential concepts

• Grief over uncontrollable

• Universality of our lives
I dreaded that first Robin, so,
But He is mastered, now,
I'm some accustomed to Him grown,
He hurts a little, though —
I thought If I could only live
Till that first Shout got by —
Had power to mangle me —
I dared not meet the Daffodils —
For fear their Yellow Gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own —
I wished the Grass would hurry —
So — when 'twas time to see —
He'd be too tall, the tallest one
Could stretch — to look at me —
I Dreaded That First Robin So
I could not bear the Bees should come,
I wished they'd stay away
In those dim countries where they go,
What word had they, for me?
They're here, though; not a creature failed —
No Blossom stayed away
In gentle deference to me —
The Queen of Calvary —
Each one salutes me, as he goes,
And I, my childish Plumes,
Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment
Of their unthinking Drums —
I dared not meet the Daffodils —
For fear their Yellow Gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own —
I dared not meet the Daffodils
—
For fear their Yellow Gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own —
I dared not meet the Daffodils
—
For fear their Yellow Gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own —
I dared not meet the Daffodils
—
For fear their Yellow Gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own —
They're here, though; not a creature failed
—
No Blossom stayed away
In gentle deference to me —
The Queen of Calvary —
They're here, though; not a creature failed —
No Blossom stayed away
In gentle deference to me —
The Queen of Calvary —
Born in 1932

First poem published when she was 8

Attempted to take her life 2 years after

• Again 10 years after
• Hospitalized and brought back to life

Confessional style

Focusing on an extreme moment

• Her suicide

Isolation & death

Timeless nature of Plath’s work

 As a seashell.
Lady Lazarus They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
And I a smiling woman. So, Herr Enemy.
Dying
I am only thirty.
Is an art, like everything else. I am your opus,
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
I do it exceptionally well. I am your valuable,
This is Number Three. The pure gold baby
I do it so it feels like hell.
I have done it again. What a trash
I do it so it feels real. That melts to a shriek.
One year in every ten To annihilate each decade.
I guess you could say I’ve a call. I turn and burn.
I manage it——
What a million filaments. Do not think I underestimate your great
It’s easy enough to do it in a cell. concern.
A sort of walking miracle, my skin The peanut-crunching crowd
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
Bright as a Nazi lampshade, Shoves in to see
It’s the theatrical Ash, ash—
My right foot
You poke and stir.
Them unwrap me hand and foot—— Comeback in broad day Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——
A paperweight, The big strip tease. To the same place, the same face, the same brute
My face a featureless, fine Gentlemen, ladies Amused shout: A cake of soap,
Jew linen.
A wedding ring,
These are my hands ‘A miracle!’ A gold filling.
Peel off the napkin My knees. That knocks me out.
O my enemy. I may be skin and bone, There is a charge Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Do I terrify?——
Beware
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman. For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
Beware.
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth? The first time it happened I was ten. For the hearing of my heart——
The sour breath It was an accident. It really goes. Out of the ash
Will vanish in a day.
I rise with my red hair
The second time I meant And there is a charge, a very large charge And I eat men like air.
Soon, soon the flesh To last it out and not come back at all. For a word or a touch
The grave cave ate will be I rocked shut Or a bit of blood
At home on me
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.

The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
 ◦Persona who uses figurative language

◦Influence of vivid and visual natural surroundings ◦Dominates over own mortality

◦Affecting her isolation and alienation ◦Resulting from past experiences with death

◦Spring becomes a reminder of certain mortality ◦ Leading to her isolation

◦Dickinson has reconciled ◦Exploited and objectified