“It’s a relief to turn to the poems themselves and once more be jolted by their strange beauty, hard-wrought originality, and acetylene anger.”
NO MAJOR SPOILERS
For me, lunch breaks at Claire’s Accessories meant only one thing- finding somewhere to sit down long enough to take the edge of an 8-hour shift spent stood behind a till. This often left me with one solid option, the refuge of Waterstones and its comfy sofas. Not to be too obvious in taking advantage of this luxury, I’d pick up a book first with the feigned interest of purchasing it later. I had always wanted to read some Plath, having been interested in alternative poetry as most angst-ridden teenagers so commonly are and therefore picked up this copy of her Collected Poems. Flicking through at random, I stopped at a piece entitled ‘Tulips’ and more specifically, at a verse which read:
I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted
To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.
How free it is, you have no idea how free –
The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,
And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.
It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them
Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.