Dreams Do Come True

Today, in English class we talked about Sylvia Plath.

We just finished Oedipus Tyrannus (which is the same as Oedipus Rex, in case you were wondering.) So, anyways, after we finished my English teacher goes:

"So, does anyone know who Sylvia Plath is?"

My hand shoots up, and she sort of smiles and then calls on me. I proceed to give a very brief description of who Sylvia was (though in all honesty I could have gone on for quite a long time.) Funny enough, we were talking about irony today as well, and, ironically today I had chosen to wear my The Bell Jar t-shirt.

In case you had no idea, I'm more than a little obsessed with Sylvia Plath. I own multiple copies of The Bell Jar, would like to own more copies, have read her letters, her poems, and have asked to receive her diaries for my birthday this year.

This was second period (so around 9:30am) and it just made me feel giddy for the rest of the day. I went up after class and told my teacher about my love for Sylvia Plath.

The thing about Sylvia is that she is a sort of role model to me, though I do not desire to stick my head into an oven. I feel a desire to learn everything about her, to visit her home, her grave, to see her writings, to hear her speak. I want to time travel back to when she was still alive and go out to tea with her. We'd sit together and discuss literature and writing, and then we would go for a long walk in nature. I'd hug her, watch over her, and make her cookies when she felt sad. I'd tell her that she doesn't need Ted, that he's no good for her. I'd try to save her as best as I could.

Why did my English teacher ask us who Sylvia was?
Because we get to annotate and then analyze one of her poems in which she makes an allusion to Oedipus Tyrannus. Just, AH! My dream! I get to analyze Sylvia Plath for a grade! English class this year is turning into a dream come true.

In which I write a letter to Sylvia Plath

Dear Sylvia,

Today you would have been 79. But you never even got to see your 31st birthday. 

I often wish I could go back in time and help you. To tell you that you were beautiful, that you didn't need to be depressed.

But maybe even that wouldn't have changed anything. Maybe even if I showed you the beauty in the world you still would have make your children a snack and then stuck your head in that oven.

I wish, so badly that I could have met you. I would have loved to talk with you about poetry, because you are one of the people who inspired me to write poems, which is something that I do quite often. In eighth grade, we had to do a Biography Project, and I almost did you. But I wasn't allowed to.

I don't do much to celebrate your birthday, other than think about your poems and life. Maybe I should do more, and maybe I will start a tradition-- though it would start next year because 3:30 pm is a bit too late to start any sort of major tradition.

I've read The Bell Jar about four or five times, which is a lot, given the number of books that I read. I dream about analyzing it and about analyzing your poetry.

Basically, Happy Birthday Sylvia, I miss you even though I never knew you.

Love,

Emily

Thoughts currently in my mind: Sylvia Plath

I feel like I should be posting this on her birthday.
Then I thought: I can post some on Sylvia now AND on her birthday, because I can chose to do whatever I please on here. Then I felt very powerful and now I want to celebrate by drinking tea and watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer but I can't, because it's late and I have school work and college work to do.
But I'm listening to a song by Amber Benson, which is a compromise.

So, Sylvia:

 

Here are some photographs of her. (The one on the right is of her and her younger brother).

Because I am tired I shall only write a poem about Sylvia. I will write more about her on October 27th (what would have been her birthday).

Here goes nothing...

Sylvia,

oh Sylvia!

What a young face, 

what an old mind.

You saw,

you lived,

you were,

too much.

And so you stopped,

long before you needed to,

far before you should have, 

and with such tragedy.

A snack,

and then, 

did they say "I love you Mommy"?

Did they cling to your skirt,

give you hugs and shampoo scented

kisses,

show you real love?

Show you how life wasn't always bad?

Did they cry when you didn't return for them?

Call out "Mama!"?

Oh, Sylvia!

(c) September 2011