destroyed-and-abandoned:

Old waterwell. .

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propisces:

Krikor Jabotian - Spring Summer 2014

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likeafieldmouse:

Kasper Kovitz - Rate Your Progress (2009)

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hannigraham:

Alrighty! I decided to make a masterpost for the lovely and talented Sylvia Plath. Here you will find the links I could find to her various works, journals, interviews, and readings. Please enjoy, and if there is any problem with the links or ones that could be added, please contact me via ask. :)

P O E T R Y

Collections:

• The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath,(edited by Ted Hughes)

Reading her poetry:

• Daddy
• Lady Lazarus
• Tulips
• The Disquieting Muses
• Parliament Hill Fields
• Berck-Plage
• A Birthday Present
• The Ghost’s Leavetaking
• The Stones
• Cut
• The Moon Was A Fat Woman Once (The Thin People)
• Fever 103
• Excerpts from Ariel part 1, part 2, part 3

P R O S E

Novel:

• The Bell Jar

Short Story Collections:

• Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams 
• Superman and Paula Brown’s New Snowsuit

Children’s Books:

• The Bed Book,(Illustrated by Quentin Blake)
• The It-Doesn’t-Matter-Suit, (Illustrated by Rotraut Susanne Berner)

H E R   L I F E

Her Journals:

• The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Interviews with her:

• 1961 BBC Interview with Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes on Literature and Love
• Talking about England
• 1962 Interview with Peter Orr

Documentaries and such on her:

• Sylvia Plath - Marriage by Fate
• Voices and Visions

Interviews with those who knew her:

• Smith College Sylvia Plath 75th Year Symposium
• Frieda Hughes on her mother’s drawings
• Q&A with Frieda Hughes
• Interview with Ted Hughes

A D A P T A T I O N S

Of her life:

• Sylvia (2003)

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delicious-food-porn:

cake-stuff:

lemon meringue layer cake

• click here for recipe

Follow for more food porn!

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h0odrich:

word

theliteraryalchemist:

Goodbye for Now

From my rotting body flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.
—Edvard Munch

An immortal beloved, dovetailed
wonder, cringing with decrepit grip
for one more crescendo—I remember
being a young thing when hearing
Whitman, reciting his verse, And
I will show that nothing can happen
more beautiful than death. E tu?

Does it occur to you that we’ve been
born in blood, also? That life is a
means to death—the passing second,
the paradigm shift into something new, is
decay? We feed this life entropy, yes—
undressing our layers until there is
no more body. Still believe our cries
countless is weakness? On your knees

curling into a fetus as you once were,
unto that fleshy shell, becoming
single celled by the sound of a cloister
bell. Is the end a means to
achieving singularity, the black hole’s
densest point, filled with the tightness
of matter & light? How delightful—

considering how much mana we’ve
absorbed up until that point, joining with
our feral kin when we dream of
garlands garnishing about our heads;
not this time—fall was the big bang,

when I was reminded of the boys who
bent my boughs, bowing low to
their climbing, those young men
crowned as kings as they held the taper
of my longest finger pointing to
Heaven, holding something sacred
without my diadem of leaves. Here’s
the fading flare, a mesh of despair &
richness, fulfillment of refraction

fragmenting & splintering designs of
an individual snowflake. At least we all
can say there will never be another
“me” or “I” to fill this trap, this laughter
echoing—whether a mock or celebration
the lows & highs of depression &
elation. I cannot stress out this speech

any longer. I belong there. Yes, see
that sun? Behind you, smoldering at
the horizon line among a pink sky…
Please enjoy the fruit that had fell
from me so long ago. Please grow.

-RY



Artwork:

Le Chêne, 1903
Edvard Munch, Norwegian painter & sketcher (b. 1864—d. 1943)

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