Sylvia Plath - A Birthday Present

I love this poem.

*Ahem* By my favourite poet, Sylvia Plath.

Image; zastavki.com

What is this, behind this veil, is it ugly, is it beautiful?
It is shimmering, has it breasts, has it edges?

I am sure it is unique, I am sure it is what I want.
When I am quiet at my cooking I feel it looking, I feel it thinking

'Is this the one I am too appear for,
Is this the elect one, the one with black eye-pits and a scar?

Measuring the flour, cutting off the surplus,
Adhering to rules, to rules, to rules.

Is this the one for the annunciation?
My god, what a laugh!'

But it shimmers, it does not stop, and I think it wants me.
I would not mind if it were bones, or a pearl button.

I do not want much of a present, anyway, this year.
After all I am alive only by accident.

I would have killed myself gladly that time any possible way.
Now there are these veils, shimmering like curtains,

The diaphanous satins of a January window
White as babies' bedding and glittering with dead breath. O ivory!

It must be a tusk there, a ghost column.
Can you not see I do not mind what it is.

Can you not give it to me?
Do not be ashamed--I do not mind if it is small.

Do not be mean, I am ready for enormity.
Let us sit down to it, one on either side, admiring the gleam,

The glaze, the mirrory variety of it.
Let us eat our last supper at it, like a hospital plate.

I know why you will not give it to me,
You are terrified

The world will go up in a shriek, and your head with it,
Bossed, brazen, an antique shield,

A marvel to your great-grandchildren.
Do not be afraid, it is not so.

I will only take it and go aside quietly.
You will not even hear me opening it, no paper crackle,

No falling ribbons, no scream at the end.
I do not think you credit me with this discretion.

If you only knew how the veils were killing my days.
To you they are only transparencies, clear air.

But my god, the clouds are like cotton.
Armies of them. They are carbon monoxide.

Sweetly, sweetly I breathe in,
Filling my veins with invisibles, with the million

Probable motes that tick the years off my life.
You are silver-suited for the occasion. O adding machine-----

Is it impossible for you to let something go and have it go whole?
Must you stamp each piece purple,

Must you kill what you can?
There is one thing I want today, and only you can give it to me.

It stands at my window, big as the sky.
It breathes from my sheets, the cold dead center

Where split lives congeal and stiffen to history.
Let it not come by the mail, finger by finger.

Let it not come by word of mouth, I should be sixty
By the time the whole of it was delivered, and to numb to use it.

Only let down the veil, the veil, the veil.
If it were death

I would admire the deep gravity of it, its timeless eyes.
I would know you were serious.

There would be a nobility then, there would be a birthday.
And the knife not carve, but enter

Pure and clean as the cry of a baby,
And the universe slide from my side.

El guerrero Pegaso by Boris Esteban Bernal Castillo.

El guerrero Pegaso
Author: Boris Esteban Bernal Castillo.

Read Here at: http://borisestebitanbernalcastillo.blogspot.co.uk/2013/12/el-guerrero-pegaso_13.html

Mis alas de Pegaso me hacen volar alto,
Mi espíritu brilla como nunca,
Los rostros de maldad ya no me dan miedo,
Porque yo creo en mi propia luz.

Valentía y perseverancia,
Ardo en esperanza,
Es tiempo de resplandecer entre las estrellas.

Tengo fe, todavía tengo mucho por aprender,
No me despediré sin antes cumplir mis sueños,
Tengo coraje, todavía tengo batallas por luchar,
No me rendiré sin antes demostrar mi valor.

¿Por qué llorar pensando en lo que he perdido?,
Todos tenemos un pequeño universo por dentro,
Podemos hacer estallar el poder de nuestra alma,
Yo expandiré mi universo por toda la galaxia.

Creer en mí mismo, seguir adelante,
Mi verdadero poder siempre ha estado en el corazón.

Tengo ilusión, quiero sentir el viento de la felicidad,
No diré adiós sin antes agotar mi última gota de esperanza,
Tengo una mirada desafiante, necesito llegar hasta el final,
No me frenaré, esto es importante para mí.

Amor propio y sacar fuerzas de la nada,
Lograr una hazaña cuando todo parece perdido.

Tengo luz interna, meteoros llenos de nobles sentimientos,
Seguiré volando hasta superar mis debilidades,
Tengo ganas de ser feliz, reuniré todo mi poder para conseguirlo,
Todos los meteoros se unen para formar un cometa de Pegaso.



English Translation (according to Google Translate):

My Pegasus wings make me fly higher ,
My spirit shines as never before,
The faces of evil no longer scare me ,
Because I believe in my own light .

Courage and perseverance,
Ardo in hope,
Time to shine among the stars.

I have faith , I still have much to learn ,
I do not take leave without fulfilling my dreams,
I am angry , I still have battles to fight,
I will not give up without prove my worth .

Why mourn thinking about what I lost ? ,
We all have a little world within,
We can blow up the power of our soul ,
I will expand my universe throughout the galaxy .

Believing in myself , go ahead ,
My real power has always been at the heart .

I have hope , I feel the wind of happiness
I will not say goodbye without first exhausting my last drop of hope
I have a defiant look , I need to get to the end ,
I 'll brake No , this is important to me.

Self-esteem and draw strength from nothing,
Achieving a feat when all seems lost .

I have inner light , meteor full of noble sentiments ,
I will continue flying to overcome my weaknesses ,
I want to be happy , I will gather all my power to get it,
All meteors come together to form a comet Pegasus .




I love this poem so much.

Naturally I did have to translate it to understand but after reading it in English I was stunned. It's so beautiful and uplifting and generally a very happy poem. It makes me feel really happy.
Please check out Boris' blog!



Me .
________________________________________

I Wrote This Poem,

and I don't think I'm very good at this, but I didn't know what else to do to about the whole committing suicide thing so here goes.

Dots
(S.K. 4/5/13)

Little errors,
A sheet full of them
A littered conversation
And my imperfect body. 

Happiest when
A dark thing remains distant
A polluted mind fragments
And my senses slumber. 

Crying out
A four-walled room swallows tears
A pillow and a duvet cuddle me
And I smother a thought-bubble.

________________________________________

Sylvia Plath - Sheep In Fog

The hills step off into whiteness
People or stars
Regard me sadly, I disappoint them

The train leaves a line of breath
O slow
Horse the colour of rust

Hooves, dolorous bells -
All morning the
Morning has been blackening.

A flower left out.
My bones hold a stillness, the far
Fields melt my heart.

They threaten
To let me through to a heaven
Starless and fatherless, a dark water.


By my favourite poet, the talented Sylvia Plath.


University is clearly not for me. I will endure, because I will be in a better position when I come out than I was when I went in. But all of that is presuming I will still be alive and breathing when I come out.

I'm trying to write again. A friend, Carmela, inspired me to do it. We'll see how it goes. I may even post something on this blog... for once.



Star xx
________________________________________

I Keep All Of Your Kisses

iii.
i keep all of your kisses
on the back of my tongue.
to taste you slightly,
when hunger strikes;
softly 

iv.
you say,
let's sleep naked tonight -
just to see what happens.

-- cont. by Sarah, from the blog Bears For Hugs (bearsforhugs.blogspot.com)

... I have no idea why, (seeing as I cannot relate to this poem at all,) but this really moved me. It's as if it's trying to jog up a memory I do not have. It's quite likely that it's reminding me of something I wrote, once...



... I wish I could remember what it was.

  

Love,

Star xx
________________________________________

Sylvia Plath - Tulips

By my favourite poet.

The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.
Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in.
I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly
As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.
I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.
I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses
And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons.

They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff
Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.
Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.
The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,
They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,
Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,
So it is impossible to tell how many there are.

My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water
Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently.
They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep
Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage
My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox,
My husband and child smiling out of the family photo;
Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.

I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat
Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.
Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley
I watched my teaset, my bureaus of linen, my books
Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head.
I am a nun now, I have never been so pure.

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.

The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe
Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.
Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.
They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down
Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,
A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.

Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.
The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me
Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,
And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow
Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,
And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself
The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.

Before they came the air was calm enough,
Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.
Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.
Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river
Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.
They concentrate my attention, that was happy
Playing and resting without committing itself.

The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.
The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;
They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,
And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes
Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.
The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,
And comes from a country far away as health.


________________________________________