Black lake, black boat, two black, cut-paper people.
Where do the black trees go that drink here?
Their shadows must cover Canada.
A little light is filtering from the water flowers.
Their leaves do not wish us to hurry:
They are round and flat and full of dark advice.
Cold worlds shake from the oar.
The spirit of blackness is in us, it is in the fishes.
A snag is lifting a valedictory, pale hand;
Stars open among the lilies.
Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens?
This is the silence of astounded souls.
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Comments
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one of my favorite plath poems, the last stanza still amazes me every time I read it.
I do wonder what sparked this write. ooooh and I also like line three "their shadows must cover canada." for some reason that imagery has always struck me.
ugh, I wish I could write as well as sylvia plath did. of course I do not wish upon myself the pain that she endured to produce such writing...
I often wonder, would sylvia have been so famous, would her poetry have been so well-liked and well-known, had she not suffered so greatly with depression?
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