In the marketplace they are piling the dry sticks.
A thicket of shadows is a poor coat. I inhabit
The wax image of myself, a doll's body.
Sickness begins here: I am the dartboard for witches.
Only the devil can eat the devil out.
In the month of red leaves I climb to a bed of fire.
It is easy to blame the dark: the mouth of a door,
The cellar's belly. They've blown my sparkler out.
A black-sharded lady keeps me in parrot cage.
What large eyes the dead have!
I am intimate with a hairy spirit.
Smoke wheels from the beak of this empty jar.
If I am a little one, I can do no harm.
If I don't move about, I'll knock nothing over. So I said,
Sitting under a potlid, tiny and inert as a rice grain.
They are turning the burners up, ring after ring.
We are full of starch, my small white fellows. We grow.
It hurts at first. The red tongues will teach the truth.
Mother of beetles, only unclench your hand:
I'll fly through the candle's mouth like a singeless moth.
Give me back my shape. I am ready to construe the days
I coupled with dust in the shadow of a stone.
My ankles brighten. Brightness ascends my thighs.
I am lost, I am lost, in the robes of all this light.
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Witch Burning
From guest Helen (contact)
I came here looking for another poem and found this. This poem is so deep it drew me in and made me sweat profusely in my winter coat. It should forever put to rest any doubts about her ability as a poet. -
Witch Burning
From guest Brad (contact)
Thanks for submitting this poem. It's one of my favorites. I wish it didn't have the typos though. it should read "candle's mouth" and "robes of all this light." -
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Hope the typo's didn't spoil your enjoyment of Plath's poem Brad.
I have corrected them now.
Thank you for pointing them out and helping us make the site work.
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it made me cry......
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so much imagery in this piece...I think the strongest of all her pieces as that goes - but not my favorite mind you
Now, the wax body bit is genius...the human soul seemingly formed and solid so vulnerable really when others turn up the heat. Of course there is a saddness here, as with much of Plath's works...it is that reoccuring sense of helplessness and exhaustion over it. Phew...she never ceases to amaze me! -
"Sickness begins here: I am the dartboard for witches.
Only the devil can eat teh devil out." A sad fact, but expressed very well.
~ Lady ~
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I wonder if this was about the time she locked herself in the cellar (I think) and over dosed on pills?
The metaphors are brilliantly concocted, the wording rich in layered meaning and imagery.
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This is so sad to me. "My ankles brighten. Brightness ascends my thighs. I am lost, I am lost, in the roves of all this light."
"It hurts at first. The red tongues will teach the truth."
Love, Ashlee
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