The beautiful poem by miss Sylvia Plath 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.
My 2 cents –
Okay I know that this is a poem…being sung to music. But I love Sylvia Plath and I couldn’t Resist Sharing it. It is so pretty.
I mentioned I was doing this again. I don’t know where the poems are going to go…not yet. So I have a separate notebook for them. I again signed up for the half marathon, but I am hoping to keep up with the whole thing. I will still be posting my Mermay challenge for today…just gonna be a little later.
I live in a world where biography's Indicate fictional characters Which apparently means there is naught That we in the real world could learn from them...
History is become the darkness that clouds what lay ahead of us, Instead of shedding light on where we have been.
And as I struggle to light the path for those around me Feeling as though this might just be a war I cannot win...
I realize that even if I am becoming fiction... I still will never be the person that they want in the end....
I was watching a video of The North Omaha Cat Lady. Incredible creator. She was reacting to a comment claiming Anne Frank was a fictional character. Admittedly that inspired Serena’s Poem, and broke my heart. Anne Frank was an incredible young lady. There have been very few biographical books I have enjoyed over the course of time I have been a reader, and her diary was one. The other that stands out was the nine days queen…the story of Lady Jane Grey.
Please if all of the best historical people are to become fiction…then let us still learn from their example. Just because something is fiction does not stop the truth behind it. We can learn from history, from fiction and from each other if we just open our hearts and our minds.
Right now is a scary time to be alive, especially if you live anywhere in the USA. I really try not to be too political on here as I don’t feel like that is what most people come to my blog for. However, having said that…Sometimes it hurts to be self aware in a time of political turmoil and unrest.
Pattimouse 