Sylvia
Source
I had a love
where you spoke one name
and another whispered:
There’s something glamorous
in suicide,
in having the brains to know
there’s nowhere
to escape.
Madness is perfect for poetry:
the endless rhyme and repetition
rocking in that rocking chair
like senility.
Everything tried,
nothing true,
smoke drifting through
a wasted shell.
Huge shout-out to @damianjayclay for the constructive editing help with this, and everyone in the poetry workshop at Isle of Write and The Writer's Block. Also thank you to @snowmachine for her fiction post Sylvia and I, which reminded me that I had this poem moldering away in my poetry notebook. Also, I would like to note that I do not promote suicide- having been suicidal myself long, long ago, I understand why someone might make that choice.
If you are considering suicide, or just need someone to talk to, please consider getting help:
US residents:
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Call 1-800-273-8255
Available 24 hours everyday
Online Chat
Crisis Text Line
Here is the link for international users
art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics
The Writer's Block
Image is from MF on Wordpress
Poetry is property of @sunravelme
I'll precede this by saying that for all of my cultural knowledge, Sylvia Plath is not someone I have first-hand knowledge of, just the way one is spoken of. I wonder how fitting that is, for when one is idolized for being an image of melancholic suicide.
I'll also note that chronic depression has been a companion of mine for many long years. I shouldn't say it, and it should come in my lines or not at all, but in case it lends to them being read differently, I'll put it out there.
The first half of the first stanza did not speak to me, but it might be because I've never been a romantic in this sense, in this very Victorian sense, even, and to me it's ideas more than names that hold power, and I never truly connected to names as symbols. Might be related to what I admire people for.
But, the second half of the first stanza speaks to both the "glamorous loner" paradigm, and also to what depression is like. But even when you are not depressed, it contains the germ of truth - there is nowhere to escape, and when you're not suicidal it's not that you think there's something to run to, but not needing the need to run.
Moreover, this speaks as to why people truly consider suicide - not because they realize that there's nowhere to escape to in their lives, but realizing that there is but one final place to escape to, and that nowhere is that place. A cessation of pain and suffering.
It's not that I support suicide, but I do feel people who've never been suicidal all too often lack the empathy, to not only understand, but try or want to.
I like the second stanza. All of it. I actually would've split it into two stanzas, to better demonstrate the wealth of ideas contained there, and to let them breathe more.
When I felt "madness" overtaking me, I too found myself writing in rhyme. Oh, the rhymes, they just fell one over another, head over heels, like an endless procession of ideas chasing their own tails.
And then you mention repetition, and then immediately present to us repetition. And "rocking" is a good word for repetition, as there's not much that's as repetitive as rocking back and forth. Rocking chair, repetitive phrases, both are but tools we use to soothe children, and our own aches.
Senility, the opposite direction of the babes I've mentioned. But is that not how it goes? That what is scariest about getting old is that we find ourselves once more where we began? Both figuratively, and mentally?
Finally, I like "A wasted shell," speaking both to this wasted body, and to the bullet's remains. And also, the ashen remains of a burnt-out life. Of a life full of burned bridges, burned words.
Holy crud, that's quite the comment! I'm glad to you found something to connect to, even if the romanticism of the beginning didn't strike you! Rhyme always feels a little mad to me ;)
Those opening lines...ahh
the bullet metaphor for senility in the last two lines always hits me like a ton of bricks, @sunravelme.
I hate to choose just one part to comment on in such a well written piece about a writer who I have the utmost respect for in Plath, but man have you really given her such a strong tribute in those lines alone.
I know she would be proud she's still inspiring such great writing today and I'm so happy that you are here to share such a vulnerable and open, yet beautifully human piece with the world.
Madness is perfect for poetry, it's true, but the process of editing, too!
All in all too stunning, Sun, absolutely stunning.
Yes lol there might be a little madness in the editing process! I adore Sylvia as a poet- her work was probably my biggest inspiration, especially as an emo-ridden teen.
I love the line about suicide being glamorous. It made me chuckle! It's ironic, how when the brain takes over the mind and creates chaos, it comes back to threaten the brain. Maybe that's not what you meant, but I guess that's the art of poetry - allowing the reader to interpret it as his perception does. The rocking chair was a great add/imagery as well!
Thank you! My favorite part of poetry is hearing what others interpret it as; Ultimately, it is an interaction between the writer and the reader, not just the writer.
Yes. I think that's what I love about Steemit so much. On other sites all I get is "thank you" and "keep going" or "appreciate it", here many people seem willing to interact. Also, it was kinda funny that while you were commenting on my post I was reading yours (haha, ok maybe not that funny...just a coincidence)
smoke drifting through
a wasted shell.
ahh gets me right in the feels, wonderfully evocative end.
where you spoke one name
and another whispered:
I quite like this as well. When one calls you strong, it whispers weak. Beautiful? Repulsive. Hope? A cold cutting truth. The whisper in the back of your mind, the murmurings of truth once denied.
What a lovely bit of poetry in this comment! Love it!
Where you spoke one name and another whispered.
like the search for summer and find of winter.
nice work.
💪
I did write something of revert reflection on mirror man, you could check my blog
Very cool! I see you also entered our first writers block poetry contest- wishing you luck!
Thanks Alot.
I just hope it worth the win.
Just for the encouragement
Nice. Poetic, and without many rhymes. Neat!
Thank you! I tend to stick with free verse, I don't think in rhyme much
sometimes the rhymes do not just fall in place.
even when you try to.
Nice poetry
nice post
writing is a good experiance
carry on
Sylvia was my fisrst peoteic crush than then Nin -- I did not come to her words through her bio and suicide, I came upon Ariel, all dusty in the basement where I spent my early years in exile.
Always and forever the love for Plath. <3