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Symbolism and imagery of sylvia plath
Symbolism and imagery of sylvia plath
Symbolism and imagery of sylvia plath
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“I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck,
Kissed me quite insane."
"Plath," I whispered.
"Yes, Plath." There was a hint of happiness in his voice. I could tell he was smiling.
The cool breeze bore with it the intoxicating fragrance of wild flowers and made the boat sway in its harmony. I lay on my back, closed my eyes and listened. The ripples that formed on the water, the little waves that swept against the oars, his breaths, my heartbeat -- I listened, for that was all I could do.
I kept my eyes closed as his mellifluous voice mollified my insides but only for a moment. All of a sudden, it felt as if my arteries had tied themselves into a knot around my heart like barbed wires and restrained it from beating.
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I wondered if he would never read me poetry like he did if I asked him what I was about to. I wondered if I would lose my best friend who had been my light for as long as I could remember. I wondered if I'd lose the man who had left his beautiful wife in bed today saying he was only going for a walk, only to come visit me and read me silly poetry. But I had to know.
'I showed this book to mother last night. She-"
"You're not supposed to show this book to anybody. This is our book. Why would you-"
"No, I didn't let her read the poems. I just asked her how many poems there were. And -- and she said there were six. And all this time… all this time, you've only read me five."
He remained silent, and with every second that passed, I felt myself break, bit by bit.
"Why would you skip out a poem all this time?" I demanded, my feeble voice trembled as my nerves got the best of me.
"Because the poem is all about colours.And you wouldn't know what the poet is talking about."
Fool. He thought my thoughts, dreams and imagination were monochromatic. If only I could explain to him how vibrant they were. If only I could give him a peek of the explosions of colours, the fireworks that took place behind the vacancy of my eyes every moment I was with him! But my insecurities didn't let me. What if he didn't believe what I
“I look to poetry, with its built-in capacity for compressed and multivalent language, as a place where many senses can be made of the world. If this is true, and I’ve built a life around the notion that it is, poetry can get us closer to reality in all its fluidity and complexity.”
This reaction from the blue poetry book shines a light on the power of literature- what occurred after she had read the first lines altered her state of mind,.
Poetry is something that is to be read delicately and cautiously if one wanted to find meaning through the words. Readers have to be gentle and patiently ponder about what they are reading in order to find any significance in the poem. If someone is not patient with reading, they will not feel impacted by poetry and will not want to read it. In Billy Collins’, “Introduction to Poetry,” he uses figurative language to help readers see that the way to enjoy and understand poetry is by reading between the lines and being patient with how each individual relates to the readings.
The foamy wavelets curled up to her white feet and coiled like serpents about her ankles. She walked out. The water was chill but she walked on. The water was deep, but she lifted her white body and reached out with a long, sweeping stroke. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.
Poetry is often created by an author’s need to escape the logical, as well as expressing feelings and other expressions in a tight, condensed manner. Hundreds of poets have impacted society throughout history through phenomenal poetry that, even with dark tones can be emotionally moving.
Good poetry provides meaningful commentary. One indication of a poem’s success in this is the depth of thought the reader has as a result of the poem. The poems I anthologized may take different
Just as the surroundings would seem different through color slides, he asks the readers to see the world from diverse viewpoints while reading and writing poems. Moreover, by listening to the poem’s hive, dropping a mouse, and walking inside its room, Collins encourages readers to discover the concealed depth of poetry. He comments that the readers should enjoy the poem in a way they would like to water ski.... ... middle of paper ... ...
I have elected to analyze seven poems spoken by a child to its parent. Despite a wide variety of sentiments, all share one theme: the deep and complicated love between child and parent.
In today’s modern view, poetry has become more than just paragraphs that rhyme at the end of each sentence. If the reader has an open mind and the ability to read in between the lines, they discover more than they have bargained for. Some poems might have stories of suffering or abuse, while others contain happy times and great joy. Regardless of what the poems contains, all poems display an expression. That very moment when the writer begins his mental journey with that pen and paper is where all feelings are let out. As poetry is continues to be written, the reader begins to see patterns within each poem. On the other hand, poems have nothing at all in common with one another. A good example of this is in two poems by a famous writer by the name of Langston Hughes. A well-known writer that still gets credit today for pomes like “ Theme for English B” and “Let American be American Again.”
Poetry may be the hardest form of literature to examine, at least for me. After reading some of our assigned poems this semester I was left completely confused, as to not only the authors purpose, but also the relevance and importance of the poem; None ...
Accidental Love Letter to My Favorite Poet The first poem I ever heard that made me feel something, like really feel something—goosebumps running down my arms, hair raising on the back of my neck, and even at times gut-wrenching horror—was a spoken word piece called “For Eli”. A small, timid, and anxious looking person had projected so much emotion out of their voice and forced it onto the unprepared crowd. The passion was palpable; it seemed to fill the room until there was no air left to breathe, so I salvaged what was left and held my breath.
"People either love it, or they hate it," Fred proclaimed again, for the umpteenth time. His reddish face almost glowed against the gray sky. The combination of giddy grin, round cheeks, and fine, yellow, tousled hair yielded a face far too boyish for a man in his mid-fifties. But the always-present twinkle in Fred's eye was ever so slightly diminished today, and I knew why: he feared that his intuition might be mistaken and that I might not, after all, take to today's activity. His concern was compounded by weather; it was far from ideal for this, my first sail. Why was it so important to him that I like sailing anyway?
Eventually, the current became a little stronger and the ride a little swifter. My feelings of disappointment slowly vanished and feelings of excitement and exhilaration took their place. As the terrain surrounding us became more rocky and rough, so did the river. It was no longer calm and clear like a mountain lake, but more whi...
Standing along side of the white chicken, the audience comes to the conclusion that colors are more than simply put colors in the poem but hold much more value in understanding the true meaning of the
Out to the arms of the lake, we stared and admired in every manner to cherish and remember it like a picture that never change. I held her hand and began walking towards the dock, which extended shortly into the water face. The dock was of metal, not sleek but shinny, not clean but unnoticed as we looked into...