DPF / Plath

For if only we had her today, she’d be 84 until her birthday this year, from the St. Martins Press first edition of this (prose) children’s book, The It-Doesn’t-Matter Suit.

from The It-Doesn’t-Matter Suit / by Sylvia Plath


DPF / Plath

For her looking back over such a short life, and for myself, though I’ve wished it, we never could have crossed paths, as Plath died 17 days before I was born, from the Faber and Faber first edition of Winter Trees.

from Mystic / by Sylvia Plath

The children leap in their cots.
The sun blooms, it is a geranium.

The heart has not stopped.

DPF / Plath

For memories of teenage jobs and all that looking back from a different vantage, from the Faber and Faber first edition of Crossing the Water.

from The Babysitters / by Sylvia Plath

It is ten years, now, since we rowed to Children’s Island.
The sun flamed straight down that noon on the water off Marblehead.

DPF / Plath

For an almost happy poem, a wishful, wistful poem, from the 1972 Harper & Row first edition of Winter Trees.

from Child / by Sylvia Plath

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with colors and ducks,
The zoo of the new

Whose names you meditate —
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,


DPF / Plath

For another favorite poem with a bit of Roethke in it, and a poem which reminds me of the few days of my life I spent in Ireland, one of them in a cottage overlooking the edge of the sea and a stretch of grass ghosted in barely-moving sheets of sheep, from the Faber “paper covered” edition of Ariel.

from Sheep in Fog / by Sylvia Plath

Hooves, dolorous bells —
All morning the
Morning has been blackening,

A flower left out.
My bones hold a stillness, the far
Fields melt my heart.