It probably won't be right to draw comparisons between the Sylvia Plath who wrote Mad Girl's Love Song
during her time at Smith's and the Sylvia Plath of Ariel
. There's a world of difference between a Sylvia merely mourning lost love and a bitter, lonesome, vengeful, depressed Sylvia trying to live out the last vestiges of a tumultuous life by seeking a form of catharsis through these poems. And, indeed, a very personal set of poems these are.
It took me a while to get through this book not only because you cannot breeze through poetry as if it were a piece of fiction. But because my obsession with Daddy, Lady Lazarus
and The Applicant
got in the way of my progress with the remaining poems.
I think I have read the 3 at least 20 times each since the day I picked up Ariel.
Merely trying to imagine the ways, in which this lady could have further overwhelmed the literary world had she lived a full life, gives me goosebumps.
Who would have thought that cutting your thumb on a chopping board could transform into exquisite poetry?
A million stars.