Musings of a Bibliomaniac

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.