Syvia Plath writing in her journal, 23 Fitzroy Road, London, February 1963 - genesis of the poem and video link

Writing my Sylvia Plath homage poem involved reading several biographies of Sylvia, a biography of her poet husband, Ted Hughes, and a biography of the woman he left Sylvia for - Assia Wevill.
I also re-read Sylvia's poems, especially the ones written in the last weeks of her life.
A key fact that helped me in writing the poem was learning that the winter that Sylvia killed herself was the coldest London in 100 years.
Melbourne poet, David Lumsden, also encouraged me to write a Sylvia Plath poem that didn't mention gas - unlit gas fumes from the kitchen oven being the cause of Sylvia's death.
Over the course of two years I revised the poem a dozen times. Reading all the biographies concerning Sylvia, Ted and their circle, was invaluable to me in realizing the poem. I get lots of poems from reading - reading continues to seed poems for me. Click here to hear and see me read the Sylvia poem.

Sylvia Plath writing in her journal, 23 Fitzroy Road, London, February 1963

7 a.m.

Beyond the bedpost

no mirage of glad husband

moving tall towards me with his English offer

of toast and marmalade,

a cup of tea.

He’s with another.                                                                                                   

 

She has mongrel blood,

a Knightsbridge accent,

can turn a man into

a spinning top,

an arsonist in the house of marriage.

 

One day she’ll become

a book that my husband

has tired of reading.

 

I’ll go soon, far from

Massachusetts, Devon, London,

the zoo where my selves are caged,

venomous snake,

sacrificial lamb,

sleepless monkey examining its fleas.

 

Outside snowflakes fall,

drafts of a poem torn to bits.

 

In the night sky

I see the Zoo-keeper.

From his starlit belt

important keys hang.

 

He moves towards me,

I towards him.

 

We’ll embrace

where it’s black.