Though I love literature, I am not a poetry reader. Prose is what speaks to me the most.
Nonetheless, every now and then a poet or a poem find their way into my liking, and I always wish I would give it more of my attention.
I have been quite curious about Sylvia Plath for some time now. I find her words so dramatically touching that I often feel compelled to be in her shoes. What a surprising feeling.
Here’s a poem I found that I really liked:
I Am Vertical
But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
Sucking up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
And I want the one’s longevity and the other’s daring.
Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,
The trees and the flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them–
Thoughts gone dim.
It is more natural to me, lying down.
Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
Then the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.
It is so beautiful to think of death as a return to nature I dare not say more about Plath’s words.
I can only feel them.