Nature is ancient

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.

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