As the leaves begin to slowly dwindle to the ground in their self-destructing state, and the crisp wind whistles carelessly through the air, the subtle notes of autumn begin to show their colors in the sky. The cool tone of the weather is reminiscent of the soul that was Sylvia Plath. It would be on this day, October 27th, that Plath would greet a cake full of blinding candles with a heavy frown. Plath detested her birthday. Thinking of the passage of time was not something she’d like to celebrate, but rather, she mourned the dreary path of life. I still gift to her, however, the remembrance of her life and her impact on poetry.
“I do not want much of a present, anyway, this year. After all, I am alive only by accident.”
(Ariel: The Restored Edition, A Birthday Present, Sylvia Plath)
Adolescence & Education
Whilst Plath is known for her portrayal of mental health in literature, until the age of nine, she states, she was carefree and happy. She beamed with joy, free of somberness, and spent her days reading, writing, and basking in the sun of the outdoors, whilst she waited for father, Otto, to return home from work. Every day, after a long day of lectures, he would sit in the living room, where Plath would rest alongside him, consistent with her routine to pester him every evening. Evidently, it was Otto himself who encouraged his daughter’s writing. Unfortunately, in 1940, he succumbed to a cardiac embolism when Plath was only eight years old. After her father’s death, Plath believed that he did not love her enough to live. His death was a betrayal. From then forth, Plath was never the same.
Nevertheless, Plath continued to be an exceptional student. Throughout high school, she got full marks, and her poems were published in various magazines. At 18, she got a full scholarship to Smith’s College, a private women’s college in Massachusetts. Plath continued to propel towards excellence. She was at the top of her class, a recognized writer in her community, and an interned guest editor at Mademoiselle magazine during the summer of 1953. In every aspect of academics, she shone. However, it was at this point that Plath made her first suicide attempt. On a summer day, she swallowed forty sleeping pills, crept into the floorboards of her childhood home, and waited to fall asleep forever. When she awoke in the hospital two days later, she looked at her mother and exclaimed, “That was my last act of love.”
After being hospitalized for a brief period, Plath found herself back at Smith’s in the spring. At the end of her senior year, she graduated Summa Cum Laude, earned the Fulbright Scholarship to Cambridge University in England, and began her graduate studies. It was at Cambridge that Plath met her future husband, Ted Hughes.
“I write only because / There is a voice within me / That will not be still”
(Letters Home: Correspondence, Part One, Sylvia Plath)
Marriage & Death
Plath approached Hughes at a launch party, February of ‘56. Impressed by his work, she sparked a conversation about poetry. The night came and went as they conversed and danced. Before they parted ways, Hughes placed a kiss on Plath’s lips. To this, she responded by taking a bite out of his cheek, bidding Hughes goodbye with a blood-stained, toothy smile. It was a sign of her physical connection to him.
Two months later, the pair got married in a small London courthouse with Aurelia Plath serving as their only witness. Throughout the seven years of their marriage, their relationship grew estranged. They fought consistently yet were persistently intertwined within one another’s hearts and bodies. The understanding they had between themselves was electric, but it was never enough to withstand the hardships they faced. Their marriage unraveled completely in the summer of 1962, when Hughes began an affair with a mutual friend, Assia Wevill. Upon the reveal of her husband’s betrayal, Plath kicked Hughes out of their shared home, leaving her alone with their two children, Frieda and Nicholas. Plath had been dangling back and forth between content and misery her entire life, but this was the final breeze that shoved her towards the edge of despair. In this darkness, however, Plath had creativity burst out of her soul.
Through these monochrome moments, Plath seldom slept, replacing rest with vicarious, intensive writing processes. Within these nights, famous poems Daddy and Lady Lazarus were born. Through past experiences and old poems, and following an intricate writing schedule, Plath birthed the critically acclaimed novel, The Bell Jar. Although she experienced quite a success with her literature, Plath did not live long enough to see her stories bloom. She was caught in a current, pulling her into the deepest parts of herself. She no longer had a sense of self in the world. On February 5th, 1963 wrote her final cry for help, Edge. Less than a week later, on a snowy night, Plath put her children to bed and left a tray of food and drinks in their shared bedroom. She sealed up their bedroom door with wet towels, protecting them from what was to come. She walked into the kitchen, closed every opening, turned on the gas stove, and waited.
“Dying / Is an art, like everything else. / I do it exceptionally well”
(Ariel: The Restored Edition, Lady Lazarus, Sylvia Plath)
Gone too soon, like a candle flickering out in the night, Plath is recognized as one of the best poets of the 20th century. Plath made and continues to make an impact on feminism and mental health struggles. Her influence on social change shifted American literature. The inspiration she brought forth for young writers and the industrialization of her work are, forevermore, a part of her legacy. She is, she is, she is. And she always will be.