by Sylvia Plath
Lady, your room is lousy with flowers.
When you kick me out, that's what I'll remember,
Me, sitting here bored as a leopard
In your jungle of wine-bottle lamps,
Velvet pillows the color of blood pudding
And the white china flying fish from Italy.
I forget you, hearing the cut flowers
Sipping their liquids from assorted pots,
Pitchers and Coronation goblets
Like Monday drunkards. The milky berries
Bow down, a local constellation,
Toward their admirers in the tabletop:
Mobs of eyeballs looking up.
Are those petals of leaves you've paried with them ---
Those green-striped ovals of silver tissue?
The red geraniums I know.
Friends, friends. They stink of armpits
And the invovled maladies of autumn,
Musky as a lovebed the morning after.
My nostrils prickle with nostalgia.
Henna hags: cloth of your cloth.
They tow old water thick as fog.
The roses in the Toby jug
Gave up the ghost last night. High time.
Their yellow corsets were ready to split.
You snored, and I heard the petals unlatch,
Tapping and ticking like nervous fingers.
You should have junked them before they died.
Daybreak discovered the bureau lid
Littered with Chinese hands. Now I'm stared at
By chrysanthemums the size
Of Holofernes' head, dipped in the same
Magenta as this fubsy sofa.
In the mirror their doubles back them up.
Listen: your tenant mice
Are rattling the cracker packets. Fine flour
Muffles their bird feet: they whistle for joy.
And you doze on, nose to the wall.
This mizzle fits me like a sad jacket.
How did we make it up to your attic?
You handed me gin in a glass bud vase.
We slept like stones. Lady, what am I doing
With a lung full of dust and a tongue of wood,
Knee-deep in the cold swamped by flowers?
floral evening shawl (worn as headscarf), c/o Jacob
vintage woolen floral cardigan, thrifted
silk J. Crew floral print blouse, thrifted
vintage rose broach, thrifted
short shorts, D.I.Y.
vintage floral tapestry handbag, thrifted
floral tights, FRINGE
Ah Plath, her words are always surprising and immediate, no matter how many times you read her. The way she talks about flowers is rather unnerving, don't you think? Perhaps because she had so many hospital stays.
Anyway, your outfit is a sight cheerier - you are a walking bouquet! I've been wearing my rose perfume again now it's (allegedly) Summer, I love the smell.
I love this picture!! Picture Perfect...have a wonderful day, Bella.
As Lakota said, you are indeed a walking bouquet, fabulous. Plath's poems still raise the hairs on my arms every time.
I love Plath's style of poems.
Your are like a wild flor amor.
lovely floral shawl worn as headscarf.
Would love a close up of your prosti shorts.
I don't think I have ever heard of Plath but I do like the images her words conjure in my mind. You look great in all your flowers but those boots are hot mama! Hope you are enjoying your man and all your new surroundings.
Love her poetry. She makes you feel like you're right there and can even smell her words.
You look especially great in this outfit. I like you in florals a lot!
You are beautiful in floral Bella dear!
Wow! That poem has so many rich images! Especially love "bored as a leopard"! You're looking wonderful in florals and light! Have a great day (and evening!)
Love a bit of Plath (haven't read her for ages) and love all your gorgeous florals. xxx
"Listen: your tenant mice
Are rattling the cracker packets."
I have had problems for weeks with Norway Rats that look like little mice so that line made me stop in my tracks. I recall hearing rattling sounds in the kitchen and that is when I caught them in action. And I almost had a heart attack because little tiny creatures can do that to a lady sometimes. :-)
Love that cardigan. xo!
several arresting images in this poem, one of Plath's I'd never read before. Doesn't sound like she cared much for cut flowers.
Such a beautiful poem and a gorgeous mix of floral prints. I adore the cardigan, especially.
Wonderful poem and I love the way you mixed your florals! Not many people can pull it off in this way, but it's beautiful and magical on you!
Beautiful flower and beautiful you!
Have a sunny day!
Tongue of wood and mobs of eyeballs... She burned brightly. You are a floral masterpiece here, colourful, breathing, full of life. A beautiful contrast to the table action described in Plath's poem. A lovely post.
Ah Bella, this is beautiful! Love the poem and love the photo.
So beautiful: Blooming Bella! I'm just catching up on blogs and it's so nice and refreshing to read what I've missed. xo
That's my next project mixing floral prints, I'm feeling your combination. Looking good as always Diva!
I'll never look at cut flowers again without thinking of this poem.
You look so beautiful in that first photo.
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