Oh my love paint me into the shadows of your dreams I want to be there among the drifting moonbeams of your waning passion and as their dim light fades in the morning dew to watch as our hopes sink slowly through pools of deepest blue.
Let their adagio their mellow harmonies accompany the murmurings of my fading breath and as its remnants settle on the bed of those fathomless depths let them guide my blissful path to Heaven
Today’s offering is not, strictly speaking a poem. It is a very short, one sentence, quotation from the ‘The Bell Jar’, (written under the pseudonym, ‘Victoria Lucas’), the only novel ever written by the American poet, Sylvia Plath, who committed suicide, aged 30, shortly after its publication in 1963.
I am using it today as its introspection does mirror that of John Clare, whose ‘I Am’ verses I featured a week ago. Both Clare and Plath were troubled beings, suffering for long periods of their lives from severe mood swings and depression.
In this one sentence from her novel, Sylvia Plath, cries out with similar force to that which John Clare was expressing in his poem, for the self-belief and recognition which both felt had eluded them . . . ‘I AM! yet what I am who cares, or knows?’