Although I have done a number of short serious tributes to this possibly last American luminary of the world of poetry, this is my first substantial visual essay. Here in this part of New York trapped between the Midwest, Canada, and New England, partly all of them and partly none of the above, it is still February 11, 2024: 61 years since the poet Sylvia Plath departed from this veil of tears by her own hand in 1963. In America, at least, the anniversary is still active.
This is part documentary, largely about her move to Cambridge, partly docudrama from the film Sylvia (2003), part photo images, and part poetry with image and narration.
The latter film excerpts are from Sylvia's Ariel period in autumn 1962, and from that I chose, due to an unfortunate need for brevity, her poem "The Hanging Man" ... which refers in part to her interest in Tarot. I wanted to explore her use of Tarot and the frightening experience she had with a Ouija board, but time did not permit.
Most of the images are from her days in New England and Cambridge. However, I could not resist turning her into a Goth chick during the end of the Schubert segment as the poem is about to be presented and shortly after its conclusion, mostly out of curiosity. Her dramatized image in the poem itself, where she appears, is normal.
The Gothic band, Two Witches, supplied the first musical score. "Dracula Rising" from the 1997 CD Vampire Themes. I chose it primarily for its surreal beauty and because it goes so well with this material. The Franz Schubert is an excerpt from Trio in E Flat Major, the last opus by the doomed composer who died at age 31, about the same age as Sylvia Plath.
This is an interrogation of life and death, about the promise of new life and experiences, but the disappointments and hurt that can cause such wonderful beginnings to lead to an ultimate ending all too prematurely. I do believe this woman was a genius, and when she died, in a way, Poetry itself died with her. No, Poetry is not dead, but it no longer towers so highly over the artistic landscape as it still did in the 1950's and early 1960's. Music and Lyricism replaced Poetry quickly during the turbulence of the mid and late 1960's ... and it has never truly recovered its prestige. I wrote it for 25 years and got a lot of it published in small press magazines and regional newspapers, but finally moved on to other things. But who can say? Like Wallace Stevens, who left the craft behind for nearly 15 years, but eventually returned to it, I may yet go back.
