Sylvia Plath, a messed up cookie to be sure, obsessed with death with life With love, could not get

a handle on any of it. She ended her stuggles while Her child slept upstairs, her head in a gas oven. That in itself a final poem (she hated to cook). Sylvia could not come to terms with her female reality I sense from her writings she felt confined by her gender, by the expectations Of her femininity, the roles of wife, lover and mother conflicting with her need To write, to create. A great deal of her poetry is free verse and heavily metaphorical Though she studied extensively and experimented with many classic forms. The work Metaphors, a fine example of her fear and discomfort with her impending Motherhood and her love of the usage of metaphor. Metaphors I'm a riddle in nine syllables, An elephant, a ponderous house, A melon strolling on two tendrils. O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers! This loaf big with its yeasty rising, (the word "pregnancy" has nine letters, also there is Nine months to a pregnancy) (obviously uncomfortable with her appearance) (all describe the formation of her child in utero) ( a cooking reference!)

Money's new minted in this fat purse. ( Money's perhaps a Freudian slip in reference to Husband? Monies is the correct plural form And money better yet. There is also the a image Here of her child as a currency, a debt she owes.) I am a means, a stage, a cow in calf. I've eaten a bag of green apples, ( there is a despair here, she feels used, out of Control, angry) ( green apples cause tummy aches, her pain)

Boarded the train, there's no getting off. (This speaks loudly of her fear, so large she uses A train to describe it. The train is also a Masculine and overpowering image, phallic) Sylvia Plath received a Pulitzer Prize for her work fourteen years after her death in 1963..

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