Joke’s on You

Student Blogging Challenge: Week 3 – Activity 3. Find an image or piece of music & write a poem relating to it.

squeezing,

shaking,

a deep breath in,

squeaks and snorts,

breath in again,

a slap,

multiple slaps,

because there is nothing else you can do.

falling to the ground,

holding yourself,

yourselves,

each other,

pointing,

rolling,

you thought I was writing about something violent,

now the joke’s on you….

Laughing Uncontrollably


Well, that was interesting!!

I haven’t included a picture in this post because my inspiration actually came from a quite ~unflattering~, yet utterly hilarious snapchat message of one of my close friends laughing.

That poem was actually really fun to write. At first, I just started describing all the different actions that go along with laughing, but it sounded…well, it was not what I was aiming for. That, however, meant that I was able to give the poem two meanings almost, and completely alter the way it could be interpreted. Being able to turn a poem on its head like I just did is something that I always love to do because it makes the reader think about the words they have just taken in. Tricking people minds is always fun.

Well, I had fun just now!

Yours faithfully,

Grace.

 

 

The Zuytdorp

This is a poem I wrote based on the history and wrecking (1712) of the Dutch trading ship, The Zuytdorp, which was also part of the inspiration for the Zest Festival.

I think this is what you would call an ‘extended personification’. Anyway, here it is!

Yours faithfully,

Grace


The Zuytdorp

Standing tall,

She opens her arms,

And catches the wind in her sleeves.

Soon she closes her eyes,

And gives in to the command of the sea,

Rocking, swaying with the wind and the tide,

With time, she allows the current to pull her forward.

As the wind grows, she opens her cloak,

And embracing its strength and power,

Allows it to guide her,

Deeper into the waters she is yet to know.

Others have taken her journey before her,

Some have returned,

Others she will never know,

Still, she is not afraid.

She is new to the world,

Yet carries a heavy burden,

Whole heartedly, she follows her instincts,

Placing her trust in the wind.

She has left…

Alone, she braves the storm,

Ragged and sore,

Though not all is lost,

As she comes to rest in calm waters.

Once in every lifetime, she discovers a new place,

Indulges in delicacies,

And rejoices in adornment,

Though she knows she cannot stay long.

Again, she surrenders to the strength of the sea,

And soon finds herself being lead by the wind,

Through the abyss,

To which she has come to call home.

Under the night sky, she maps the stars,

And watches the moonlight on the water,

Sometimes she looks upon the rocky shores,

Yearning to feel the rush of the waves.

Yet she knows she mustn’t,

For they hide a terrible danger,

But like sirens,

They entice her to play.

She is sailing…

Eternally,

She has avoided them,

Though her fate has already been chosen,

She is destined to seek them soon.

Under the veil of night,

She fails to identify the ragged coast,

Mistaking shimmering waves,

For the moonlight she has come to adore.

Slowly at first,

Then all at once,

She discovers her fault,

But it was too late.

Her mind searches for an escape,

And she attempts to change her course,

Though the ocean pulls her back,

And the wind catches her veil.

Soon, she opens her eyes to her reality,

With a heavy sigh, she surrenders to the ocean,

Allowing the wind to guide her,

For her fate has been decided.

She is here now …

*disclaimer; there are supposed to be stanzas but I couldn’t get the formatting to work.

 

Sylvia Plath

Recently, I did a report on Sylvia Plath for an English assignment. I didn’t have time at the end of last term to do a blog post since I had to go to Perth for some tests, and also had Zest Fest and Country Week coming up.

I meant to post this last term but didn’t get around to formatting it, so here it is!

Warning: it’s long


Sylvia Plath

sylvia
SYLVIA PLATH
12/9/2016 By Grace Crogan

Introduction

Sylvia Plath was one of the most admired and debated upon poets of the 20th century. During her time, she was often harshly criticised, with her reputation not taking off until after her death. Though a troubled poet, she has become one that many modern writers admire. Sylvia’s poems strongly reflect her upbringing and visions she had of herself, as well as the many conflicts she faced throughout her life. Her pieces capture blunt, intense emotions, as she often drew heavily on her journals and past experiences for inspiration. Though she has passed, she remains an inspiration to many.

 

Biography

 

Sylvia Plath was born on October 27th, 1932, in Boston, Massachusetts, U.S. Her mother, Aurelia Schober, later gave birth to her brother, Warren, in April 2 years later.

Aurelia Schober (1906 – 1994) was at Boston University studying a master’s degree when she met Otto Plath (1885 – 1940). Otto was one of Aurelia’s professors during her time at the university, he taught German, Biology, and had a focus in apiology (the study of bees). Otto and Aurelia were married in January 1932.

Otto had been a very strict father; his attitude and controlling nature lead to define the rest of Sylvia’s life, including her relationships and attitude. Unfortunately, Sylvia’s time with her father was only short. Otto died on the 5th of November, 1940, due to complications with diabetes, only a few days after Sylvia turned 8. The effects of Otto’s death are often captured throughout Sylvia’s poems, especially in her poem Daddy.

In 1942, Sylvia moved to Wellesley with the rest of her family. Wellesley remained her home until she started college 8 years later. At school, Sylvia decided to repeat grade 5, so that she could be in a class with children the same age as she was. From a very young age, Sylvia had been very ambitious and had the drive to succeed perfection. Sylvia went on to get top marks in all her courses, becoming the star student throughout her years. Throughout high school, Sylvia continued to receive straight A’s and excelled at many of her subjects, particularly English.

From a very young age, around 9, Sylvia started keeping journals. She had a sharp eye, and her journals often documented things that many other people would miss. Sylvia’s journals soon became her most confidential and trusted ‘friend’, especially in her years at college and throughout her depression. Sylvia later relied heavily on her journals and past experiences for inspiration throughout her writing.

Sylvia’s first poem was featured in the Boston Herald, a daily newspaper, when she was only eight years of age. She made a few small publications in local and regional newspapers and magazines throughout her youth, though made no major publications until much later. Her first national publication was in the Christian Science Monitor in 1950, just after graduating high school.

In in the same year, Sylvia won a scholarship to attend Smith College; an all-girls school located in Northampton, Massachusetts. During her first few years attending Smith College, Sylvia wrote over 400 poems. Her pieces at the time were supposedly ‘pretty’ and rather structured, lacking originality and emotion. Sylvia used a thesaurus to try and enhance her poems and paid very close attention to the structural layout of her pieces. Over the next few years, Sylvia entered multiple poems into competitions and publication agencies, though her works were constantly rejected. Sylvia did end up publishing quite a few pieces throughout that time, but her success was nothing compared to the pile of rejection slips she was receiving.

Throughout 1953, Sylvia wrote articles and short pieces for a small collection of local newspapers, including the Springfield Union and Daily Hampshire Gazette. During this time, Sylvia also won first prize in the Mademoiselle contest with her short story ‘Sunday at the Minton’s’. In June that same year, she also won a Mademoiselle Guest Editorship in New York City with the same story.

The month Sylvia spent away in New York was very important to her, and she became very busy. When she returned to the U.S. Sylvia was mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted. Her journal entries at the time were very vague and didn’t capture much of the events to follow. Sylvia suffered a breakdown around the time of her return. Upon receiving information that she had not been accepted into Harvard for summer writing classes, she felt that her fate had also been decided.

Sylvia soon fell into a state of depression; her journals ended abruptly and she failed to publish many pieces. During this time, she supposedly struggled to even eat, drink, and sleep. On the 24th of August, 1953, Sylvia performed her first suicide attempt. On that evening, she left a note stating that she had gone for a walk and would be returning the next day. She then broke into her mother’s cabinet, stealing her sleeping pills, and crawled into the cellar. Sylvia was found three days later, unconscious and barely breathing, with only eight sleeping pills left in the bottle.

Sylvia was rushed to McLean’s Hospital in Belmont, where she received extensive treatment for her suicide attempt, as well as her depression. Sylvia’s recovery was slow, though she was re-emitted into Smith College in the spring of 1954. Over the next few years, Sylvia picked up where she left off, and then continued in her excellence. She graduated Smith College in 1955 with the highest distinction, and also received a Fulbright scholarship to Newman college, Cambridge University, in England.

During her time, Sylvia had many lovers. Whilst studying at Newman College, Sylvia managed to maintain a relationship with Richard Sassoon, who was in Paris at the time, before he sent her a letter asking for a ‘break’. Meanwhile, during the harsh English winter, Sylvia had begun falling ill, and again slowly developing a depression. In late February 1956, Sylvia met with a psychiatrist to help with her emotional state.

On the same afternoon, Sylvia came across pieces written by Ted (Edward) Hughes, and was instantly intrigued. Sylvia was told of a party being held that evening in celebration of his successful publications being held nearby. After meeting, Ted and Sylvia developed a complicated yet outstanding romance and were soon married on June 16th, 1956.
In 1957, the couple returned to the U.S. Over the next couple of years, Ted and Sylvia continued to develop their relationship. Ted became rather popular amongst publishers and was offered multiple teaching jobs, whilst Sylvia finished her schooling. Sylvia picked up a teaching job after graduating, though struggled to balance herself. Her depression continued to slowly creep up on her as time passed. Soon enough, both Sylvia and Ted decided to turn their careers towards writing, leaving teaching behind.

1957 had been a supposedly stressful year for Ted and Sylvia, as proved 1958. Sylvia and Ted’s relationship had started becoming strained due to their lifestyles. On the last day of school (American systems, whilst Sylvia was still teaching), Ted was supposed to meet with Sylvia at the end of the day. Ted was nowhere to be found for hours until Sylvia finally returned to the school to continue her search. There, she found Ted walking through a breezeway with a student, who ran when she spotted Sylvia approaching.

Sylvia had previously developed suspicions of Ted’s affair, and this encounter proved to cause her to become more certain. This is said to have led to heated arguments between Plath and Hughes, as well as some possible violence.

In 1960, Ted and Sylvia moved back to England after Sylvia fell pregnant. On April 1st, Sylvia had her first child, Frieda. In the same year, Sylvia’s first poem collection, The Colossus, was published in England, and then in the U.S. 2 years later.

Later in 1960, Sylvia fell pregnant again, though suffered a miscarriage early the next year. Again she fell pregnant in 1961, and gave birth to her second child, Nicholas, on January 17th, 1962. Even so, Sylvia and Ted were feeling a lot of strain on their relationship; Sylvia had suspicions that Ted was having another affair. When on their holiday in Ireland, in September, Ted left unexpectedly. Sylvia returned home with her children not much later, after her suspicions of Ted’s affair had been confirmed. After his two previous affairs, Ted had finally left Sylvia for Assia Gutmann Wevill.

After Ted left, Sylvia’s creeping depression overcame her. During the following winter, Sylvia wrote most of the poems that are included in her last poem collection, Ariel. In the years of 1961 and 1962, Sylvia had written over 50 poems. Whilst struggling with her depression, Sylvia wrote her semi-autobiographical novel. It was then published in 1963.

The winter of 1962/63 was supposedly the worst English winter on record, causing many people to fall ill. Alongside illnesses, Sylvia’s depression finally took over. On February 11, 1963, Sylvia wrote a note to her downstairs neighbour, asking him to call a doctor when he received it. Sylvia then successfully committed suicide by inhaling gas from her stove oven. *

Sylvia Plath was buried less than a week after her death. Her poem collection, Ariel, was published in 1965. Sylvia and her poetry pieces have impacted and inspired the lives of many aspiring poets. To this day, many people still visit her grave site in Yorkshire, and adore her dramatic poems.

*this could have either been Sylvia’s second or third suicide attempt, though there is not any hard evidence of Sylvia’s supposed attempt to drown herself

Poetry Analysis

The poem I have chosen to analyse is one of Sylvia’s most famous poems, Lady Lazarus.
LADY LAZARUS
Sylvia Plath (23-29th Oct, 1962)

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it–

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?–

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Then unwrap me hand and foot–
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I’ve a call.

It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
It’s the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

‘A miracle!’
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart–
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash–
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there–

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

Analysis

The title, Lady Lazarus, is an illusion to the subject matter of the poem itself. The original definition of the word Lazarus is: a friend of Jesus, and brother of Mary and Martha, who died but was brought back to life again after 4 days (by Jesus). In calling the poem, or herself (if the poem is about her) Lady Lazarus, she is implying that the poem is about a woman who has died and come back to life.

The subject matter of this poem is evidently about a woman’s suicide attempts, her depression and impulses, and possibly her death. Throughout the start of her poem, the poem speaks of a woman being “a sort of walking miracle” with “nine lives to live”. The poem suggests that the woman in discussion has died, or tried to die, once in every decade she has lived.

The poem suggests that the woman has lived for nearly three decades, and that she has attempted suicide twice already. The poem is said to be written around the time of Sylvia’s 30th birthday, which could link the poem to Sylvia’s personal feelings and experiences, alongside with other mentions throughout the poem.
The second mentioned suicide attempt in the poem is quoted:
“The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.”
The description here could be linked back to Sylvia’s attempt to commit suicide by overdosing on sleeping pill, whilst she hid in the basement of her home. This leads the reader to make a connection between the poem and Sylvia’s experiences.
As the poem develops, the focus shifts back and forth between suicide and that of “a peanut-crunching crowd”, as well as the mention of funerals and cremation. There is, of course, no way that we can link this experience to a living person, though the mention of death and a type of funeral is a very prominent subject throughout the poem.

The tone and mood of the poem are, in a sense, complicated, yet strongly related. The tone of the poem Lady Lazarus seems to be dark, lonely, intimidating, and possibly depressed. The poem itself is a very strong, yet sad piece, and makes the reader sympathetic and feel somewhat sad.

There are many poetic techniques used in this poem. The poem itself could be seen as an extended metaphor. There is also the use of strong imagery, personification, and incorporation of real-life scenarios to make the poem seem somewhat believable. The poem doesn’t have a dominant rhythm or rhyming structure, though each stanza has 3 lines.
The theme of Lady Lazarus is definitely something along the lines of depression and suicide. The purpose of this poem could be many things: to express grief, sadness, or depression; to open up about troubles and secrets; or to let out some of the emotions she is harbouring. On the other hand, this poem could have been written purely because of sudden inspiration.

In summary, the poem Lady Lazarus is a poem most likely based on Sylvia Plath’s own experiences with depression and suicide. The poem is provoking to the point that it can possibly make the reader feel sympathetic and upset for the character/narrator/author of the poem. Somewhat freeform, the poem has no definite structure other than the stanza format. The poem does an outstanding job at capturing some of the honesty of depression and displays the purpose extremely well. Altogether, Lady Lazarus is an extremely powerful poem on a very strong, complicated subject. The harshness and emotion of the poem are definitely what captivates people, making it so famous.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

http://www.poemhunter.com/sylvia-plath/biography/
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/sylvia-plath
http://www.sylviaplath.info/biography.html
http://www.biography.com/people/sylvia-plath-9442550#synopsis
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poets/detail/sylvia-plath
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_Plath *background and pictures
http://www.gradesaver.com/sylvia-plath-poems/study-guide/summary-lady-lazarus
http://www.thefamouspeople.com/profiles/sylvia-plath-125.php

Waves

I think the drive is what I love the most, Not the breaking, Or the crashing, Or the receding, But the drive.   When the waves are approaching, Pushing against the rocks, Or the reef, Or the sand. Jumping and surfing, Rolling and curving, Becoming larger and larger. As the waves become taller, As they approach the shore, That is what I love the most.   When the light is reflected of the top of the wave, And sea spray comes off the white wash, And the crest, And the back, That is what I love the most.   When you can hear them, Just before the 'boom', there is a roar, A growl that tells you to get out of the way, Watch your feet, Lift you dress, Mind the wave. When a wave is so powerful, And the drive is so strong, And the crash is so loud. That is what I love the most.   A phenomenon, With a noise that makes you hairs stand on end, A wonder that is so beautiful, Yet asserts so much power. That is what I love the most. [video width="960" height="960" mp4="https://9grace.edublogs.org/files/2016/07/IMG_4431-1cg3cq2.mp4" loop="true" autoplay="true" preload="auto"][/video]

Kalbarri Back Beach (with my dog, Fibi)


So, a bit of a shorter post this time. I just really wanted to post something before I got too busy with work and Zest Festival stuff.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the little poem and the GIF that I made.

That's all from me for now.

Yours faithfully,

Grace.

If you’ve read my post “Life is a Journey“, you’ll know that I’ve recently become interested in slam poetry. If you haven’t heard of slam poetry before, I strongly recommend watching Sarah Kay’s “If I should have a Daughteror Shane Koyczan’s “To This Day“.

There isn’t really a definition for slam poetry, but as I understand it, it is a form of poetry that is often performed as speech, but in an emotional, passionate, and sometimes harsh way. It’s similar to spoken word poetry, though the poetry itself is rather powerful, emotive and sincere. I’ve found that many slam poems are either very meaningful or relatable.  I think it is a beautiful way of performing one’s experiences, stories, or struggles.

Anyway, after investigating the concept of slam poetry, I really wanted to write a piece. I’ve found that, if you’re not inspired to something, or don’t have a strong idea, it can be hard to start something new. So, I didn’t rush into it. Instead, I pondered ideas and phrases for what felt like a few weeks (and knowing me, it probably was that long).

One day as I was walking on the beach, ideas hit me like a tonne of bricks, and all of a sudden I had about five verses of a poem!

It was a few days later that I finally had a chance to write all of my ideas down, and actually construct a poem (I wasn’t just procrastinating I promise, I just got really busy ;p). Anyway, after lots of writing, and editing, and re-writing, I finally had my very first slam poem!

So, I thought I would put it on the blog, that way I can find out if it’s any good, as well as something for you guys to read. Just a forewarning; it is a bit sad.

The Bullied

When you wake up, you start to raise your guards.

Start to re-build the barriers around your heart that were broken and burdened the day before.

Because you know that when they wake up, they won’t hesitate to start re-loading the names and insults that they threw at you.

And when you look in the mirror, you hope to see your barriers and defences stronger than they ever were before.

But all you see is a broken building, with blackened windows and breaking structure, crumbling and exhausted from the bullets and bombs it absorbs every single day.

And when you go to school, you imagine being greeted by all of your friends who have this great plan for the weekend…

Instead, you slink into the crowd, un-noticed and un-recognised except by the bullies who hurl insults at your face, and taunts at your heart.

Then you are noticed…

They all notice…

And they laugh…

And for the rest of the day, you hide.

At the back of classrooms, uncalled on by teacher, uncalled on by peers, uncalled on by the world.

And you eat lunch in an empty stall room, away from hallways and cafeterias because that’s where they’ll be waiting!

And last week it was the bathroom but now they know where you’ve been hiding and they’ll be waiting for you there as well.

And when the final bell rings you run, hoping to escape before they do because otherwise they’ll be waiting for you at the gate…

And on your way home, you imagine kind eyes and a warm embrace and lips that read “well done baby, take a break”.

But all you find is an empty house, and a note that says “dinner’s in the oven, I’ll see you tomorrow”.

Without even an “x” or an “o” or a small heart or three simple words that read “I love you”.

And when you feel your eyes beginning to burn, you run, this time to the ocean.

And when you get there you throw yourself in, hoping that the waves and the currents can wash away the heartache.

And for a second you think it’s all gone…

But when you come up for a breath, you realise it was only the piercing cold that numbed the pain.

And you think, maybe it would have been easier to stay down there…

Because when you finally get out, the sand is always there to remind you that the pain might never go away.

And that it will always be there…waiting.

And when the sky cries that night, you cry with it, letting your tears fall to your chest, as if it were an attempt to wash away the sorrows that you hold there.

And even when the sky is done, you continue.

You cry until your clothes cling to your body, and your sheets are cold.

You cry, until your body is so exhausted that you finally fall asleep, and prepare yourself…

For the next day.

 

I was actually quite surprised with myself in writing this. I had no idea that this would be what my first piece would be about. I would tell you I don’t know where the inspiration came from, but that would be a lie. I had lots of inspiration: Some from my own experiences, and what I feel after a hard day, some from others’ experiences, some from other poems. It’s more that…I’m not sure where I got the drive from. Although, wherever it came from, I’m glad it did.

So, that was my first slam poem. I know it’s a bit sad, but I like it. I hope you all did too! I may or may not post anything before the school holidays, but I will definitely try.

Yours faithfully,

Grace