by Sylvia Plath
Here I am again to finish up the account of the day. After coming back from Art, I had a cup of tea & some cake at our weekly Friday social hour. Then Anne Davidow and I headed nobly to the libe to spend an hour there before supper. Unfortunately the sun was setting in clear pink, mirrored in Paradise pond, so we looked at each other helplessly as our feet marched us down to the grassy banks – it was like a Chinese painting – with the lights of the boathouse reflecting in the glassy water & the lavendar-blue twilit hill in the distance – like that blue in the picture over your desk. So we talked – frankly about everything. She’s a wonderful girl – I love her for her witty spontaneous temperament & evidently the feeling is mutual. After supper – to the libe in ernest with Anne, & then to a delightfully cosy Open House for a few of us at the Chaplains* – cider, gingerbread, a crackling fire, parlor games & lots of laughs –
XX
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Saturday 18 November 1950*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Saturday
Dear Mum –
Slept till nine this A.M. and awoke to find three letters waiting for me. I opened the one from Warren first – a four page epistle with humor that had me in stitches. Honestly, his letters are more entertaining than Bob’s. Then a letter from Ruth Geisel who has arranged me a date with a gorgeous blond hunk of man from R.P.I. for heaven knows what night. I look so forward to seeing her again. (Remind me to get my stories off!) The third letter was from Bob. Seems he went down to Wellesley last weekend to the big N.H.-Tufts game & to a dance and party afterwards. I’m really glad. Wants me to see Streetcar again,* but I wouldn’t sit through it twice! I look so forward to seeing you all in a few days. Just think! Four whole days home & then Xmas!!!
Love,
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Sunday 19 November 1950*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Sunday, am.
Dear Mum –
When you see me walk into the house Wednesday, don’t be surprised if I don’t speak to you, but instead march upstairs & fall into bed! I’m so sleepy, but I can thank my lucky stars that I haven’t gotten sick again. If I make it till Wed., I think it will be O.K. Last night I got to bed at two. By the machinations of my friend Anne Davidow, I got a blind date to dinner & the Mardi Gras at Amherst. I went over on the traditional bus with two other girls – the ride was such fun! Luckily my date – a frosh – was 6'2" and very entertaining. I saw so many people I knew during the festivities that I had a warm glow of really being at home – saw Mrs. Powell* at dinner, Jeanne Woods, up from Wellesley, & Bob Blakesley* at the dance, good old Bill with his date (rather on my type – tall, long hair) and my sparkling soph date of last Friday – not to mention Pat’s flame with a blonde & various of my housemates. I like going with freshmen (my first.) They plan things, & don’t just sit & drink like the frat men do. Saw a super aqua show – such high dives – ! Guy* & I rode back on the bus which was packed with Smith & Amherst dates. Felt very collegiate.
Love
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Monday 20 November 1950*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Mon. morning
Dear Mumsy –
This is the nicest Monday yet. For once I feel wide-awake. I put aside all my work last night, took a hot bath, and was asleep by 9. As a result I feel quite ready to do my English theme. I had a delightfully leisurely breakfast to make up for the two I missed this weekend as a result of over-sleeping – tomato juice, egg, applesauce, milk, coffee, and three sweet rolls. I feel so good inside. I know that if I work I am capable of getting along well in my subjects – and that helps. I have a few good freshmen friends who confide their datelife to me. It’s so nice to live a few other lives beside your own. I wonder how I deserve being so cosy and happy! Perhaps I have it inside me – nothing can keep me down for long – I always end up by laughing at myself and remembering how hopeful the future is. See you Wednesday afternoon –
Love,
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Sunday 26 November 1950*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Sun 8:30 PM.
Dear Mum –
Well, I didn’t know just when the wave of homesickness would hit, but I guess it was when I walked in to my room – empty & bare. Only three or four girls were in the house – so I sat up there & unpacked and ate my “supper.” Gosh, I felt lonely! I had so much work I should have done, and my schedule for the week looked so bleak & unsurmountable. But I have now snapped out of my great depression---the first real sad mood I’ve had since I’ve been here! I am now writing this in the cosy livingroom with a girl beside me & music coming out of the radio – what one human presence can mean! I realized that for all my brave bold talk of being self-sufficient---I realized how much you mean to me – you and Warren & my dear grampy and grammy! It is now 9:30 & I am hopping into bed. – My loneliness perhaps springs from the fact that the busy routine I associate with life here is momentarily lifted & I am left spinning in a vacuum. I’m glad the rain is coming down hard. It’s the way I feel inside. I love you so.
Your
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Tuesday 28 November 1950*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Tuesday
Dear Mother –
I guess I never told you that the ride back was calm & without event. It’s a relief to have a routine to fall into – which keeps me from thinking too much about myself. Tell Grampy those delicious Apples sure are a treat! I am just now consuming the last with relish. I think I would go utterly & completely mad if I didn’t have Xmas vacation* to look forward to – these last few days were just tantalizing. By the way, my spring vacation is from March 21 – Wed to April 5 – two weeks no less! My exams are on the 24th & 31st of Jan. & the 2nd of Feb. So I could, I think, come home Wednesday the 24th of Jan. & safely stay till the next Monday – I’d have a real chance to get to work. This basketball at 4 Mon & Tues really upsets my schedule – 6 hours of classes exhausts me, leaving no time to work till after supper – but as a consequence, the end of the week is easier, which is something. Basketball should prove good all around. It’s terribly strenuous, but I love the exercise & it’s fun playing with a group
XX
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Wednesday 29 November 1950*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Wednesday –
Dear Mother –
Well, if wishes were fishes I would buy a few tall handsome males to squire me to House Dance. As it is, I drooled over those luscious clothes you described – the white sleeveless jersey sounds divine – it would be better than the black blouse (which would also be lovely) because it’s a change from my old black velvet dress – (remember?) which I still hope to wear.
XX
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Wednesday 29 November 1950*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Wednesday night
Dear Mum –
Thi
s has been another one of those days that leaves a little glow inside. In chapel we heard a speaker from a Chinese college we support* tell about conditions there under the communist rule. Naturally we took up the discussion among ourselves – to support or not to support – It is such a relief to talk with girls who are thoughtful and idealistic and well-informed – none of this “Bomb them off the map” Business!! So many agree with my pacifistic ideas, and we had such fun talking at supper about it. When you look at the thing in perspective it seems almost amusing – and you wonder with impersonal curiosity what will happen after man runs out his little space in time. By the way, I’m almost famous . . . There is a bulletin board in College Hall (where the president & all the deans work) which has weekly clippings of Smith girls “in the news” – Yup! Some newshound dug up my poem and it & my face shine out – I had a strange experience in History today – as I always sit in the middle seat in the front row, it seems as if Mrs. Koffka* is talking directly to me. I felt the oddest thrill – History is becoming rather vital and fascinating – specially when she quotes german
XXX
Love
Sivvy
TO Olive Higgins Prouty
Wednesday 29 November 1950
TLS (carbon),
Smith College Archives
November 29
Dear Mrs. Prouty,
When Miss Mensel told me that I had received the Olive Higgins Prouty scholarship this year, I resolved that I would try to tell you just what my experience at Smith means to me. The only difficulty is in knowing just where to begin, and just where to stop, for I could write on and on.
First of all, I am a Freshman, living at Haven House. I’ll never forget the first day I saw my house and the campus. It was about a week before the college opened, and the streets were quiet in the thick summer afternoon. It is difficult for me to describe the sensations I felt as I walked up Observatory Hill and looked at the buildings, then strange and unfamiliar. I had the feeling of exhilaration that comes when you say to yourself – “This is it: The door is open; the reality is here. Everything I dreamed is here, in these buildings, and the people that will live in them.”
And so I walked across the porch of Haven, my footsteps echoing in the silence. I looked for a long time at the window of my room on the third floor, knowing that in a week I would be on the other side of the wall, and that the view would become an accustomed sight.
Perhaps you will understand a little better my keen pleasure in finding Smith a tangible actuality when I tell you how unsure I was of my future a year ago. I was at Wellesley High School, and there was no possibility of my going anywhere unless I received a full scholarship. So I applied for a town scholarship at Wellesley and, under the encouragement of my English teacher, for a scholarship at Smith. At first I didn’t want to let myself hope for Smith, because a disappointment would have been hard. But more and more I became aware of how much fuller my life would be if I were able to live away from home. There would be a beginning of independence, and then the stimulation of living with a group of girls my own age. After weeks of waiting and indecision, I heard from Smith that I was being awarded a scholarship. The Smith Club of Wellesley had agreed to help me out in meeting the balance, so I went about the house for days in a sort of trance, and not quite believing myself when I heard my voice saying, “Yes, I’m going to Smith.”
And here I am! There are times when I find myself just letting the sights and impressions pour into me until the joy is so sharp that it almost hurts. I think it will always be this way. There is so much here, and it is up to me to find myself and make the person I will be. I still remember the first evening when we had our Freshman meeting. I was separated from the girls I knew in my house, and as I stood bewildered on the steps of Scott Gym, watching six hundred strange faces surge at me and pass by like a flood, I felt that I was drowning in a sea of personalities, each one as eager to be a whole individual as I was. I wondered then if I could ever get behind the faces and know what they were thinking, dreaming, and planning deep inside. I wondered if I would ever feel that I was more than a name typewritten on a card.
But even now I smile at myself. For with the studying, and with the ability to isolate and differentiate one person from another, and with the increasing sense of belonging, I find myself at the beginning of the most challenging experience I’ve ever had.
As for my courses, I have never felt such a sharp sense of stimulation and competition. I am especially fortunate in my instructors – all of whom are vital and alive with enthusiasm for their particular subjects. In art we sketch the same trees that we analyze in Botany. In French we follow the ideas of men who were influenced by the events and times we read about in History. And in English – which has always been my favorite subject – we read and do critical essays. (It’s the usual Freshman course, and I am eagerly awaiting next year, when I will be able to take creative writing.) As you can see, my courses fit together like a picture puzzle, and life has suddenly taken on deeper perspective and meaning. I don’t just see trees when I bike across the campus – I see shape and color outwardly, and then the cells and the microscopic mechanisms always working inside. No doubt all this sounds a bit incoherent, but it’s just that excitement which comes when you are increasingly aware of the infinite suggestions and possibilities of the world you live in.
The people here are also another source of amazement and new discovery. I don’t think I’ve ever been so conscious of the dignity and capacity of women. Why, even in my house there is a startling collection of intelligent, perceptive girls – each one fascinating in her own way. I enjoy knowing people well and learning about their thoughts and backgrounds. Although I have never been able to travel outside the New England states, I feel that the nation – and a good part of the world – is at my fingertips. My acquaintances come from all sorts of homes, all sorts of localities, and as I get to know them better, I learn about all varieties of past personal history.
This brings me, in a round-a-bout way, to be sure, to my interest in writing. Miss Mensel suggested, since yours is a scholarship for someone interested in creative writing, that I tell you about my little successes and failures in that field. I guess I have always been rather introspective, and when I began the teens I felt the need of expressing myself, so I naturally drifted into sketching and writing poems. I never thought much about it, for it was always so natural to put my feelings for a snowflake or a sunset into rhyme. In high school, however, I fell into the hands of a stimulating English teacher who encouraged me to write as much as I could. I never had any instruction, for he believed that an individual who needed to be pushed and coddled was not worth the effort, and one who was determined would work on her own anyway.
I began to take a new delight in recording my emotions. I would catch myself observing my own reactions from a distance and mentally taking notes: “She said this” or “She wondered . . .” – all in the third person. Always I wanted to say something, to twist out a chunk of my life and put it on paper in the most effective way possible. I never thought much about style, but I was influenced, naturally, by the authors I read. For instance, there was a time when Edna St. Vincent Millay seemed to voice all my agony and joy of adolescence. And then Sinclair Lewis dawned on my horizons, and then Stephen Vincent Benet. And Virginia Woolf. I guess it’s like that with everybody – the thrill of “discovering” a new writer. So I began sending my stories and poems out to magazines about two years ago. There was a time when all I asked of life was to be accepted in “SEVENTEEN”. It was not so much the idea of being in print, as the idea that my life and my observations were worth something in the eyes of others. Naturally I began to pile up rejection slips. I bombarded the poor editor of SEVENTEEN with manuscript after manuscript, and after about thirty failures, I had a story published in August in the “It’s All Yours Section” of SEVENTEEN. This November a poem of mine was published there. I also sent in to the Atlantic Monthly contests, and one of my stories won a top
paper award last year. This summer I worked on a farm in Dover, Massachusetts, and after a thoroughly delightful experience of “laboring” in the fields with negroes, displaced persons, and a unique assortment of other characters, I wrote a poem and a brief essay which appeared in the Christian Science Monitor in August and September respectively.* That is my story to date. Perhaps I have gone a bit overboard in telling you all these details, but that is a very vital part of me, and perhaps you will be sympathetic even if I talk at too much length.
I don’t know now where my interest in writing will lead me. Whether or not I am any good, I will keep on purely from necessity. Gradually, I think, I will evolve from recording my own experiences, to recording those of other lives. But now I best understand that which happens to me, which perhaps is too egotistical. However, I hope my grasp of range of subject matter will continue to broaden. And that is another reason why I love it here. There is the opportunity to learn, to improve, to be criticized.
Now that I have taken so much of your time talking about myself, I wonder if I have said anything worth while – or if I have revealed even a small part of my love for Smith. There are so many little details that are so wonderful – the lights of the houses against the night sky, the chapel bells on Sunday afternoon, the glimpse of Paradise from my window. All this and so much more.
No, I don’t think I could ever express just what this opportunity means to me, for even I don’t fully realize all that lies ahead. I just want you to understand that you are responsible, in a sense, for the formation of an individual. And I am fortunate enough to be that person.
Sincerely,
Sylvia Plath
Haven House
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Thursday 30 November 1950*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Thursday
Dear Mum –
Another one of our charming house meetings – and so I write little notes. My schedule of writtens and papers is rapidly building up into a horrible network – it’s like steering a leaky boat (me: – note the symbolism) through rocky rapids. I was rather depressed that noone asked me out this weekend, but (something always turns up) Pat has gotten me a blind date with someone over at Amherst, so even if he isn’t much, it should be fun doubling with her. I won’t be able to study history till Friday night – but even so, I feel that I need the contrast of an evening out to relieve the intensive routine of studying. I went to a brief House of Representative meeting tonight. All Freshmen are required to go sooner or later, and it was rather exciting to get behind the scenes of the college. I wrote a long letter to Mrs. Prouty last night – which took up a few hours of thought and time, but good heavens – she is responsible for all this. French gets progressively harder. I only got a B+ for my midsemester test and grade – but I guess that’s not too bad.