by Sylvia Plath
I think I will make a collection of comments – they reflect my odd assortment of friends as well as their relationships with me. I feel that the people I know – Ilo, Eddie, Bob, Ann Davidow (and Dick) – are all conglomerate, yet fascinating in unique ways – and I love them all!
As for my weekend – I never have had such a heavenly out-of-door time. I rode down to New Haven Friday afternoon with Marcia, who was going home to New Jersey. Dick met me at the station & we dined at J. E.* (I notice that in his letter he carefully noted down every meal – just so you’d know we did eat.*) Friday night, as he said, we saw ‘Skin of Our Teeth.’* Also delightful – loud & obvious, but fun. Saturday am I went to a class of his in Contemporary Events – enjoyed his stimulating instructor then we browsed in a bookstore & headed back for lunch. Saturday was such fun – an afternoon at the J. E. picnic on a hotel overlooking my dear blue ocean – We played volleyball all afternoon, & then Dick & I took off & read Hemingway aloud on the rocky shore. Supper of hamburgs was good – we headed back then, & had a frappe with Perry (who is as lovable as ever) before turning in.
Sunday, however, was the best. Breakfast with Perry & then changing to dungarees & sweaters & hopping a bus to Lighthouse Point for a day in the sun on the beach. There was hardly anyone around, & I collected shells & smelled seaweed and mudflats, while Dick threw stones far out till the wind caught them & blew them up in twisted eddies of air. Then, after running, we lay on the rocks, warm & blue-skied – and talked & dozed, until my face was red and brown & Dick had turned his characteristic shade of pink. I think I am curing him of his jovial mask which made me so cross – because we had the loveliest airiest sunniest saltiest sort of day. It was 4:30 when we headed back for a huge gourmetish meal beginning with shrimp cocktail, minestrone soup, charcoal-crusted lamb chops, potatoes – and subsiding into milk & apple pie.
We had such fun – & I’ll go up to Lucy Wheaton’s* right after my first exam day – after you take me home – we’ll leave Saturday and stay overnight – after which I must study – which I haven’t been doing at all! Got a straight A (!) on the Sitwell paper – glad I bought the book.
Will write soon –
See you the 25th
Love
your Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Tuesday 15 May 1951*
ALS with envelope,
Indiana University
Tuesday
Dear Mother –
Couldn’t seem to resist frittering away another few minutes by writing to you. If only you could be here today! I never have seen such lovely weather in my life! All the trees are out, shading the campus with a sort of green and fragrant liquidity – pink and white dogwood blooms everywhere, and the Botanical Gardens are in full bloom. As I write at my desk in front of the open window I can hear the subdued murmer of twilight birds – see leafy silhouettes of treetops, and one evening star.
I have been rather awfully lax as far as work is concerned – cutting classes right & left just to study out-of-doors. But I feel that I’ve worked so hard all year that I can enjoy myself now. We’ve had our last French class, and done our last paper for English. I’m running through the last History assignment of the year – a doubly long one to leave a bitter taste in our mouths. Botany is grinding out to the bitter end with a quiz tomorrow & two long labs next week. I have to do one more painting in Art – and work on the notebook over this weekend. But really, I can’t get too serious about these last bits of work. Exams is what I’ll really have to study for. But I rationalize and say that taking the weekend off for going to Wheaton’s will be a fine respite after Botany. As you probably know, I’m going to the Yale commencement and Dick will probably drive me home on the second of June after my last French exam.
So I hope I can leave all my furniture here & get all the rest carried home with you so I can be neat and just have a few things for Dick to tote back.
Today I cut four hours of morning classes to catch up on History – went to History section from 2-3, and sat in halter & shorts down by paradise with Marcia for the rest of the afternoon. We then had iced coffee & ice cream at Davis and went for a swim in the pool. I hope I can go every day to get some sort of stroke by this summer. I really am horrible and can’t swim at all, but Marcia is “coaching” me to breathe with nose-plugs on. Really, I feel as if I were living at a landscaped country club. It just so happens that Haven House is the only one on campus with a sunporch, and it just happens to be right opposite my room – so I often put on sunglasses & lie out there.
By the way, Dick has the queer idea that daughters grow to be like their mothers. You better not be so capable and wonderful, because the poor boy doesn’t know that I’m rather an awkward hybrid . . . I pointed out the discrepancy in our noses as an indication that like does not always breed like. He also thinks I have negroid features . . . say, we got compliments we ain’t even used yet.
I’m definitely majoring in English. My schedule, tentative as it is, looks pretty good so far.
My black skirt is the most divinely versatile & wearable thing I’ve ever had. I just love it!
Have fun – good luck on your intersession, & give my love to Warren, Aunt Mildred & Mrs. Freeman –
Love,
Sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Wednesday 16 May 1951*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Wednesday –
Dear Mum –
A week from today at this time I will be through all my classes. The only ones I have left are Gym, Art, and Botany. I wonder if a girl on scholarship could go abroad Junior year? Could I find out from judicious inquiries into the Smith Club? Or should I meekly bow my head and hope they give me enough to stay here Jr. Year? I thought perhaps if I got a well-paid waitress job next summer I could slave joyfully if I had something so desirable to work for. But perhaps it’s hopeless. I don’t like to admit anything is hopeless, though. But I would take French next year if I thought I could go abroad. As my schedule stands, next year I’m taking Creative Writing, English lit., Art, Government & Religion. (Physical Sci. will wait till Jr. Year.) “Swam” again today & we all enjoyed our Botany prof. & advisor at dinner tonight. This getting-to-know your-professors deal sure is fun.
Love,
Sivvy
TO Warren Plath
Saturday 19 May 1951*
ALS (photocopy),
Indiana University
Dear Bruvver . . .
If it weren’t for these damn old meetings you wouldn’t be hearing from your sister atall-atall. As it is, I’ve got to keep awake somehow, so I thought I’d quote you part of a little pome that may be perverted but familiar.
——————
I had my allowance
My next month’s allowance,
I took my allowance
to the Green Street sales.
I wanted some new clothes
And I looked for new clothes
Most everywhere.
——————
I went to the shop where they sold spring outfits
(It isn’t spring without an outfit)
But my pocket wasn’t equal to that outfit
I decided not to buy my new clothes there.
——————
I had nuffin
No, I hadn’t got nuffin
No I didn’t go over
to the Green Street sales.
But I went to my closet,
My grungy old closet,
And I saw my old blue jeans
Just hanging there.
——————
So I’m sorry for the people who sell smart sportswear
I’m sorry for the people who sell spring outfits,
I’m sorry for the people who sell pale organdy
’Cos this customer’s got her blue jeans to wear!”
——————
Not too hot, huh? But my favorit
e word was “grungy.” I just love the word “grungy.”
Haven’t been to bed before midnight for the past week, so this staying up late deal tonight is just neat. I feel sort of in suspended animation . . . like a pickled pig.
I hear you lost a crew race by the hair of your chin? That’s almost more maddening than missing by a mile, wot?
I have my first exam (Botany) next Friday – then I go home till my next & worst two – History & French (the next Friday & Saturday.) I really should study all the time, but told myself that exercise and sunshine are sooo much more important for my state of health.
You will be surprised how tan I am from slaving away in the library the way I do all the time! Truth is, I haven’t done a lick of work for two solid weeks. I passed in my last English paper & art work for the year, so I cut all the rest of those classes. We have no more history or French – and I only have two more Botany labs next week, so guess wot I’ve been doing? Lying out in the sun wearing next to nuffin! Yup – the sunbathing laws around here are very strict because they don’t want the campus to look like a nudist colony, so they just let people sunbathe on the gym roof – and not on weekends ’cause of visitors. So it just happens that Haven is the only house with a balcony, and that is outside the 3rd floor right across the hall from my little room. As you may imagine I haven’t been studying too hard . . . don’t want to strain my eyes glaring into the sun and all!
Last night I had a great time – the art club took the faculty (mostly nice men) on a picnic out to Look Park. This getting-to-know-your-professors-over-burnt-hamburgs idea is the best yet.
Well, I’ll sign off now. Bob Humphrey is coming up to Float Night today, & I hope I have better luck & don’t get malaria or St. Vitus Dance or anything –
See you soon –
Love,
Sivvy
TO Ann Davidow-Goodman
Sunday 20 May 1951*
ALS, Smith College
Dear Davy –
Wow, that was a neat letter you sent me, kid! I take it out and read it over every time I want to get a warm glow inside. It is Sunday night, and I just got back from two hours of “playing” tennis. My sprained ankle still bothers on occasion, mostly after I have been running on the fool thing. So just now I am a mess – straight stringy hair, and wet sweatshirt – not a very savory morsel of femininity, I assure you. Today has been one of those sticky, cloudy, moist, muggy days, and I am just about to take my third cold bath. The only trouble is, the minute I step out of the tub I’m hot again.
I just finished my art assignments for the year and got one of life’s little blows. I took my first painting together with my last one up to be criticized by Mr. Swinton.* (The last was a re-doing of the first, using all the “skills” we’d learned this year.) Mr. S.’s comment was hideously encouraging – thought the first was much better, more naive and free – that the last was artificial and gaudy as bad wallpaper. Made me feel I’d really accomplished something! (Now, Sylvia, don’t be bitter!)
About your various irons in the fire as far as school is concerned. I shall try to say honestly what I think, hoping you’ll take it all with a couple of grains of salt, as I don’t know all the pros and cons – not by a long shot!
First, about Smith. Don’t think that if you don’t come back that means that you’re beaten. You have no schedualed duel with Smith; your fight is with College as such, and the fact that you might go somewhere else and make a fresh start there only proves your victory – not that you’re escaping from a conquering adversary. Also, coming back to Smith wouldn’t be a fair test of your ability, because you’d have even more to overcome than at first – since you would have the disadvantage of knowing us, yet not knowing us – being a Freshman, yet not being a Freshman. I don’t know if that’s at all coherent, but you probably know what I mean. Only, from a purely personal and selfish point of view (the first part was an attempt at objectivity) I want you back very badly, and Marty & I would do anything to help you – because of a soft spot of admiration and, I guess, love, that we have for you. Smith is often Heaven, and sometimes Hell (especially for an overly-sensitive individual like yours truly.) But I’m sure that you could do it if you really wanted to. All you need to know is that getting to the end of the year takes occasional teeth-gritting and agony – the “I’ll-never-be-able-to-get-up-tomorrow-morning-and-live-through-another-day” sort of thing.
So much for our dear and dog-fanged Alma Mater. I do think a “clean slate” would be better for you, as you said, but subjectively, I want you to return.
You know more about the U of Chi than I do – even though Eddie went there for two years.
What the hell (excuse please) if Northwestern’s close to home. This breaking away from home deal is all very fine, but it shouldn’t be an obsession. You can make just as much a mess of your life under the parental roof as 1500 miles away, (listen to the girl, she’s getting to sound moralize-ish – TSK, TSK!)
Have you ever though of one of the other Eastern Women’s Colleges – such as Wellesley? Northwestern does sound the most sensible – and you could always be having dentistry treatments – that’s usually convincing.
Seriously, I would love to know just how the “old gal” in Chi works. What does she do and say? I’m awfully curious – such things interest me immensely. Of course I’d love the chance to go to one of those people and have them bring my various childhood persecution complexes to light. I would no doubt feel quite purged and clean again – spiritually, I mean.
Speaking of persecution complexes, let me tell you a few of the more unsavory sides of my life here which will show you that it all isn’t quite the bed of roses it may seem. I am, in one nasty word, quite unpopular with our sweet Haven housemates. I have always been vaguely aware of the fact that I never go into the livingroom and never play bridge and never stay up late and gossip. But what goes on behind my back has been brought home to me by various little incidents which do manage to stab a sensitive spot in my hide. For one thing, when I grin “hello,” I am greeted with a stony grudging stare, and followed by cold, calculating eyes that are obviously signaling each other – “what a sad sack!”
By now you are maybe laughing and saying that I exaggerate. I wish I were. Truth is, I’m paying the penalty for my individualistic ways of life. If you don’t share a certain amount of your time and confidences with everyone, they either get the idea you’re a snob or are very unfriendly, so there! Thus while people like Nancy Teed, Callie White, and Joan Strong get nominated for office after office . . . and can walk in the living room without seeing malicious and indifferent glances chill them from all sides, little me is suddenly aware of some great discrepancy between her way of life and that of the average Smith gal.
Funny thing is, except for sudden great twinges of doubt and misgiving (such as the time when Biz* came up and talked to me from 11 pm to 4 am about how one could be too selective with choosing friends [meaning Marcia] and how one should talk to people & share oneself with them like Rosie does) I have been rather happy. Is it rationalizing, Davy, when I say that I am the sort of person who has a very few deep and close and complete friends whom she devotes herself to – and not the gregarious sort of person who is loved by everyone all the time? Or am I making myself out to be too pure and a loof when I say that?
I do think that it is hard for me to share myself with everyone. My introspection and queer thoughts always make me feel no one will understand – except someone I love, like you, or Dick, or Eddie. When I love someone, I make myself increasingly vulnerable to them – and give them the power to hurt me by letting them know my sensitive spots. But by being confident in someone, I feel I can be my self with them at no great risk.
All this is getting very incoherent, because it is getting very late and I am very sleepy. But I did want to let you know that the few little outward successes I may seem to have, there are acres of misgiving and self-doubt in me.
It is almost a case of choosing between writi
ng and loving a very few and living individualistically & often very painfully – or – rubbing off all my peculiar rough edges and becoming a nice neat round peg in a round hole. Luckily, perhaps, I’m too far gone to ever become the latter.
By the way, Hugh never wrote, but do remind him – next year I will be completely dateless – no contacts anywhere, since Dick is graduating from Yale. Even a Williams man would boost my old morale to eternity.
I falleth asleep . . . I drowseth –
Write, baby –
Love,
Sylvy
P.S. Love the snapshot – love my pregnant namesake – name the baby “Eddie”, huh?
S.
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Sunday 20 May 1951*
ALS (postcard), Indiana University
Sunday
5 pm
Dear Mum –
Whew! Today was the hottest & muggiest yet! I’ve just taken a cold bath & feel much better. Yesterday was a day I wished you could have seen---even Nature seemed bound to display Smith-in-Spring to best advantage. All morning I wrote letters on the sunporch. All afternoon we meandered lazily over the sunny green athletic fields, watching the exhibition sports. Bob came in time for Float Night, which I so wanted you to see! All Paradise was lit up, and the leafy green island was the stage where the choirs sang while the spotlights picked out the painted floats gliding across the black waters. I had a driving lesson all evening – & the countryside was such fun to cruise through – moonlight on apple orchards! Today we took another drive, ate at Wiggin’s, & went canoeing. I really hope I made up for that last time. Poor Bob! I do feel like a play-girl – this place is so country-clubish in spring –