The Letters of Sylvia Plath Volume 1

by Sylvia Plath

  Ah, youth! Here is a fragmentary bit of free verse. What think you?

  gold mouths cry with the green young

  certainty of the bronze boy

  remembering a thousand autumns

  and how a hundred thousand leaves

  came sliding down his shoulderblades.

  persuaded by his bronze heroic reason

  we ignore the coming doom of gold

  and we are glad in this bright metal season.

  even the dead laugh among the goldenrod.

  the bronze boy stands kneedeep in centuries,

  and never grieves,

  remembering a thousand autumns,

  with sunlight of a thousand years

  upon his lips,

  and his eyes gone blind with leaves.

  Very rough. But I’ve got an evolving idea. Constantine is my bronze boy, although I didn’t know him when I wrote it.

  I’ve got to work & work! My courses are frightening. I can’t keep up with them.

  See you the 19th.

  Love,

  love,

  love,

  Sivvy

 

  Caution: To be read at leisure, sitting down . . . in a good light . . . slowly . . .

  TO Richard Norton

  Tuesday 9 October 1951

  ALS (postcard), Indiana University

 

  Just check:

  Concerning October 13

  1. Sorry, can’t come –

  will take raincheck

  . . . . . . . . .

  2. SEE You THEN –

  a. Approximate

  time: (of arrival)

  1-4 p.m.

  Possibly earlier.

  b. Entertainment

  desired:

  Your presence. Visit to art gallery, tennis court, wildlife, Hamp’s interior, or anything else, as weather and inclination direct. ¶ So glad to have your to-the-point ish letter. Lots of news for you . . . Including plans for October 20. Hi to Marcia.

  Yours alone & best,

  Dick

 

  P.S. Textbooks will come along in the suitcase. Be assured.

  TO Aurelia Schober Plath

  Sunday 14 October 1951*

  ALS with envelope,

  Indiana University

  Sunday 5:15

  Dear Mother . . .

  Well, I am now sitting on watch for an hour until suppertime. I felt quite weary after dinner today, so I sensibly put on my p.j.s and popped into bed from 2-4:30. I dozed and dreamed fitfully, and figured that now I can go on and face the rest of the week – which is gruelling. But I figure that this is just about the time I posted to the infirmary last year, so I am being extra careful. Next friday I have decided to cut my Religion class in the afternoon and take the 1 p.m. bus home. I should arrive, then, about 5 p.m., in time for supper, chatter, and early bedtime: a must, if I am to retain my health.

  Dick came up at about 2:30 yesterday with his friend, Ken Warren;* happily I was able to fix him up with Carol Pierson, that lovely little longhaired creature you remarked upon on your arrival here this fall. It was quite a feat, at the end of the week, to get such a lovely creature, and I had a day of worry, as I asked about six other people before I hit on her. Everything went off well as far as the other couple was concerned, and Carol will be coming down to the dance at Med School* next Saturday. Could we possibly put her up Saturday night? It would only be for a short time, and no more than one or two meals. Let me know.

  Dick and I went canoeing yesterday afternoon on Paradise Pond. Get him to tell you about our near spill, thanks to my getting up and falling over in the boat. We missed seeing the Modern Art exhibit* up here, but the four of us dressed up to kill and went to the “Yankee Peddlar”* for a big dinner. Came back and changed to sneakers, sweaters & twin skirts and went futiley in search of a square dance. We ended up at Joe’s,* a noisy traditionally collegiate pizza & beer place. All in all, it was a hectic evening.

  Dick & Ken went back from Amherst today, without coming back. It was so beautiful this morning, and Marcia & Mike were going for a bikeride, so I felt somewhat wistful, wishing I had someone to share the day with. So I asked Lisa Powell, last year’s advisor, to come on a walk with me. (I only hope it’s nice enough for you to take the same walk when you come down). Lisa & I talked about life, the dilemmas of womanhood, and the attraction of studies. I had a wonderful time, and drew much strength from her.

  By the way, Saturday morning, before Dick came, I bought a lovely short-sleeved white nylon sweater for $4.98. I can wear it with anything. It’s versatile & becoming. Also, I had my hair trimmed & set. Looks nice.

  Remind me to bring gray jacket home. Hope it passes inspection. Funny, but I had an intuition to send it back & say I didn’t need it. As it was, I waited a few days before wearing it.

  I finished one story for SEVENTEEN, at least, for my first English paper. The due date is again Dec. 15. I’ll bring it home to be typed and notaried on Thanksgiving. I want to wait until she* criticizes it, so I can rework it. It’s the one about the two babysitters – the Jewish affair.*

  My first written is Thursday. How I dread it! Thank God I don’t have exams in English and Art. My marks in those courses will have to be brought up by my test-courses, though.

  See you on Friday evening.

  Love,

  Sylvia

  P.S. I haven’t yet heard from anyone at the party except one Yale freshman, Eric; he is hook-nosed and rather nice. Oh, well, I knew Constantine would melt away with the champagne anyway.

  S.

  TO Aurelia Schober Plath

  Thursday 18 October 1951*

  ALS (postcard), Indiana University

  1

  Thursday 5 p.m.

  Dear mum:

  By tomorrow they should let me out of here for good. I feel much better, just a little shaky around the knees. Came down with heat waves and sneezes Monday – miserable by Tuesday. So I came up here for lunch & stayed. It’s wonderful how comfortable strong nosedrops, hot compresses & penicillin & sleeping pills can make a sinus sufferer. I still suffered, but more unconsciously so. At least I am really resting, which I wouldn’t be doing had I tried to stay at the house & endure classes. I’ve missed about a week’s work, which I shall try to make up this weekend. Ugh. Also, if I have time, I’ll try to send in an entry for that Mademoiselle contest. Had lunch at expense of magazine with 6 other maybe contestants. Veddy nice. They let me up today for a Religion written which I was too groggy to comprehend. Oh, well! Back to bed again. No need to say how I miss my Dick!

  XXX

  me

  TO Aurelia Schober Plath

  Thursday 18 October 1951*

  ALS (postcard), Indiana University

  2

  Dear Mum –

  Hello again. I had to laugh. The head nurse just walked into my room & gazed on me with amazement “Why you look wonderful!” She gasped. She had last seen me this a.m., green, pale, swollen, dark greasy hair, smelly p.j.s. I came back from my exam bathed, dry shampooed, lipsticked, and happy. Some difference. I will no doubt be discharged tomorrow early. Thank God. Marcia is going to Yale Saturday and Sunday, so I’ll be able to bury myself in work in my room. To hell with sociability. Eric wrote & asked me out Sat. night. I refused because I thought I was going home. I’m sorry about him, but it’s all for the best. Late hours so soon after convalescence would be suicide. I may very probably come home the 26th if my work gets in hand all right. Got a letter from that boy in Canada I met this summer – who’s working for Colgate-Palmolive – a Babitt if there ever was one – Also, a fan-letter from a girl named Olivia in Hong Kong about “Den of Lions.” Old soldiers never die.

  XX again,
<
br />   me

  TO Aurelia Schober Plath

  Saturday 20 October 1951*

  ALS with envelope,

  Indiana University

  date: Saturday

  time: 8:30 a.m.

  place: Browsing Room, library

  Dear Mum . . .

  As yet, not a soul has walked into the Browsing Room beside myself . . . it is my favorite place to study because of the combination of comfort & quiet. I shall probably spent the whole weekend here, trying to catch up on a mountain of backwork. Cheerful prospect, wot?

  They let me out of the infirmary for good Friday a.m., and I marveled again at modern science. I was dosed with privine (a strong, allergy-creating nosedrop) and pyrobenzamine (which left me feeling terribly groggy and slow – now I know a little of Warren’s trouble) and sleeping pills. I still have a headful of mucous, but it is past the painful stage, and I feel fine, just a little shaky . . . but really, all I have to do is wait a few days until the last remnants of tissue are shrunk to proper size. I really am glad I’m not coming home this weekend, for I am light years behind in work.

  Health is my first problem; work comes next. Next weekend I may cut my religion section to get home in time for supper. I plan to go to bed early both Friday & Saturday, and will have to bring work back for perusal whenever I have a minute. Dick has been very understanding.

  The two letters you forwarded were, as you no doubt guessed, from dear old Eddie* and a rather unceremonious return of poems from the SRL.* I guess I don’t quite measure up to Edith yet, dear me! The blow was mitigated by the coincident arrival of the most beautiful* two page letter I’ve ever been written – yes, Constantine did not vanish like a leprechaun, with the bubbles in the champagne. I gave him “two weeks.” I found myself writing schoolgirlishly in my notebook: “Dear Constantine, Ever since I danced with you on the lawn under the stars and elm leaves, and talked so intensely about the Georgian tribes, the purpose of life, and the possibility of the world’s end, I have hope to see you again to renew the enchanting four hour acquaintance we had.” I laughed at myself for such foolishness, and felt that I would never hear from him, that all the delightful perceptive lyrical things we said were a dream – an ephemeral (sp?)* passing of two jaunty sloops in the night.

  I’ll bring his letter home when I come . . . the substance is that he has invited me to come to Princeton on November 3rd. After a first reaction of a loud scream and a sitting suddenly on the floor, I gathered myself together & thought of pros & cons.

  Difficulties:

  1. I’ll be going away 2 weekends in a row. Bad policy for work. (Redeeming factor: This coming weekend at home will be partial rest & work. I am working every minute this weekend. If I do go, I won’t go away again till after Thanksgiving.)

  2. The trip is arduous and expensive. I would leave about 7 Sat. am. takes 5 hours or more. (Rationalization: I have spent no money on social life. A prospect like Constantine is a potential. A trip like that is an experience, an emancipation, a new world.)

  Now I am asking you, would you mind my going? I plan to build up into the lovely creature I really am during the next two weeks. It would be my one fling this semester as far as train fare is concerned. Constantine is the one boy I have met A.D. (After-Dick) that I could really become greatly interested in. As far as my future life is concerned, doesn’t it bear a whirl?

  I run the risk of disillusion, as does Constantine, of a “beer taste” after a “champagne ambrosia.” Daylight and football games will be a test of sorts to see if the exciting rapprochement of japanese lanterns and church bells through trees at five in the morning will hold water.

  Do write quickly, and tell me if you are in favor or not. I did want to tell you before writing Connie.

  Wait till you read his letter!! I hope you really like it

 

  XXXXX

  your elated

  sivvy

  TO Aurelia Schober Plath

  Saturday 20 October 1951*

  ALS (postcard), Indiana University

  Saturday p.m.

  Dear mother –

  This is just an after-thought to my letter. I have a written exam in English lit on Wednesday, Oct. 31 – after I come home that weekend. I am scared quite blue, because, in our complete lecture course, I have no real grasp of the subject. It’s going to be on the romantic poets – Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Shelley & Keats! So I’ll have to study Sat. afternoon & all Sunday I’m home. I wondered if you could help me in any way at all, or if you knew anything about said Romantics. My courses this year somehow seem twice as hard as those last year. Also – time is short, my being sick

  XXX

  Sivvy

  TO Aurelia Schober Plath

  Sunday 21 October 1951*

  ALS with envelope,

  Indiana University

  Sunday

  Dear Mother –

  If maturity consists partly in making judicious and important decisions, then I am more mature than Methusalah. After all the excited business I wrote you about Constantine, I have decided not to go. The factor of decision was that the English written which I spoke about in the postcard was postponed until Tuesday, November 6 (I’ll still study Eng. at home, though). I already had a government written on that Wednesday (7th) which I had thought I could study for Mon & Tuesday. I am really glad that the written was postponed, because it makes my tripping off to Princeton an academic impossibility. Everybody has read Constantine’s letter and is urging me to go – maybe I’ll marry into Russian society, etc. But wisdom has won the day. I am going to write him a diplomatic letter, suggesting that we arrange to meet soon again. If I do get a chance to see him again, I shall be very happy. If not, I will curse the fate that held so tantalizing a prospect before my eyes and then made me say “no.” At this stage, it’s hard to decide which is more important – possibilities of future life, or present tasks. A balance is sometimes hard to achieve. There are so many fascinating intelligent men in the world. I do want to see Eric & Constantine both again. I’m so lucky I went to Maureen’s party. Her brother, by the way, just published a book God and Man at Yale – Will Buckley.* Her whole family is amazing: terribly versatile & intellectual. I’m giving up the idea of Mademoiselle this year. Next year I’ll be clever & write it before school begins. As it is I’m on a treadmill of backwork.

  Feeling really great though. Mucous only in morning. I love you and Constantine and Smith and am richocheting between supreme despair at the one short life I’ve been dealt (and the endless permutations possible. Which to choose?) and dizzy joy at feeling well & making the wise, if unromantic decision about Princeton.

  One thing about sinus – if you feel like a depressive maniac while you have it, there is a renaissance of life when you can breathe again.

  Can’t wait to see you Friday.

  Love,

  your incorrigible Sivvy

 

  TO Constantine Sidamon-Eristoff

  Sunday 21 October 1951

  ALS, Private owner

  October 21, 1951

  Dear Constantine . . .

  Receiving your letter was a reassuring confirmation of your reality. Not that I am in the habit of doubting my own perceptive powers, but I actually had begun to entertain the possibility of your being some sort of a young Georgian leprechaun conjured up especially for the occasion at hand, only to vanish forever at the first light of dawn, evanescent as the bubbles in champagne.

  You may imagine that I was much heartened to see that you have an address on the terrestrial globe, also to realize that you are quite mortal.

  By now, perhaps, I should be prosaic and plunge into the task at hand: the weekend of the third. I was extremely tempted to disregard all previous obligations and set out for Princeton regardless, for I would very much like to renew m
y first acquaintance with you.

  However, I have unfortunately already gotten myself involved in plans to go away that weekend. Needless to say, I am both sad and apologetic that former arrangements have to interfere with your delightful invitation. Please do understand that I would welcome the chance to see you again, to continue conversation, to share a day or two, increasing the affinity evident in our brief companionship a few weeks back.

  Perhaps you would care to suggest another time when it would be convenient for me to visit you, or when you could manage to come Smithward. (I must confess that, never having been to Princeton, the idea of the trip overwhelms me. I am the sort of person who enjoys travelling, but is impractical enough in that regard to get lost in subways, or to end up in New York when really intending to go to Connecticut. Hence minute instructions would be appreciated should you ever again want me to make the rather formidable journey.)

  Do tell me that you are not cross at my having to refuse your hospitality, and say that we will meet again soon. Maybe a few letters would help in the interim. At any rate, I would welcome any commentary you would care to make on the Princeton scene, future plans, and especially on your own ideas, activities and whimsicalities.

  A contrite and yet somehow optimistic,

  Sylvia

  TO Aurelia Schober Plath

  Monday 29 October 1951*

  ALS with envelope,

  Indiana University

  Monday 4:30 pm

  Dearest woman . . . whoops! I mean

  Dear Mother –

  Today was lovely – cold, clear, and beautiful. Last night, after you left, I unpacked, read my letters, and held an impromptu party to get rid of some of that delicious cake. I was so touched – the same girl who helped me with my formal made it. Marcia came home, then, and after mutual recapitulation, we hopped into bed at 10:30. No real work done, alas.

  Today and yesterday brought good news, amusing news. Last night, guess what. No sooner than I got settled in my room at my books than the phone rang. “Hello,” said a male voice, “This is Ed Nelson.”* “Who?” I exclaimed, and then remembered that mysterious stranger who called last summer. “Well, finally,” I said. “Who are you. I don’t know you.” “I live on Woodland Road,” he replied. “I’ve lived there all my life.” I then remembered vaguely some boy at high school two years ahead of me. “You’re not any relation to Edor Nelson, the piano player?” I asked.