The Letters of Sylvia Plath Volume 1

by Sylvia Plath

  Phil has been the only saving grace. He’s working for free in the Shawmut bank in Boston getting experience with a capital E. I regard him solely as a means for drowning my sorrow. I mustered enough energy to play a little tennis with him Saturday, and saw “Quartet” and “Kind Hearts and Coronets”--a tremendous double bill--in Boston that night.* Sunday night we sat on the fabulous merry-go-round in the bar of the Copley Plaza (now the Sheraton) and talked for hours over Scotch and soda. He’s really an extremely intelligent fellow . . . born and brought up in Charleston, South Carolina, and showing all the gentlemanly breeding that implies . . . I am quite smothered by his chivalry. Also handsome. But what the heck. The only real interest I have in him is the challenge of one personality balancing in verbal jousts with another. He’s a human being . . . of the Wellesley aristocracy, and a matter of convenient transportation and amusement. Do I shock you by my pragmatism?

  At least Dick’s dad came over last night and invited me to accompany him down to the Cape over this coming weekend. I am counting the days exuberantly. Needless to say, I miss the guy terribly. It was so divine to have him call me up when I got back from work and make boating or swimming plans. Oh, fie, I’m getting maudlin. There are times when the lid is lifted off and one is suspended in a bewildering vacuum. You don’t know how I miss the blissful routine of that job. It took away six hours of personal responsibility . . . all I had to do was my work, and well . . . and the rest of the day, in pieces, was mine. Now I have the horrible twenty-four hours hanging over my head, and I must make out a schedule . . . science, four hours in the morning. Afternoon . . . tennis practice, writing. Evening . . . shorthand or planned intellectual reading. How can I spend such a lonely summer. And while at work, I thought nothing would be more blissful than to loaf! Life goes by contraries. Grass being greener . . . and other trite maxims.

  Now, out of this slough of despond! Maybe my guardian angel, who has fallen asleep on the job recently, will be kind enough to get me back in medias res once more somehow. The uncertainty being what it is, I think I’d better wait before grabbing joyfully at the plans for a reunion on the 16th. I don’t know where in heaven I’ll be then. But I’ll keep you posted. Oh, Marty, the summer started out so wonderfully and all. And it was my fault for the collapse. That’s what hurts. And it is so frighteningly tempting to get into a suburban rut and to let the time go by without Accomplishing anything. I plan to start a vigorous schedule in the next few days, as soon as I am able to breathe fully and normally once more.

  You know, it’s funny, but here you are undergoing a rough deal this summer in being so far away from that wonderfuly guy Mike, and doing a rather good job of managing. Whereas I, who was starting to be quite spoiled at the Belmont, can still see my man now and then, and yet feel most nostalgic. It’s all on what one expects, I guess. I aimed terribly high, and exacted too much living capacity for my physical frame, and now anything, no matter how good in itself, seems calm and quite tasteless in comparison.

  This letter is a masterpiece of incoherence, but I just had to spill it out the way it would come. My old optimism is hardput just at present to smile and be philosophical. But even so, I am trying to be objective and see the funny side of the whole thing. La! Uncertainty in my wellordered life! How incongruous. But seriously, I think I would accept any old greasy job just to get back in the vicinity of the Belmont and Dick. Oh, well, ten years from now . . . but that’s the trouble, the influence of this summer would make a difference. And what it would have been I’ll never know.

  Forgive the lugubrious undertones, angel. They’ll pass. Love to you and your wonderful mother.

  Syl

  TO Aurelia Schober Plath

  c. 12 July 1952*

  ALS, Indiana University

  Dear mum . . .

  don’t think I forgot a thing! Do read this adorable note from Ray . . . especially the last line! People aren’t so blind after all. La la!

  XXX

  Sivvy

  TO [Aurelia Schober Plath]

  c. 12 July 1952*

  ALS,* Indiana University

  P.S. IF jolly old Phil should just happen to call, say veddy brightly – “Oh, Sylvia was having such fun down the Cape that she decided to make a long weekend of it & won’t be back till Tuesday.” Yuk – Yuk –

  Silvano Plator

  Merry Xmas

  (“m” as in mnemonic!)

  TO Marcia B. Stern

  Wednesday 16 July 1952

  ALS with envelope, Smith College

  July 16, 1952 8 p.m.

  Dear Marty . . .

  Just got back this afternoon from a weekend’s camping out at the Cape with the Nortons. This will be my last fling for the next six or seven weeks, so I made the most of it . . . and as a result of hardly any sleep the last 3 nights plus the 100 mile trip back in the hottest part of the heat wave today, (I drove Mrs. Norton & young David back) I can hardly hold a pen, much less keep my eyes open. But I did have to drop you a note to explain my change of address.

  The world has a funny way of working . . . in spite of my NEVER AGAIN vows at the end of last summer, I answered an add for a “neat, intelligent girl of pleasant disposition” (ho) that I read in the Christian Science Monitor.* (Anything to get back down the Cape!) The woman sounded just lovely over the phone, and I dropped in for a personal interview Sunday afternoon. I think the family is Jewish – and also Xian Scientist! Very gracious & friendly mother . . . two kids – boy (3½) & girl (5½) plus a relative of some sort – girl of 12. Should prove of interest & study-able, wot? I will be driving a Chevrolet station wagon – cleaning house, helping in all ways including amusing kids at beach & attending their swimming lessons – starting next Saturday. The Cantors* live in one of the roomy gray Cape Cod houses rented out by the Chatham Bars Inn, & use the beach, tennis court & all facilities. It’ll be fascinating to compare this deal with our mutual summer experience last year. (I liked Mr. Cantor on first glimpse too!) I’m very curious as to what their lives have been like . . . I scent intrigue somewhere. (Mrs. C. likes to paint!)

  As a matter of fact, I don’t give a damn if the kids are horrid as long as I can see Dick once in a while. And some of the kids from the Belmont. I’ll only be about 3 miles farther from Dick (a 25 mile round trip by bicycle isn’t a cinch, though!) and about 10 miles from the Belmont. The only person I really liked quite intensely there was this Ray Wunderlich, a brilliant guy from Florida who goes to Columbia Med – and I hope I’ll get a chance to see more of him – just for the stimulating conversation. Of all coincidences, I ran into him last night as Dick & I were coming out of the Cape Playhouse, having just seen Dana Andrews in “The Glass Menagerie.”* Ray & Dick got on admirably – I was proud of both the dear med students.

  This weekend has been a dream – I’ve been sleeping in all sorts of situations – in a tent with David – and in the cabin with the 3 boys – Dick, Perry & Rit (a tall, sweet guy, engaged to Bev – an elementary school teacher waitressing down in Brewster). Saturday night when I came down, Dick and I went swimming & boating out on a big, dark fresh water lake. We rowed out to the middle, anchored, swam, watched mammoth shooting stars & a slice of red moon rising over black hills – all idyllic after 3 weeks separation. All his time off we spent swimming & sunning. You should have been with us Sunday night—we went to visit the negro cook at Latham’s— “Otha,” and his wife Linda. When we walked up to the little white house, there was the sound of much laughter & merriment – no less than 8 other Negroes were visiting them. Dick & I felt right at home, drinking beer, eating sandwiches, kibitzing on canasta & merrily exchanging yarns. In twos & threes the other Negroes started leaving about midnight. But Dick & I stayed on till after 1, listening to Otha recount his experiences in New York, all about how he & Linda met, and their wedding day! I was entranced & went away loving them both as wonderful & sensitive people. It was a new experience for me, being in the “minority” group temporarily.

  Yesterday, Dick
’s day off, was best. We biked in bathing suits in the hot sun to Pleasant Bay in Chatham – swam, picnicked, swatted at stinging green flies, read aloud, ate cherries, swam, stared at the bright blue sea, passed hours unknowing. Steak dinner back at cabin with Rit & Bev, & then the Playhouse. Very wonderful. (You know, though, anyway.)

  Probably nothing as satisfying for a month & a half, though. One never knows.

  I did spent one fascinating day in Wellesley working with an aggressive real-estate agent* who is opening an office in town. If the Cape job hadn’t popped up, I’d be working at Real-Estate. I had a great time touring through houses, reading adds, talking with builders, etc. Could have learned a lot that way, even if hot & lonely in this stagnant fen.

  Keep your fingers crossed for your gambling roomie. Thanks mille fois for August invite. As it is, I can’t be social & travel, though. Hope you’ll come to Brewster, tho! Cape idyllic. Always sun, sea, & sailboats.

  I’ll write when I’m settled in my new abode.

  xxx,

  Syl

  From July 19-Sept. 1

  c/o The Michael Cantors

  Bay Lane

  Chatham

  TO Aurelia Schober Plath

  Sat.–Sun. 19–20 July 1952*

  ALS with envelope,

  Indiana University

  Saturday

  Dear Mother . . .

  It now being 10:30 p.m., I am sitting in bed (phenobarb duly taken . . . ) and sending you a few words before the reaction hits & I fall asleep.

  Situation here won’t bear judgment until at least after a week is up. It’s always a big job getting accustomed to the ins and outs of new surroundings, but they are all very nice people apparently. I don’t know just what I’ll wind up doing, as this schedule is extremely arbitrary – people always are so un-routine.

  As yet I haven’t begun to “live” here. There’s always the “breaking-in” period. So far, my schedule has been something like this: 2: arrival. 2-3 unpacked and got settled in small-but-nice whitewashed room with 2 beds, 2 bureaus & a huge closet, which I filled – also, readinglamp over bed. 3-5 swim at a lovely beach with parents, Billy (3½), Susie (5½) and Joanie (13) – all theirs. Kathy (17)* is over in Holland on the Experiment. (She, it seems, likes to write.)

  3 children (1 visitor included) ate supper which I “supervised” – guess I’ll be getting it later. I ate with grownups – nice change from Mayos, but I thereby do tons of dishes. Tonight it was a whole fresh lobster apiece, melon for dessert. Gave Billy a bath – but mother put him to bed. 8:30-9:30: sat in living room & chatted. Seems they are always having guests.

  Keep your fingers crossed for me. Main job will be keeping house O.K. – and generally being around all the time to be handy. They are all very gracious, & children seem well-mannered – for children. All Xian-Scientists, too.

  Only six weeks. Hope to do an hour or 2 of science everynight after I get through being so sleepy.

  Mail not delivered – we pick it up at Chatham box. Food great – lots of fresh fruit. If I get sleep, I should be O.K. – lonesome for you, but its cool here. Also, great cool clear beaches nearby.

  Love, your sleepy still bewildered

  Sivvy

  Sunday

  Hello again. Family off in church, I have a few seconds between hanging out wash and fixing potatoes (warmed over) and a cubed steak for Billy. Got up at 7:30, helped with breakfast – 3 kids ate in kitchen, rest of us in dining room. Delightful guest (formerly of Smith & a Unitarian!) is very friendly. Drove after breakfast to an “artist’s” studio – very nice woman, but I’m sure I could do as well. Then home. Piles of dishes. Daily kitchen floor scrub with wet mop. Made jello. Hung wash.

  Now I await family’s return.

  Dickie called at 10:45 (tsk!) last night, but I was asleep. So I apologized for his lateness this morning.

  All for now

  XXX

  Siv

 

  P.S. Think “Day-off” will be Wednesdays. Dick called Sat., but I was asleep. Art called tonight. Nice boy! Will most likely spent first day off with him.

  TO Marcia B. Stern

  Wednesday 23–24 July 1952

  ALS with envelope, Smith College

  Wednesday 11:30 a.m.

  Dear Marty . . .

  It develops that today is the Day off: O Marty, I never have spent such a queer summer. It’s quite amazing how I’ve gone around for most of my life as in the rarified atmosphere under a bell jar all according to schedule – four college years neatly quartered out in seasons with summers to be filled in at will, hopefully, profitably, and never more than 2 or 3 weeks free at one time to worry about what comes next in. Even now, although the top would seem to have suddenly blown off, I know if I keep moving, time will pass, being as time is but an emptying of wastebaskets, a deadly going out and in of doors, a brushing of teeth routinely and a marking off of spaces until the cycle comes round again, and I will be gaily drunkenly academic again. God! After a year of dying for summer sun, I long only too soon to be myself (whatever that is) again.

  Your letter came this a.m., making me wish you too would step briskly out of the mailbox and accompany me on my bike ride to Chatham light where I sit on the beach now, facing sun and waterward after a cooling dip, listening to small waves sloshing, children squealing, and musing on the paradox of human personalities shut up, in so many little individual airless windowless boxes, hermetically sealed, inaccessible to the casual observer. Here I am. 12 miles away is Dick. Yet it is as if I were sunning in Zanzibar for all the good that distance does. He biked over Monday (his day off) and I saw him for five strained minutes out on the Cantor’s lawn . . . as we were about to serve supper. Oh, I even hate to talk to him over the phone, it’s so ironic. If only I get my bike down here, I will bike over in the morning of my day off & live in his cabin till he comes home for his free p.m. hours. 25 miles is a long trek, but I don’t give a damn.

  Cantors are charming couple – much more friendly than Mayos – live in big gray house on little hill near golf course. Eldest girl Kathy (17) on experiment in Holland. Joan (13) is homely, quiet, very mature – dries dishes, and I guess I keep her company in lieu of Kathy. Susan (5 ½) is sweet, quiet, brown pigtails, freckles. Billy (3 ½) has a hell of a temper – runs shrieking to room under bed if you don’t give in, but is terribly funny & adorable in his good moods.

  Differences in setup: I do a lot more housework – waxed & scrubbed kitchen floor yesterday, clean house with Mrs. C., do great Bendixes of sheets, etc. (12 per week, plus daily dirt) – also get kids’ snacks & help with grownups meals. In a way I miss the independent dual existence grownups & kids led last summer, because I do stacks of dishes after dinner – & company is frequent. But, eating with the family, I fare like a queen – all the fresh fruit & salads possible – lobster, lamb, steak, etc. Not bad, and Mrs. C. is an inspired cook.

  Only thing is – independence. Again, I’m terribly isolated & miss the good laissez-faire of the gay fast Belmont crowd. However, Art Kramer (Betsy James knows him I think) who has that fabulous job in Harwich has volunteered to rescue me for tennis this p.m. – also dinner & a dress-up evening. Oh, to feel an integral human again! He’s ugly, but very intelligent – so I am muchly grateful to escape maternal Mrs. C. who does not approve of my going out at all. Her expression when Dick called at 10:45 one night was eloquent. Also the query: “And where did you meet all these boys?” I felt very trapped and like shouting “What the hell do you think I am? Red Riding Hood? I think I could fight off any male single handed, and they’re not carnivorous beasts. You married one, didn’t you?” Thank your stars, love, for integrity at home. Never did I appreciate mother’s free rein more.

  When I think of it, I sometimes wonder why I took a job. I didn’t have to. Granted, I’m down the Cape (but still pretty isolated.) I think I did it to get away from mother & Wellesley, as much as I hate to admit it. I love her dearly, but she reverberates so much mor
e intensly than I to every depression I go through. I really feel she is better without the strain of me and my intense moods – which I can bounce in and out of with ease. You see, I do understand your position, & hope to talk about it & everything when you come down.

  10:30 a.m.

  later – Thursday.

  Life ain’t so bad after all. Just drove the kids down to the beach for Susie’s swimming lesson – first time she’s let me use the power-glide chevvy stationwagon alone, & was it fun to go wending aristocratically through the narrow, traffic-congested streets of Chatham with my two excited charges. We go shopping before returning home. The increased responsibility, I think, is very good for me. Also, the mother is really very nice & friendly – I can “talk” to her, which is also a pleasant variation on the Mayo-theme. (Her mother* was an Xian-Scientist practitioner no less! I wonder if they would like to convert me!)

  Yesterday was better than I expected. Art, who is not too beautiful, as I said, & barely as tall as I, was sweet as could be. I was sure he’d regret taking me on for the day, but he made everything as smooth as possible – I actually talked with Mrs. Blossom in her bed – she’s tremendous, you’d love her, 81, sprightly, quick, humorous – a breath from the Victorian age. I had to see her great beautiful emerald, hear the story of how she played before MacDowell (piano) – and she got a pass for “South Pacific” from Mr. Rogers himself. All enchanting. I felt that Art & I were paying court before a very wealthy queen. I made myself at home at the Blossoms – sherbert on the chaise lounge, Art and conversation about politics, art, philosophy. At 25, he’s one of the most versatile, intelligent people I’ve known. He’s gone to West Point, been in the naval air force, got his masters at graduate school (in engineering, I think) and has now one more year of Yale law. You would love this – he’s working with a professor on a compilation of Civil Rights cases for a Law Book.