The Letters of Sylvia Plath Volume 1

by Sylvia Plath

  Another item that saddens me: Dick writes* that he has been looking around for jobs for me at Lake Placid this summer, and says there are lots of opportunities. I am going to defer discussion of that till we go up there, but that is the last thing I want to do. It would be a summer down the drain, and I want to spend this summer intellectually without working and getting worn out. Hope you can give me a few suggestions of how to parry his invitation gracefully!

  And now, off in my shining taxi! I thought today would never come: tonight I will be transformed into a silver Sylvia! Much much

  love,

  sivvy

  TO Richard Norton

  Sunday 8 March 1953

  AL (excerpt),* Smith College

  March 8 – letter excerpt:

  Firstly of all I was horrified to hear that the dear bearshooting imaginative adorable very lovable bright southernaccented sandy* I knew for such a little nice while is gone away. it is unjust, unnecessary, and difficult to comprehend. if it was god’s will it is a very stupid arbitrary blood thirsty god, and I do not like him or believe in him or respect him because he is more foolish and mean than we are and has no sense of proportion of what people are good for living and what people are unfit. it is perhaps very good that there is another potential lynn coming to receive some of the love that sandy flourished in. the work and mind and food and love given to a child for growing, and then the sudden going away to where we don’t know, we wish somewhere that would save the part we loved, but can’t really believe that, and so say it was blind chance and rail against the arbitrariness of it. nothing being there to do but weep, or stand shocked silent by the sudden end, the shattered glass and toppling masonry, the ruin of all space, of a potential universe, and put away the fragments left, and begin the cycle of growth over and over again, birth and death, birth and death. oh the tireless amazing unbelievably creative urge of we weary fallible battered humans. all this sorrow, injustice, war, blood lust, and still we persist in hopefully, faithfully, bringing forth children into the world. I loved that boy sandy, and all the sprouting of goodness and fineness in him. I love the lynns, and wish I could articulate my sorrow, or give them a microcosm of the great huge understanding and sympathy they deserve . . .

  TO Aurelia Schober Plath

  Monday 9 March 1953*

  TLS with envelope,

  Indiana University

  monday ugh morning

  dear mother . . .

  all good things must come to an end, and I am feeling the weary soporific effects of a very lovely weekend. got the 11 a.m. train back to hamp yesterday morning just in time for electoral board meeting which lasted 10 long hours, from 2 p.m. to midnight. you may imagine that it took all I had in me not to fall off the chair in a stupor. only two more meetings, and the final slate will be announced. what a life.

  mike and I had a lovely time together and I feel I know him much much better and that we have a very wholesome relationship. friday I came down in time for lunch, and the afternoon was spent visiting multitudes of his friends, meeting endless people, being taken to the baseball cage and watching practice, having him take my picture posing casually on the fender of his car, driving up to west rock overlooking new haven and watching him pitch rocks into the sky. dinner at silliman, in the palatial tall dining room . . . very good rare roast beef, meeting the master of silliman in whose house I stayed with several other girls (princely quarters, big beds, mirrored bathrooms, spiral staircases, etc.) and eventually dressing and getting to the big dance about midnight (it began at 11) where I danced without much trouble, saw perry and jim mcnealy and lots of my smith and mike’s yale friends. sherbet, punch and cake refreshments, three bands, among them, tommy dorsey’s, and thousands of gorgeously gowned females and handsome men. a legendary extravaganza. saturday, after getting into bed at 5 a.m. we decided wisely not to go to new york because it was so cold and mike was fighting a cold too (his roommate had been sent off with flu). it was really much better: we drove out along the connecticut shoreline and sat in the sun watching the waves and bright colored summer houses and talking.

  going back, we bought a half gallon of apple cider and someapples to quench our thirst and had dinner at silliman, after which we went to mike’s room, where I made him take some cold pills and have a backrub and rest. we listened to music, classical, drank all the apple cider, talked some more, and went back to the master’s house at midnight so I could get up in time for breakfast with him the next morning. saw perry and shirl, and had lunch with them that day. nothing said about dick: those two are so obviously far gone that one can hardly talk to them. when mike and I came over to call for them with bob and jill saturday morning, perry was still in his pajamas and shirley was sitting on his lap necking with him all the while we were there. honestly, I think I would vomit if any boy hung over me like that all the time: I like my integrity, and feel that a mature relationship isn’t a complete all-smothering thing where two people can’t be whole when they’re apart. at least mike and I agree that it is important to have a balanced partnership (this is all theory) where outside interests are important and the people are realistic and flexible, facing life together instead of blinding each other by excluding the rest of the world. I honestly don’t think I could ever take anybody with perry’s intense concentrated demanding of complete continuous affection: I like the rest of the world too much.

  as far as I’m concerned, things look very promising for a rich companionship between mike and me: with the understanding that there are no strings attached and there is complete freedom for both of us; living in the cloying atmosphere of perry and shirley and the young domestic bliss of bob and jill, where both mike and I don’t feel ready to make final choices for a few years yet, calls for an assertion of position. neither of us are like perry, who drops girls if they aren’t going to pledge to marry him. this is very nice, because I get a chance to see how mike works out in med school, and what he wants to do with the rest of his life. he is still very young at heart, and changing into being a man, and needs encouragement and affection, which I certainly am glad to give. the next few years will work themselves out, so please don’t give anybody the impression that we are serious about anything. for me, and him, love is difficult to define, but it is a very slow growing rational thing. I have to know a great deal about anybody, and be able to predict reasonably the future life I’d have, before I could ever commit the next 50 years of my life.

  as for dick, he is evidently very anxious to see me spring vacation. I hope that we can make it as brief and painless as possible. I saw pictures of the family group taken at middlebury, and he is fat, really pouty about the cheeks. I know it is a necessessary concomitant about tb, but physically it unfortunately revolts me. how glad I am that I was never one of the girls he compromised! that really would make me sick. myron is so lean and ironmuscled and I am sure always will be: we both hate fatness.

  by the way, dr. lynn’s dear oldest boy was accidentally choked to death while playing, a story that shocked me, for I loved those dear people so. they are leaving ray brook immediately, which of course is a hard blow for dick.

  I am enclosing a bill from hugenberger which was sent me. I don’t know where to send it off for insurance.

  I am having a checkup xray next week for my leg, which still hurts, and I hope it is alright after the weekend.

  marcia is coming home with me wed the 25th till that friday. it is the only time she can come so I said yes. if need be, we can bring in the porch cot for those two nights. hope it won’t be too hard for you. warren can drive us both home; she does want to see him.

  love,

  a weary sivvy

  TO Aurelia Schober Plath

  Thurs.–Fri. 12–13 March 1953*

  TLS with envelope,

  Indiana University

  thursday night

  dear mum . . . .

  just a note to say that I got your special delivery this morning and it couldn’t have come at a more strategic
time. all week we have been having electoral board meetings till after midnight, and the emotional tension has been great. last night, after much heated discussion, we evolved the final slate. although I have had a few brief pangs at not running, I’ve decided that if I am ever to do anything at writing now is the time, and if I had a big office I would intensely resent stealing time from my creative and class work. it is not often that one has the chance to work under men like davis and patch, or women like drew. I have become so influenced by my course I’m auditing in James Joyce that I think I would like to do some aspect of his work for my thesis topic!

  today I had my milton written, and I hope I got a B, I was so tired. at least now, even though I have two big papers before vacation, the pressure is let up considerably.

  by the way, I am elated about warren’s triumph: I’ve told myron, marcia, and everyone else who will listen! I am so proud of him.

  letter from mike came today with a few lovely snapshots* of the view from west rock and the ocean that we took on our trip last saturday. I had assumed that would be the last time I saw him till after spring vacation, but he asked to come up again this saturday: I don’t know what his trouble is; I think he must have a bad case of wanderlust or something. anyhow, needless to say, I look most forward to taking another trip to the hills before he leaves for florida.

  xxx

  Sivvy (over)

 

  P.s. – got a lovely answer for my Thank-you letter from the master of Silliman. I sent him a villanelle as tribute, and his appreciation was most touching! He’s a very famous expert on philosophy!

  friday morning

  dear mum . . .

  spent four hours in the news office today adding up back tallies of inches. now all is in order, and I am very happy to be back again. I think W. H. Auden will be speaking for our annual pressboard banquet in April! It is pouring rain, and the ground smells springy.

  got back the Mlle manuscript today. this is a bad time for me as far as rejections go. also, I don’t see how I have any sort of a chance to be an editor this june. twenty top girls from smith are trying out, and the first list of the first month’s twelve winners was announced, and no one from smith was on it. in a way it’s better than having someone from smith other than me be on it, I suppose, but I am not hopeful as I once was. still, as soon as I come home spring vacation, I am going to work on the assignment that has to be in by April 1 and do a few extra articles for it.

  my personal rejection from the New Yorker has made me realize how hard I want to work at writing this summer. I’ll never get anywhere if I just write one or two stories and never revise them or streamline them for a particular market. I want to hit the New Yorker in poetry and the Ladies Home in stories, and so I must study the magazines the way I did Seventeen. Speaking of 17, I wrote them as you suggested in your note asking if I could submit stories and poems on a professional basis. It would be a great triumph for me to get a story in there on a regular basis. If I can consciously gear things to them the way I did that Initiation story, I don’t see why I couldn’t produce prolifically. I only hope they will consider my offer.

  your rejected daughter,

  sivvy

 

  p.s. do send that picture of me in my bathing suit last summer! I’ll let you know soon whether Marty & I will be home wed. on 5 p.m. bus or whether we’ll wait till Thursday for warren.

  TO Aurelia Schober Plath

  Sunday 15 March 1953*

  TLS with envelope,

  Indiana University

  sunday afternoon 2pm

  Dear mother . . . .

  By some miracle yesterday was beautifully mild and springly between two very rainy days . . . today it is pouring and gray and dribbly but there is a softness in the air that promises a relenting in the season at the approaching equinox.

  Tomorrow morning I get my final xray, and I just hope there is nothing drastically wrong with my leg, because it often twinges quite painfully, especially when I’ve slept with it in the same position all night or in wet weather. Maybe I’m getting like a rheumatic and being endowed with weatherpredicting sensations in my bones.

  Myron and I had a very lovely relaxed time together yesterday. Now that I try to account for the time spent, I wonder where it went, it evaporated so fast. He came about three, and we drove along the beautiful connecticut river into the Holyoke hills where we read from his Abnormal Psych book until sunset, and we watched the sun go down across the river from the mountain. We then drove to Whately where we had a delicious steak dinner, with fresh salad, potatoes fried, and milk for only 3.80 for both of us! It was a Baby Beef modernly decorated place that specialized in steak and lobster . . . very yummy. We sat and talked there a long while, and then drove miles and miles so we could listen to the new radio which he got installed this week in the car. He left at about 11.30 for the 80 mile drive home, both of us being very sleepy. Honestly, I wonder if we are aged or something, we both simply cannot keep our eyes open after 11 at night. Poor Mike has driven so much: 160 miles up and back, and all over the Northampton country side with me . . . he was really beat. Showed him Silliman Master Greene’s letter to me and he was as elated and proud as I was.

  Do try to get a dentist’s appointment with Gilmore* anytime after that first weekend home when Marcia will be there: I can’t go on without fillings forever.

  I am tempted to have Warren come up as early as possible Thursday the 26th so I can carry the crutches and books and winter clothes: I’ll want to bring back all my spring cottons after vacation. (Mike and I plan to spend one weekend in Springfield watching a night ballgame with his brother playing and exploring the town, which should be fun.) Anyway I’ll let you know definitely what Marcia would rather do.

  By for now ,

  your busy sivvy

 

  TO Aurelia Schober Plath

  Monday 16 March 1953*

  TLS, Indiana University

  monday noon

  dear mum . . . .

  thanks muchly for the letter this morning . . . I love that long paper you have and would adore getting some for my rough drafts. seems already that I’ve been back here forever. I’ve been running around madly about my many businesses. for example, this a.m. I had a 8 o’clock class meeting to get schedule cards to make out for next year: which means I’ll have to get petitions to take psych next year, have interviews with my honors advisor, and pick a thesis topic and advisor. thank god I am pretty dead certain I want to do my paper on Joyce (James). at least that narrows the field some.

  after that, I went to the dean’s office to get miss schnieders to write me a recommendation for harvard summer school, and to the registrar’s office to get another transcript. the little secretary at the desk looked up at me in awe as I handed her my name on a card; “I’ve seen your name in Seventeen!” she said in a tone of hallowed reverence. evidently I’m not half aware of my own wide fame! then to the news office for two hours of typing releases for my beloved Hampshire Gazette . . . I get my own private paper sent to the house, now! and should earn a good $2oo from it by next April! half of my college expenses. of course, it is a lot of work, but at least it is stimulating and good experience.

  Harvard Summer School wrote me a most nice note and are sending me a catalogue and slanders of applications. I am definitely taking two courses, one definitely for credit, the other maybe not: Elementary Psych and Frank O’Connor’s short story course . . . or if that’s taken, his novel course. He wrote an excellent article on the short story in the Times book Review this week, which I clipped out to save.* I want to read his collected short stories* before I take his course. Summer school begins June 1* (early, wot) and lasts eight weeks till August 23.

  the detailed account of cultural lectures, seminars, concerts, plays, and social life made me thrill with excitement! what a wonderful prospect, I hope to see psych teachers
here during this next packed week. by the way, peter Bertocci is teaching the psych of personality at Harvard, too. how I would like to take that! but I’m of course not advanced enough.

  tb xray again last week, and as they haven’t notified me, I hope and assume I’m again clear. what a blight that would be on my life!

  hope I can win some money so I can live in cambridge those eight weeks to be right near the library and evening events! otherwise I’ll have to live home. if I lived there I could come home weekends . . and save on transportation and time. oh, well, I’ve so many things on the financial fire, something just has to turn up.

  mike and I had a very nice day, driving in the country, eating steak dinner, and going to a party of nice people that night. I felt sort of badly telling him I had two dates in the future, because now I won’t see him for a month, but after all, I certainly have been giving him the major part of my social time, and I am sure he is the last person who would insist on monopolizing me. needless to say, I am looking very forward to seeing Gordon again. he is a really adorably sweet intelligent handsome guy.

  papers and work will cram my time till the weekend. till later.

  love,

  sivvy

  TO Aurelia Schober Plath

  Tuesday 17 March 1953*

  TLS with envelope,