by Sylvia Plath
I look so forward to the year ahead. there is much work always, but it is happy work, and I am loved, and I love, and everything is sweet and sensible . . .
much love to you all,
see you soon –
sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Wednesday 8 December 1954*
TLS with envelope,
Indiana University
Wednesday night
Dear mother . . .
The story looks just exquisite! I am so pleased. In fact, you have won me over to the beauties of elite type, which is a feat, since I was so prejudiced to begin with. I wish that you could do my thesis in elite because it would hold more words and look lovely. But I don’t think they’ll let us use elite for that very reason. My margins are non-existent in my rough draft, so I imagine it will be about five to ten pages too long if typed properly!
I acted immediately upon your suggestion and sent the story off to WOMAN’s DAY. You are right about its being too short for most magazines . . . I had thought to send it to the NEW YORKER, which accepts small sketches (it’s really not a “story” in the strict sense, but rather a “slice of life”) but WD might be more inclined to consider something with more pathos. Anyhow, I love having things “out”, whether they are accepted or not. I enjoy living in perpetual suspense.
I am leaving for New York Saturday, and looking forward to seeing many old friends, or at least calling them . . . Claiborne, of course, and Jan Wagner, and so on. It is nice to have so many offers and invitations! I look especially forward to going window shopping . . . they say the displays are more beautiful than ever this year.
Wrote Mrs. Cantor to thank her for lovely letter, and mentioned hope that we could have a get-together at our house this year during holidays . . . would like Warren, Gordon, and boys for Kathy and Joan . . . they’ve done so much for us.
For our German unit tonight we had to translate and explicate a poem apiece by Rainer Marie Rilke, a really stimulating assignment because a bit beyond our complete grasp. I got so interested in mine “Ein Prophet” that I made a stab at translating in verse with rhyme scheme and rhythm exactly like Rilke, and except for a few places I have to rework, it came out rather well, if I do say so!
Kazin has invited me out to an informal lunch next week for a long talk, and naturally I look forward to it more than anything else in the world. He has gladly accepted writing a recommendation for me for a Woodrow Wilson fellowship (the one Mrs. Cantor wrote for) and I know his name means a lot. If anything, this year has exposed me to the most magnificent of men! He is an inspiration which comes seldom in a lifetime. And it is so wonderful to know he admires me in return! Oh, yes, I do worship him.
I am also going tomorrow to see Mr. Alfred Fisher, who has offered to give me a rough “course” of private criticism on my poems, which I am going to start taking advantage of now that the main worry of the thesis is well in hand.
Everyone is singing Christmas carols, and I am already gathering cards and making out lists. I only have about 25, but they are all very close . . . and such a diverse group! I think your idea of a mimeographed letter was an inspiration. Christmas I hope to see Patsy, Ruth Geisel, the Cantors, the Crocketts, Mrs. Prouty, and Dmitri T. (the Russian prof at Harvard). What a program! I am nursing this cold, which I plan to be rid of in a day or two. Vitamins and early bed should check it completely.
Well, that’s about all for now. The Smith Review comes out this week with my story and poem* in it . . . look forward to bringing it home to you!
Looking forward to Christmas . . .
much love,
Sivvy
P.S. Guess what! Adlai Stevenson is going to be our commencement speaker! You should enjoy it doubly!
TO Gordon Lameyer
Thursday 9 December 1954*
TLS in greeting card,*
Indiana University
thursday morning
dear gordon . . .
a note in the midst of this impossible three weeks, which probably will welcome you home . . . I don’t have any idea about your virginia address, so I figure linden street’s the safest port. I battled temptation to ask you fly up from the south for our house dance, which is, after all, my last, and should have been the best, with you there. warren is coming up with kathy too, which satisfies my cupiditry.
anyway, I am packing up early saturday morning and heading for new york. I shall probably stay with claiborne and her husband, windowshop, and drown my sorrows in gallons of chateauneuf du pape. as it is, I refuse to be here alone, and there is no one to go to the dance with but you.
life here is fantastic, as usual. my thesis is coming along much better than I expected, and except for the ten most difficult pages of conclusion and the mechanics of bibliography and, of course, typing, I am through! doesn’t that sound impressive! except for three paragraphs in my last 20 page chapter, gibian likes it as is! which means I can write some stories and poems over vacation, I hope. german isn’t as bad as it was---I translated my first poem by rainer maria rilke yesterday, and got so interested that I worked up a verse translation in the same rhythm and with the same rhyme scheme . . . very difficult for me, but terribly stimulating. kazin has asked me out for lunch and a long talk before vacation next week, so naturally that makes me most elated. he is, of course, my guardian angel, and is writing me all kinds of recommendations for all these overseas scholarships. and, by the way, adlai stevenson is going to be our commencement speaker! do so wish you could come, but suppose you will be with giesha girls in japan
of course my schedule for seeing people in christmas vacation is, as usual, impossibly packed, and I’m hoping we can do some of these together: patsy, ruth geisel, the cantors, the crocketts, dmitri t., mrs. prouty, cambridge-in-general, and of course dr. b. am also working for vogue’s prix de paris, a $1000 jackpot for some clever college senior. chances are slim, but articles are fun to write . . .
smith review comes out this week with story and poem with your great title “circus in three rings” . . . can’t wait to see it all in print. don’t think you’ve seen story, done two years ago, about t.b. sanatorium, and one of my favorites . . .
until christmas vacation then (call when you get in, why not?) . . .
as ever
sylvia
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Monday 13 December 1954*
TLS with envelope,
Indiana University
TO
mother
FROM
daughter
SUBJECT
cabbages and kings
DATE
Monday
dearest mother . . .
it is monday morning again and the world settles back from the miraculous to the mundane, with so impossibly much to be done before the coming friday. my health is excellent, you will be happy to hear, and my change of scene did wonders for my flagging spirits . . . I feel infused with new energies and projects . . .
the weekend was wonderful. Claiborne has the most charming apartment which she had furnished with avrahm with modern wood coffee tables and bookcases that they have made themselves, and I had such a happy time. saw “the bad seed”* saturday night, that new play, and was intrigued by it. the heroine, a nine-year old murderess, looked exactly like libby aldrich! precocious and piano playing and deucedly clever. the supporting cast was the star-point of the whole play.
as usual, the people were fascinating, and I had a marvelous time windowshopping on fifth avenue, gazing at the blazing four-ton tree in rockefeller center, browsing for hours in brentano’s, eating my first escargots, partaking of oysters, shrimps, wines, and all the neon wonderland of thieves and millionaires.
this morning a happy thing happened: my second semester schedule, which has hitherto been a mess, is settling out miraculously. had a conference w
ith alfred fisher about my most recent poems and he offered to give me a private course one hour a week of special studies in poetics! he is a very strict man, and a brilliant professor, and this is a signal honor! also, I’ll be writing poetry! the nasty requirement for a unit this semester, for which I have no desire or need, will probably be changed by the honors committee to include this course in special studies, so that my program will cohere beautifully. I must be very quiet about it all, because fisher is terribly strict about taking on anyone to be tutored, and the waiving of the unit requirement (as yet to be done) is highly irregular! but it will mean my being able to take kazin’s modern american lit course and poetry (plus my shakespeare and german courses which continue) and a review class which is required. so I am very excited and must write both prose and poetry over vacation with a big: “do not disturb” sign on my door.
plans for vacation are crystallizing, and I thought I’d brief you: I’ll no doubt come home by bus this friday and stay till sometime monday the 20th (I think bob cochran might drop in to say hello on sunday the 19th). monday I am heading up to vermont to go skiing with a new friend of mine (bob riedeman’s roommate in the army) jon rosenthal, who is flying up from his base in texas. he graduated from amherst last year, a phibete in chemistry, and is in the enlisted student detachment working with guided missiles: a possibility for warren, perhaps: they carry books, not guns! jon is a nice guy, and a sensible chap, who will start me carefully on beginning slopes on his sister’s skis.
I’ll be coming back home that wednesday, the 22nd, in time to meet alison smith whom I’ve invited to stay with us from late wendesday the 22nd to friday the 24th. I know this is close to christmas, but if she didn’t come then, I don’t know I’d ever see her! and you know that she is a delightful guest! after christmas I must start my work schedule, which I will carry out at home till sunday, january 2nd, when I hope I’ll be able to persuade someone to drive me back to smith! so you see, I’ll really be home a good bit, and hope to see mrs. prouty, the cantors, aldriches, patsy, ruth geisel, bob cochran, crocketts, and of course dr. beuscher! la! what prospects!
in eager anticipation . . .
your loving daughter,
sivvy
TO Jon K. Rosenthal
Monday 13 December 1954
TLS (photocopy), Smith College
monday morning!
dear jon . . .
came back last night from a trip which elated and shocked: human nature never ceases to amaze. but more about that later. your letter was here. so to work. the third plan you listed (all of them were great) sounds most plausible for me at this stage, which means that I would be much appreciative if you would pick me up at my small white cottage in wellesley some time on the 20th, a monday, I believe (my god, a week from today!) and head north (I trust that’s the direction we’ll be going) from there. now I’d really love it if you would call when you get into NYC if possible to let me know the time, and just to say hello anyway. that is always nice, hearing someone say hello.
one of my closest friends, alison smith, is coming to stay with me starting the evening of the 22nd (wednesday) so if we started early monday, we could have one whole day with a half day on either end. check? I do hope your sister’s old skis will be available and also that we will pick up boots somewhere or other . . . you’ll have to supervise fit etc. as I obviously know nothing. my shoe size can very between 6 and 7 ½ and so is variable. or like, the japanese women, I could bind them (feet) this week in preparation . . .
my house is fantastically easy to find, I think. I’m sure I’ve said all this before, but it is 26 elmwood road, off weston road, which is off route 9 (nine, that is) which runs from boston to amherst and smith. or, if you find wellesley college, which is where weston road begins, just follow the road down a mile or so till you get to elmwood. I trust your map sense. again, it’s WE5-0219J. I’ll clarify over phone farther, if you should wish . . .
before I forget, I have a very attractive, but nervous mother, whom I see as little as possible. (I no doubt also told you this). anyhow, for her sake, I should be prepared to say where we’ll probably be, where staying, and so on. mother’s funny about such details. in case she dies unexpectedly, she wants to be able to send me a telegram. (seriously though, I do love her, and am not contemplating matricide, as it may sound from my idle chatter! she just likes to know.)
about this weekend (past). I broke all resolutions and headed for nyc friday. we were having a house dance here, and gordy lameyer was at gunnery school in virginia, and I can not stand crhistmas spirit by myself, so I made a break and prevailed upon a french friend of mine to host me about the city. like cinderella, I was enchanted. christmas lights unbelievable, enormous four-ton tree with blazing red, yellow, orange lights in rockefeller center, skaters waltzing and twirling, silver and blue windows for windowshopping, brentano’s for bookbrowsing, oysters for breakfast . . . you know, all exotic and alive, wind-in-hair, frost and wine . . . only I spent the last afternoon talking to detectives in the 16th squad police station.
like this it was: left suitcase in date’s locked car for one hour while sunday dinnering,* car being on public street just off 5th avenue in very broad daylight. upon return, car forced open, broken into, suitcase gone with all worldly possessions such as favorite dresses and poetry books, theater programs and empty wine bottles. all very discouraging. no clothes. no nothing. I’m trying to keep this a secret from mother, because when one is supporting oneself, one does not replenish wardrobe, one wears dungarees for a year. so I will wear dungarees for a year. and pretend I have become an ascetic. you know: just cawn’t beah cashmeah sweatehs, so vulgah. materialism, these tweed dresses! back to natcah!
excuse me, jon, but I’m still seething. my date and I whiled the afternoon away reading missing person notices, discussing theories of crime with a detective in a blue serge suit (it is serge that detectives wear, isn’t it?) and hearing fantastic cases being reported: we got these here woman and a three year old kid unconscious in apartment five ana puddla blood on the floor dint belong to either of em. and this here other woman up ona thoid floor with her arm slashed open wide with a knife, no gas, and we can’t figya why the kid was knocked out, overtired maybe huh?
and on and on. I almost decided to be a police reporter for a year. this stuff fascinates me! so I came home with a pair of dirty white gloves and a book of franz kafka’s short stories, and longing memories of escargots (a euphemism for snails, I just found out). fortunately I have an old navy sweater left, and some ski pants. hope I don’t bore you!
anyway, I hope my modern poetry books are educating some thug or other about the finer things in life. and that my chanel no. 5 is sweetening the nights of some gun moll in the slums. my christmas gift to the miserable masses. (only it is disconcerting to be left naked!)
so, to terminate: (somehow have to write thesis conclusions today!) I’ll plan to hear from you by letter, phone, or telegram about when on monday the 20th I should be ready for you. also, would appreciate if you could give me some idea about what kind of clothes to bring (ha). navy sweater and ski pants, maybe?
until a week,
season’s greetings from the disenchanted,
sylvia
TO Melvin Woody
Friday 17 December 1954
TLS in greeting card,* Smith College
It’s Noël! / MERRY CHRISTMAS
much love and / holiday greetings / syl / (see inside for much deserved / letter →)
monday afternoon
december 17
dearest mel . . .
really, my room is wallpapered with good intentions! I have been going to send you a long missive for about half a year. at last, the christmas season makes me repent verbally for my sins, and say how often I’ve thought of you and wondered what you’re doing, and wanted to send you news. I insist that you be more honorable than I and answer me before we reach infinity!
life here is the richest ever, and I am most happy. all the vitalities and interests that were sprouting last spring from soil that I though was to be eternally sterile are blossoming out miraculously. the thesis on two examples of the double personality in dostoevsky (golyadkin and ivan karamazov) is almost writing itself, and I am more and more convinced that dostoevsky has been the greatest philosophical influence on my life . . . along with nietzsche, huxley, fromm and a few others. I am also taking an unexpected creative writing course with a brilliant young jewish critic, visiting this year, alfred kazin (author of “on native grounds” and the exquisite “walker in the city”). he is the light that incandesces my year, and our conferences are fabulous. I’m taking his modern american lit. course next semester, going out to lunch with him next week, and being elated about it all. the shakespeare course is vivid and vital, intermediate german is a struggle, but I need it for graduate school and stimulate my interest by making stabs at translating rilke. best news is that alfred fisher, an excellent english professor here, has just offered to give me a private course in special studies: writing poetry and the technical aesthetics of poetry. I’m stimulated at the prospect, and just a little scared. so much for courses.
amy remondelli* is all you said and more. she is going around with charlie gardiner now which somehow surprised me . . . all the intricate connections in our group of acquaintances. I think she has the face of an intellectual madonna: as you can see, I admire her no end, and she has done so much as editor of the smith review. news from marty is cheerful as ever, and I hope to glimpse her during christmas vacation. carol pierson writes (secretly, you understand!) that she is at a mental hospital in new york, and I am trying to find out further details, knowing generally what she is no doubt enduring there. nancy hunter is pinned to david furner (at amherst) as of this fall, and although we’ve hardly spoken to each other all year (separate theses and separate social lives keep us apart, among other things) there is a sort of bond still; I have, however, lost my case of heroine worship which I had last year. sassoon (if I remember, you don’t care about this) is explosive as ever, and I just got back from a weekend of escargots, red wine and plays in nyc to which he cavalierly excorted . . . visited with claiborne handleman and her husband (nan’s roommate last year). aside from the fact that my suitcase was stolen with all my worldly goods, it was a magnificent respite from the campus circuit. (to paraphrase yeats:* “suitcase, let them take it / for there’s more enterprise / in walking naked”) I’m doomed to dungarees for a year.