| Title | : | The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 0385720254 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9780385720250 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 732 |
| Publication | : | First published April 1, 2000 |
A major literary event--the complete, uncensored journals of Sylvia Plath, published in their entirety for the first time.
Sylvia Plath's journals were originally published in 1982 in a heavily abridged version authorized by Plath's husband, Ted Hughes. This new edition is an exact and complete transcription of the diaries Plath kept during the last twelve years of her life. Sixty percent of the book is material that has never before been made public, more fully revealing the intensity of the poet's personal and literary struggles, and providing fresh insight into both her frequent desperation and the bravery with which she faced down her demons. The complete Journals of Sylvia Plath is essential reading for all who have been moved and fascinated by Plath's life and work.
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath Reviews
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The Problem of Sylvia Plath, Her Poetry, and the Necessity of Her Journals
Because of her suicide at the age of 30, many critics have labeled her either immature or hysterical--while other critics have taken it upon themselves to defend her integrity. Those who have championed her work find they do so at personal cost. Unfortunately, her personal life, and the circumstances surrounding her death have had an adverse effect on how she is read.
Quite instinctively, one knows the implications that may be drawn when acknowledging a liking for her poetry. By announcing your admiration for Plath, you may find yourself under suspicion for morbidity, bad taste, and even doctrinaire feminism.
However, if you believe Plath is one of the more important poets of the 20th century and that she's had a lasting effect on lyric poetry, one cannot deny the import of her work. Although, beware, her work is seen through many lenses. Even admiring lenses can cloud one's judgment.
Many admirers make the mistake of imagining Plath to be a Phaedra--a spurned woman, a dangerous woman, and a victim. But the speaker in her poetry is just as multidimensional as Plath was herself. Despite the fact that she wrote from the emotional realities of her life, one cannot stress enough, how important it is to separate the person from the creative result.
It is because of this confusion between the two, that the Unabridged Journals bear the burden of illumination. They are a significant contribution to our understanding of Plath and Plath scholarship.
The journals allow us to see Plath’s joyful, backbreaking work. They allow us to see the methodical revisions, the many thoughtful ways in which she crafted her poems. They allow us to see the seams and underpinnings necessary in the making of lasting poetry.
Though Plath's sensibility is dark, and though she twists nature to her own effect, like so many other poets and fiction writers, there is something uncommon about her work and the strength and momentum that builds poem-to-poem. There is a forcefulness of the persona speaking through her work, and then too, there is her strong inclination toward wholeness and harmony; although, many only see the jaded and sardonic undercurrents.
Yet, one of the most important aspects of her work, an aspect that has often been neglected, has to do with the idea of the spirit derailed from its source, and how that spirit is always trying to find its way back to the source. The speaker is constantly in flight, searching for a means of return.
This is the dilemma of the soul. It is the dilemma of the artist in his or her calling, and that spiritual pull between the real world and the state of imagining which becomes, through physical and mental exertion, its own state.
It is because of this that I maintain that Plath was brilliant and that she created her final poems with genius. Her final book, known as Ariel, was a swift achievement. Many of the poems written in the final months of her life were characterized by a propulsion, or forward momentum, a gallop toward an end.
Like Shakespeare’s Ariel, the spirit of Plath’s work appears to be driven toward an understanding of enslavement and the necessity of freedom. The work speaks to the alchemy of person-hood and art formation. For Plath, this was a quest for liberation, and a means to end her suffering.
There is a dichotomy between the mechanical and mathematical aspects of poetry and something outside reason. Plath merges form with associative lyricism until the scaffolding of her old style falls away and we are left with Ariel.
To know Plath more closely, one may want to read her journals. They give the reader a glimpse into the ways she worked and into the associative powers of her mind. The journals allow the reader to separate the person from the persona. It gives a sense of the ordinary, and humanizes the writer.
One sees the struggles she endured, in her daily life, as an imperfect person in the pursuit of her art. And it is "One Art," like Bishop's art, in its own way, so precisely crafted and yet as soon as it is mastered—lost.
Unfortunately, some of her journals went missing or were destroyed. But the journals that remain allow a close reader to see some of her ideas before they appeared in print. They give a sense to how she may have approached her work.
There is no doubt Sylvia Plath's art was a labor of love. Her euphoria and intensity in the creating of it is tangible. It is important to read the journals, and her poetry as it is appears on the page, and to remember, all art is artifice. All true artists create not just a world, but a mythology within which they exist.
Although Plath's mythology may at times be off-putting due to a kind of forcefulness and rancor, it is a distinct voice full of human emotion. The world she creates is recognizable, but only as far as a dream may be recognizable. In truth, what we encounter cannot be Plath herself. Her final poetry is a brilliant invention, prepared by a writer in pursuit of her very best.
It is a visionary form: a reality that seems more real, only because of its extreme divergence. Great poets trick their listeners and readers by making the art form feel more real. Perhaps this was her “call,” as Sylvia Plath said so herself. But the call of the reader is to recognize the trick and then to commend the art for brilliant illusions. -
I decided I was going to read this for two reasons: Sylvia Plath intrigued me; and I need to write better journal entries.
It is sometimes hard to wrap your head around the fact that she was so young when she wrote those journals, and constantly I had to keep reminding myself. She seemed extremely mature for her age. I found myself only reading 20, 30 pages at a time, because her words were so full of introspection, I had to continually go back and reread passages and reflect, soul-search about my own life. It was exhausting (and worthwhile).
The first half of this book is absolutely remarkable. Especially for being just a journal. After she married, however, I think her tone changed. Her journaling was permanently altered. She made herself so little when compared to the “great Ted Hughes”. She refrained from “nagging” him, but he could nag her, because of his “superior seat”. Out of the pair he was always the better, bigger and smarter in her eyes. Her feminist words of before were somehow not put into action, and she became rather submissive and accepting too much of his behavior and betrayals. I understand her position and era of misogyny, but after being so entirely compelled by this woman’s words, I can’t lie here and say her submission didn’t bother me.
The introspection halted and her diaries started resembling a drone list of clipped everyday happenings and to-do lists. The student Sylvia was interesting, incredibly eloquent and contemplative; alive and iridescent, even at her worst depressions. The working, married Sylvia was washed out and colorless. But that’s when she wrote her most important masterpieces. So I suppose she just transplanted her magic from journaling to higher purposes.
This book was a long, tough read. Took me forever to finish. But it was more than worth it. Sylvia Plath was something else. Her words transcend journaling. -
The Journals of Sylvia Plath, Sylvia Plath
An exact and complete transcription of the journals kept by Sylvia Plath over the last twelve years of her life. Sylvia Plath kept a record of her life from the age of eleven until her death at thirty. The journals are characterized by the vigorous immediacy with which she records her inner thoughts and feelings and the intricacies of her daily life. Apart from being a key source for her early writing, they give us an intimate portrait of the writer who was to produce in the last seven months of her life the extraordinary poems which have secured her reputation as one of the greatest of twentieth century poets.
تاریخ نخستین خوانش: روز بیست و نهم ماه آگوست سال2004میلادی
عنوان: خاطرات سیلویا پلات؛ با مقدمه ای از: تد هیوز؛ تدوین فرانسیس مک کالو؛ مترجم: مهسا ملک مرزبان؛ تهران نشر نی، سال1382؛ در488ص؛ شابک9643126595؛ چاپ دوم سال1386؛ شابک9789643126599؛ چاپ سوم سال1393؛ چاپ چهارم سال1395؛ چاپ پنجم سال1396؛ موضوع یادمانهای سیلویا پلات (پلت)؛ شاعر ایالات متحده آمریکا - سده20م
سیلویا پلات از زمانیکه کودکی بیش نبودند، نگاشتن یادمانهای روزانه خویش را آغاز کردند، و تا زمان رفتنشان از این جهان آن کار را پیگیری کردند؛ پس از سری اشعار ایشان، این کتاب مهمترین اثر ایشان به شمار میرود؛ نوشته های این دفتر، چیزی شبیه دفترهای یادمانهای دیگر بود: «نگارش رخدادهای روزمره، بازخوانی یادمانها، پرداختن به زندگی خصوصی، و اینکه، هیچکس جاودان نمیماند» ـ اما با اینهمه چیزی فراتر از همه ی اینها نیز هست؛ «پلات» دفتر یادمانهایشان را «دیوان رؤیاها، دستورها و ضروریات» نام نهاده اند، که به معنی دقیق همان «ساراگاسو»ی ایشانست، و منظورشان گنجینه ی خیالات است؛ یعنی همان ضمیرِ ناخودآگاهِ، داده هایی که برای نخستینبار در این صفحات آمده اند، همانند زندگینامه های معمولی تنها شرح زندگی نویسنده نیستند، بلکه سرچشمه و منشأ، بیشتر کارهای ایشان هستند؛ برای نویسنده ای که کارشان تا این حد بر جزئیات و ظرایف زندگینامه ای خویش متمرکز است، روابط اهمیتی ویژه دارند؛ این زندگینامه خودنوشت، همانند آثار دیگر نویسندگان، اعتراف نیست، بلکه بیشتر مفهومی اساطیری دارد، همچنان که در کتاب، بخشهایی در اسطوره شناسی، نوشته «جودیث کرول» به روشنی دیده میشود؛ دفتر حاضر چیزهایی ارائه میدهد، که از هر زندگینامه ی خودنوشت مهمتر است؛ از میان این صفحات و عبارات دلنشین آن، صدایی به گوش میرسد، که همانند اشعار «سیلویا» صادق و بیهمانند هستند
تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 20/03/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 22/01/1401هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی -
"So it all moves in a pageant towards the ending, it's own ending. Everywhere, imperceptibly or otherwise, things are passing, ending, going. And there will be other summers, other band concerts, but never this one, never again, never as now. Next year I will not be the self of this year now. And that is why I laugh at the transient, the ephemeral; laugh, while clutching, holding, tenderly, like a fool his toy, cracked glass, water through fingers. For all the writing, for all the invention of engines to express & convey & capture life, it is the living of it that is the gimmick. It goes by, and whatevere dream you use to dope up the pains and hurts, it goes. Delude yourself about printed islands of permanence. You've only got so long to live. You're getting your dream. Things are working, blind forces, no personal spiritual beneficent ones except your own intelligence and the good will of a few other fools and fellow humans. So hit it while it's hot."
Jesus. My college diaries don't sound like that, let me tell you. But of course, Sylvia Plath has always operated on another level entirely, and her journals prove nothing else, it's that Plath was in a category by herself.
The newly-unabridged journals of Sylvia Plath are a fascinating and intimate look into her life and her mind - and at the same time, the reader is kept mostly at arm's length. For every page where we see Plath grappling with her depression, or her anxieties about writing, or her complex relationship with Ted Hughes, we have to wade through hundreds of pages that are nothing but Plath describing who she spent the afternoon with and what they wore and what the room looked like (As a writing exercise, she would record everyone's outfits and physical details of the places she visited - I'm sure it helped her as a writer, but for a reader, it's a maddening slog). And even though this book contains hundreds of pages' worth of journal entries that were previously kept out of the public eye (thanks, Ted), this is far from a no-holds-barred tell-all. Many of Plath's journals have been destroyed, and Plath went through long periods where she didn't do any diary-keeping at all. So we get to read her college journals up until July 1953, and then there's nothing until 1955 - so anyone going into this book expecting raw, emotional entries written after Plath's suicide attempt in August 1953, and her last year at Smith following her hospitalization, will be disappointed. (I freely admit that I'm one of these ghouls - the first time I read The Diary of Anne Frank in elementary school, I was genuinely disappointed that the final entry wasn't written as the Gestapo were raiding the attic)
At over seven hundred pages, this book requires a lot of commitment. Even die-hard Plath fans will find themselves struggling to stay invested - the downside of reading real diaries is that there's never anything resembling a plot to keep the reader interested, unless that plot is "we're hiding from the Nazis" or something like that. But if you stick with it, there's a lot to discover. I identified very strongly with the college entries, because it's a lot of "what am I supposed to do with my life/am I actually talented/when am I going to get a boyfriend" that will be very, very familiar to anyone who remembers that period of their lives. Plath also writes frankly about what it's really like to make a living as a writer - once she and Ted are married, they're both constantly sending stories to magazines, working on their books, and applying for writing fellowships. Plath is always reminding herself to write more in her entries, setting goals for herself like "write for two hours every day" or "finish ten poems and send them to publishers." It's a very realistic depiction of what it actually means to be a writer.
The most interesting part, for many people, will be after Plath marries Ted Hughes. I didn't know much about their married life, aside from the fact that Ted was responsible for fucking up a lot of Plath's poetry collections after her death, and the way Plath writes about their marriage is really interesting. She fucking adored Hughes, and she seemed to really love her role as a housewife - she's always baking cakes and throwing dinner parties, and at times it seems like she enjoyed being an author's wife more than being an author herself. She believed that Ted was the real talent, and seemed very happy to play second fiddle to him (so it's a delightful irony that Plath is now the more famous name, while Ted Hughes is known primarily as "Sylvia Plath's jealous husband"). As I said earlier, their relationship was complex. Plath freely acknowledges in her diaries that Ted is a surrogate father figure for her, and there's a section where she realizes Ted is cheating on her and is devastated.
Throughout the book, you can see Plath struggling with her own personal demons, and trying to push back at the depression and anxiety that eventually killed her. In a way, I appreciated how long this volume is, because it allows you to see that Sylvia Plath was more than just a writer who killed herself. She had good days and bad days, she was complicated, she was happy and sad and scared and angry, and she was alive.
"I must reject the grovelling image of the fearful beast in myself, which is an elaborate escape image, and face, force, days into line. I have an inner fight that won't be conquered by a motto or one night's resolution. My demon of negation will tempt me day by day, and I'll fight it, as something other than my essential self, which I am fighting to save: each day will have something to recommend it...Minute by minute to fight upward. Out from under that black cloud which would annihilate my whole being with its demand for perfection and measure, not of what I am, but of what I am not. I am what I am, and have written, lived, and travelled: I have been worth what I have won, but must work to be worth more. I shall not be more by wishful thinking." -
"this loneliness will blur and diminish, no doubt, when tomorrow i plunge again into classes, into the necessity of studying for exams. but now, that false purpose is lifted and i am spinning in a temporary vacuum. at home i rested and played, here, where i work, the routine is momentarily suspended and i am lost. there is no living being on earth at this moment except myself."
sylvia... these are not words, these are knives aimed at me. -
actual rating: 3.75 stars ⭐️
-
There were moments reading this book that I had to put it down because the feelings are so vivid you feel like an intruder.
There are quotes from her journal that decribe in dark detail the feelings that I am sure many women feel as they are on their own for the first time, falling in love, broken hearted, scared of failure, married, alone...
Loved this book. -
This is more interesting than any of her publications - fiction or non-fiction. Those who want to know more about Plath must read these journals.
-
wow, I guess I really took my time to finish this book. no, I mean... I reaAAAlly took my time – Goodreads is telling me I started reading it in April 2018, and have only managed to finish it in August 2020; and what a ride this has been!!
honestly, I can't deny my disappointment at realising how much of her journals has been lost, possibly forever (Ted Hughes claims to have destroyed the last volume, but then again, Sylvia also went through periods when she simply didn't keep a diary). reading her journals has been...exhausting, above all. I could only pick this up when feeling especially depressed, since her journals would get quite intense at times. However, most of all, Sylvia kept a diary as a writing exercise – this is why you'll have to go through hundreds of pages where nothing's really happening (but in a somewhat pretentious way and gorgeously written, still).
all in all, I'd say that it was worth spending 2 years intermittently picking up her journals for the few insightful, emotional entries describing her anxieties as an aspiring author, her relationship with Ted, her deepest insecurities and her battle with depression (which she eventually lost). and yeah, Sylvia totally made me want to start keeping a diary – if only I weren't so afraid that I'd unconsciously appropriate her voice, then defeating the whole purpose.
Saturday: July 19, 1958. Paralysis still with me. It is as if my mind stopped & let the phenomena of nature-shiny green rosebugs and orange toadstools & screaking woodpeckers – roll over me like a juggernaut – as if I had to plunge to the bottom of non-existence, of absolute fear, before I can rise again. My worst habit is my fear & my destructive rationalizing. Suddenly my life which always had clearly defined immediate & long-range objectives – a Smith scholarship, a Smith degree, a won poetry or story contest, a Fullbright, a Europe trip, a lover, a husband – has, or appears to have none. I dimly would like to write (or is it to have written?) a novel, short stories, a book of poems. And fearfully, dimly, would like to have a child: a bloodily breached twenty-year plan of purpose. Lines occur to me & stop dead: "The tiger lily's spotted throat". And then it is an echo of Eliot's "The tiger in the tiger pit", to the syllable & the consonance. I observe: "The mullberry berries redden under leaves". And stop. I think the worst thing is to exteriorize these jitterings & so will try to shut up & not blither to Ted. His sympathy is a constant temptation. I am made to be busy, gay, doing crazy jobs & writing this & that – stories & poems & nursing babies. How to catapult myself into this? When I stop, moving, other lives & single-track aims shoulder me into shadow. [...] Will this pass like a sickness? If I don't settle my trouble from within, no outside shower of fortune will make the grass grow. I feel under opiates, hashish – heavy with paralysis – all objects slipping from numb fingers, as in a bad dream.
b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l. -
It's astounding how much I relate to Sylvia in these journals. I think all feminine beings need to read this. Her entries are honest and raw: revealing her sensitivities, obsessions, routines, insecurities...
More intimate than any of her poetry books, Plath's journals offer greater insight into both her personal and literary struggles.
This book is of great value to me: and I'm sure I will continue referring to it for many years. -
بعد اسبوعيين تقريبا انتهيت من اليوميات لم الاحظ انى استغرقت هذه المدة الا بعد تعليق الصديقة Heba Nour
التى اشكرها لانها نبهتنى لانى اعدت التفكير فى اليوميات وقراءة مانقلته منها . فأنا احيانا استغرق هذه المدة او اكثر فى قراءة كتاب وعادة اشعر بطول المدة وانى استغرقت الكثير لكن مع هذا الكتاب ورغم وجود بعض الاجزاء المملة الا انى لم اشعر بالوقت .
لم اكن اعرف سيلفيا بلاث لكن عثرت بالصدفة على هذا الكتاب الخاص بيومياتها فبحثت عنها من باب الفضول لأعرف انها شاعرة وكاتبة امريكية لكن ذلك لم يكن السبب انى قرأت الكتاب فالكتاب ليس بالصغير لكن معرفتى بانها كانت تعانى من الاكتئاب لاأغلب حياتها وانها انتحرت فى سن صغير حيث ماتت أثار التسمم بأول أكسيد الكربون بعد أن حشرت رأسها في الفرن. وضعت مناشف مبللة تحت الأبواب لتكون حاجزا بين المطبخ وبين غرف أطفالها. وضعت رأسها في الفرن الذي كان قيد التشغيل. كان عمرها ثلاثين سنة.جعلنى ارغب فى قراءة اليوميات لااتعرف بشكل اكبر عن حياتها ومعاناتها مع الاكتئاب فانا شخصيا انجذب لقراءة كل مايتعلق بالاكتئاب
هناك جزء افتقدته فى يومياتها وهى يوميات مابعد طلاقها وقبل انتحارها
اليوميات كانت فى بعض الاجزاء مملة بعض الشىء خاصة انها تتحدث عن مقابلاتها او محاداثتها مع اشخاص والجزء الاخير صراحة تعديته فهو عن وصف لجيرانها وحياتهم لم اشعر بالاهتمام لذلك
هناك اجزاء من يومياتها شعرت انى لو كنت اجيد لكتابة لكانت كلماتها نسخة بالضبط مما اكتبه لذلك فتأثرى به كان شخصى جدا . فهناك اجزاء من حديثها عن شعورها ومعاناتها قريب منى لدرجة مخيفة . وربما لهذه الاجزاء كنت اكمل قراءة اليوميات .
حياتها ومراهقتها وعلاقتها وحبها وحزنها .
رغبتها بالكتابة شديدة جدا وكانت مهمة جدا بالنسبة لها لكنها كانت تعانى من رفض الكثير من اعمالها وكان ذلك صادم لها جدا . قرائتها واراءها .وظائفها وتاثير كل وظيفة عملت بها عليها .
رفضها لان تفقد نفسها فى حال زواجها
" لو سالونى اى دور اخطط للقيام به سأقول ماذا تعنى بكلمة دور ؟ لست عازمة على القيام بدور فى حال تزوجت لكنى سوف اواصل العيش ككائن بشرى عاقل طبيعى اظل انمو واتعلم كما فعلت دزما لاتحول لاتغير جّذرى فى عادات حياتى "
" الهذا يتهمنى بالهيمنة ؟ بالصراع من اجل الهيمنة ؟؟ اسفة الرقم غلط بالطبع انا خائفة من ان يهيمن على ومن لايكون كذلك فقط ذلك الفرد من النوع المطيع سهل الانقياد الجبان . لكن هذا لايعنى اننى بحكم الطبيعة اريد ان اهيمن ..... انه التوازن الذي اطلبه لا التابعية المستمرة لرغبات واهتمامات شخص واحد"
كانت دوما تحاول ان تشجع نفسها وتكتب لنفسها ماذا يجب ان تفعل وان لاتتذمر لزوجها وتشكو له حتى لايحزن . اعجبنى حوارها مع نفسها وتشجيعها لنفسها
حزنها ويأسها احيانا وتشجيعها وثقتها فى كتاباتها تارة اخرى
حديثها عن كرهها وغضبها من والدتها
حديثها عن زوجها وعلاقتها بها
ورغبتها الشديدة فى ان تكون أم وحزنها لعدم حملها وفقدانها للجنين وحزنها قبل ان تنجب
تحدثت بتفاصيل عن ولادتها الثانية " نيكولاس "فشعرت انى معها فى الغرفة واتالم معها
"الحياة هى وحدة برغم كل المود المخدرة برغم المرح المبهرج الصاخب الحفلات التى بلاجدوى برغم الوجوه المبتسمة الزائفة التى نرتديها جميعا وعندما تجد فى النهاية احدا تشعر معه انك تستطيع ان تثبت لواعج نفسك تتوقف فى الحال مذعورا من كلماتك هى صدئة جدا قبيحة جدا تافهة جدا وواهنة لانها بقيت زمنا طويلا حبيسة فى الظلام الخانق لداخلك اجل يوجد فرح ارتياح عشرة .لكن وحدة الروح فى وعيها الفظيع بذاتها هى رهيبة وطاغية "
" لدى الخيار فى ان اكون فعالة وسعيدة بشكل دائم او سلبية وحزينة او يمكننى ان اجن بالشرود بين الاثنين "
"انا خائفة لست صلبة بل جوفاء . خلف عينى اشعر بحفرة كامدة متبلدة بفراغ من جحيم بعدم متصنع . لم افكر ابدا لم اكتب ابدا لم اعان ابدا اريد قتل نفسى الهرب من المسئولية . الزحف عائدة بذل الى الرحم "
"الحب ووهم لكنى ساقع فيه لكل حب لو استطعت ان اؤمن به "
لقد كتبت الكثير من كلامها وعندما قراته الان ثانية شعرت برغبة فى إعادة قراءة يومياتها لكنى اتطلع لقراءة رواية الناقوس الزجاجى لها
٣/ ٢ / ٢٠١٩ -
It is true that that the facts of her death are what finally propelled Sylvia Plath into literary eminence—she published little during her lifetime and was largely unknown outside of poetic circles. It is also true that her own fascination with psychoanalysis, alongside a tumultuous relationship with husband and would-be Poet Laureate Ted Hughes, marks her as a subject of much intrigue. However, I find it perverse how she is seen primarily through her tragedy; her person interchangeable with a sense of macabre victimhood. I love Plath, but it is her life that I'm drawn to rather than her death.
My admiration for Plath and her oeuvre is therefore often accompanied by a sense of unease, given the degree to which her life and works are obscured by her oft-mythologised struggle with mental illness and eventual suicide. Reading her has time and again led me to see her a kindred soul, to believe that I can commune with her and that she gets me—although I am but one among the millions of women who feel the same. What is that if not the mark of a superior writer?
In her journals, Plath is vivacious, multidimensional, and intensely human, passionately recording her life and observations lest they slip away, coaxing herself to write more and do more and be more. Hers is an obsession with living, with creativity and success, and it is this that makes her such an irresistible figure.
Sylvia Plath photographed with typewriter in Yorkshire, September 1956
The journal entries included in this volume are dated as early as July 1950, when Plath is an eighteen year old just about to begin college, and reveal a refined style and outlook that seems way ahead of her time. An all-American girl on the surface, she craves both independence and sexual freedom, and has ambitious in an age when success for women was defined as being wives and mothers. Thus, although often preoccupied with dating and husband-hunting she is calculating in romance, knowing the precarity of women in the 1950s. Unable to see herself in the hallowed image of a domestic subservient, she wants equality; she negotiates her femininity vis-a-vis the 'masculinity' of her aspirations and often mentions her envy for the ease of male living.
Her conception of her own femininity and wholeness sees a subtle shift in later years, post her affair with Richard Sassoon and her marrying Ted Hughes, but she continues to assert her talents while balancing her role as a wife. Plath's veritable adoration for Hughes soaks through much of her writing in the later half, and it is perhaps because of her finally having the kind of companionship she craves that her entries in this period shift from being exercises in expression to concerned mostly with description. Even so, there remains in her a loneliness that she can not share, one she often ascribes to her inability to tap her talents to the fullest.
In these later entries we see Plath pushing herself to write and publish, describing in earnest the cycle of rejections and acceptances and what it's like to earn a living through letters, giving a sense of her competitiveness with contemporaries like Adrienne Rich and Anne Sexton, and, not least, her experiences with therapy and coming face-to-face with her personal issues and familial demons. There is too a sense of Plath boxing herself into her role as a wife and internalising a sense of lack, often seeking to synthesise the creative energy of the womb with that emanating from her pen.
It is difficult to read these journals in one go—as private documentation of the poet's life, they exert a sense of guilt and voyeurism on the reader. At the same time, Plath's writing here is not always raw but artistic and coolly analytical, often veering into the territory of writing practice, where she records details and observations to enliven future efforts at composition. Often, these journals read like a variation of the confessional poetry she became best known for, blurring the line between the poet and the person considerably in some places while reasserting it in others.
Sylvia Plath photographed by Ted Hughes, 1960
Of course, as with all journals, Plath's can only be read through the gaps between them. It is true that people most often write journal entries as a form of cathartic release when they're upset, and Plath says as much herself. Thus, to see her entries as a wholly accurate picture of her temperament would be rather misleading.
An additional problem is posed by the fact that insight on crucial moments in her life—such as the birth of her children, her separation from Hughes, and her final days—is often missing due to the fact that Plath simply did not keep a journal during some periods (such as during her senior year of college), and that at least two of her journals have gone missing or been destroyed by Hughes. Moreover, given the control he exercised over Plath's work after her death, it would not be entirely unfounded to suspect Hughes of tampering even with those journals which he released for publication.
Nevertheless, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath is indeed a valuable volume for those who have been moved and fascinated by the legend of Plath. While it does not provide one with the complete picture of her mind, it privileges readers a glimpse into the blazing talents and meticulous sensibilities of one of the most dynamic and acclaimed literary figures of the 20th century. -
This should be at the top of everybody's reading list...
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بسيطة وعميقة في الآن نفسه، وصادقة، ولغتها إشاريّة، وتُعطي ربما أسبابًا لانتحارها في النهاية؛ الضياع، وفقدان الذات، وعذاب النفس في رحلة البحث عن الطموح البعيد، كما قال المتنبي:
لحا الله ذي الدنيا مُناخًا لراكبٍ
فكُلّ بعيد الهمّ فيها مُعذّبُ -
I will not rate this book.
It's too hard for me to finish reading. I feel like I'm intruding. I love memoirs, but this is not one. This is a collection of raw feelings/thoughts. Would Sylvia Plath have published her diaries, had she survived? Would she have changed them before publication? -
مذكراتها جعلتني أشعر أنني صديقة مقربة لها. عظيمة.
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اندوه و افسردگی در سفیدی میان خطوط، کلمهها و تاریخهای این کتاب رخنه کردهاند. از اولین یادداشتی که سیلویا پلات در ژوئیهی ۱۹۵۰ نوشته تا کمی قبل از خودکشیاش در ۱۹۶۳ چیزی شبیه یک افسردگی کشنده و ناتمام جریان دارد، مثل آبی گلآلود که اول آرام و راکد است اما بعد نیرو میگیرد و به سیلی ویرانکننده تبدیل میشود. سیلویا پلات بیواسطه و بدون تغییر نهچندان فاحشی همان دخترکی است که در حباب شیشه، خواننده را تا مرزی از سقوط در ظلمات میبرد پس نمیتوان در قلمرویی که خودش را عریان و عاری از هر نقابی نشان میدهد، انتظار افسردگی و نفرت و سیاهی را نداشت.
نوشتن احتمالاً شبیه بیماری است. یک رنج پیوسته و برای تاب آوردن این بیماری باید مرهمی وجود داشته باشد. یک تسکین. برای سیلویا پلات این تسکین چاپ شدن داستان/ شعرهایش در نشریات معتبر آن سالهاست و چرا او که مدام میان اینکه چقدر خوب مینویسد یا اصلاً چرا مینویسد؟ در جنگ است به اندازه کافی مورد توجه نبوده؟ این حالات ناخوشی، طرد کردن نوشتن و میل برای فرار از کلمهها و تبدیل شدن به یک آدم معمولی که کار کارمندی میکند و نوشتن برایش باری به هر جهت است، لذتهایش بیمایه و دغدغههایش مسخره... گاه و بیگاه او را به فکر میاندازد که همهچیز را کنار بگذارد اما این راهحل نه قطعی است و نه آرامبخش.
باران ریز سرد افسردگی روی سرم، وقتی که حتی فکر نوشتن قصهای به سرم میزند.
هیچچیزی سیلویا پلات را نجات نمیدهد. نه همسرش که در انتهای زندگی زناشویی به او خیانت میکند اما آدمی است که معنای جنگهای درونی را میفهمد و نه دکترش که سعی میکند ریشههای نفرتش را پیدا کند. نه مادرش که ارتباطش با او عجیبوغریب است... چیزی در درون او هست، چیزی که خودکشی را، نابودی خود را برایش اجتنابناپذیر میکند. چیزی شبیه یک حفرهای سیاه، قیرمانند، یخزده.
خوشحال بودم که جز نویسنده شدن کار دیگری از دستم برنمیآید ولی حالا نویسنده هم نیستم. حتی یک جمله هم نمیتوانستم بنویسم: ترس و جنون مرگبار مرا از پا انداخته.
دنیا باید خیلی وحشتناک باشد، وقتی دیگرانند که تعیین میکنند تو که هستی؟ نویسندهای یا نه. استعداد داری یا نه. نوشتهات به دردبخور هست یا نه؟ لایق زندگی هستی یا نه؟ دنیا اغلب اوقات وحشتناک است. -
my first ever encounter with Sylvia Plath was with her poem 'Daddy' -
// bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue. //
I couldn't understand at that time why I was able to connect with her, but some time later when I was in my own labyrinth I was able to comprehend the attachment I formed with her. In some really severe hopeless moments, I found solace in the words of the person who, like everyone around us, was thrown into the real world with a really brute force. But unlike everyone else, it took her, and to some extent, me, years to find a stable ground. When everyone around was growing with a pace that seemed unattainable to me, there I was - with Sylvia, stuck in a world where we were convinced that the only way to live was by being hard on ourselves. She taught me how to reflect on myself and my thoughts, and slowly I found myself getting out of the bell jar.
I don't know if I found her or if she found me, all I know is that we have always belonged together. They say that you're an amalgamation of all the books you read, but of all the authors I've ever read she's the one I feel the most myself with.
she died when she was 30. She committed suicide by suffocating herself to death. She couldn't find her own ability to stand up, but she helped me find mine.
a book that I revisit every year. -
Nigdy w życiu nie czytałam żadnej książki tak długo, ale trudnością nie była wcale objętość „Dzienników”, a raczej mnogość akapitów wymagających czasu i porządnego przemyślenia. Początkowe wpisy to głównie rozważania na temat wyboru tej jednej „słusznej” życiowej drogi, opisy miłosnych przygód Sylvii Plath i jej wielkich ambicji. Im dalej w treść, tym bardziej koncentrujemy się na pisaniu, które w pewnym momencie zmienia się w obsesję autorki. Dostajemy zatem ogromne ściany tekstu przepełnione opisami zwykłych przedmiotów, szkice nigdy nieukończonych powieści, długie listy imion, które Plath chciała nadać bohaterom swoich kolejnych tekstów. Łatwo się tą książką zachwycić, ale łatwo też poczuć się znużonym. Zdumiewające są jednak umiejętności pisarskie Plath, szczególnie biorąc uwagę, że były to jej prywatne zapiski tworzone w czasach, kiedy nie była jeszcze znana.
Kto powinien sobie tę książkę odpuścić? Przede wszystkim ci, którzy spodziewają się odnalezienia w niej sensacji związanych z licznymi próbami samobójczymi autorki czy rozpadem jej małżeństwa. Zaskakująco mało jest w tej książce tematów potencjalnie kontrowersyjnych, jest za to bardzo dużo feminizmu i rzadko spotykanej wrażliwości. A komu spodoba się najbardziej? Tym, którzy chcieliby zajrzeć do głowy jednej z najlepszych i jednocześnie najbardziej tajemniczych pisarek ubiegłego wieku i tym, którzy będą potrafili zrozumieć jej potrzebę kompulsywnego pisania o wszystkim, nawet o tym, co może wydawać się nieistotne. -
This is the book that introduced me to Sylvia Plath. Her poetry and 'The Bell Jar' would follow. I came to appreciate her love for just writing. She can make the most mundane interesting. To truly have a complete picture of Sylvia Plath, 'The Journals' are integral. One of my great thrills was to visit Smith College, and meet Karen Kukil and actually pick up and read the actual journals. In the Mortimer rare book room, I was also able to see the drafts of her poems written on the pink Smith College stationary. To read the Journals for me was to get closer to the real Sylvia Plath, and away from the sensationalized version. Highly recommended for anyone interested in Sylvia Plath.
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سیلویای عزیز، سلام.
معذرت میخوام. من ازت معذرت میخوام. بخاطر اینکه دنیا خیلی باهات بیرحم بود، بخاطر اینکه هیچکس متوجه تو نشد، بخاطر اینکه همیشه احساس کردی تو اضافی هستی، بخاطر اینکه احساس کردی تو مشکل هستی نه یک انسان، سیلویای عزیز، من ازت بخاطر تمام دردهایی که کشیدی معذرت میخوام.
و در اخر سیلویای عزیز، من نتونستم. من مجبور شدم رهات کنم، چون حالت به شدت برای من آشنا و تاثیر گذار بود، من مجبور شدم رهات کنم، دلم نمیخواست، میخواستم تا تهش کنارت باشم ولی نتونستم. من رو ببخش سیلویای عزیز.
ولی بدون من در اعماق قلبم، در اعماق روحم، در اعماق وجودم احساساتت رو درک کردم. من درک کردم چهچیزهایی کشیدی و چه ذهن آشفته ولی روح بزرگی داشتی. بزرگی تو نشون میداد که افراد همراهت کوچیک بودن که نتونستن بفهمنت، نتونستن وجودت رو بشکافن و خود حقیقیترو بهت نشون بدن.
سیلویای عزیز، اگر مردم دلم میخواد ببینمت، بغلت کنم و برات گریه کنم و بهت بگم درد تموم شد. حالا میتونی آروم باشی.
«دی ماه ۱۴۰۱» -
When you hear the name Sylvia Plath two things instantly come to mind. The first thing being her suicide and the second thing being her contributions to the world of writing. I went back and forth on how to best state the first thing and decided to go with the blunt truth of it. I know that word carries a lot of pain and for some people it is a topic they prefer to avoid. If you are one of those people I recommend walking away from this review. There is no plan to dig into the topic but there might be a mention of it here and there since it did weigh heavily on my mind as I read her journals.
This is a collection of journals written by a young woman just trying to exist in this crazy world. I was surprised by how long it took me to read it. The length can be blamed for some of it but most of the blame should go to the content. So much raw emotion buried in the pages mixed with an eerie detachment and an almost business-like edge to compartmentalize her own life into goals. I found it difficult to go between the extremes. One minute I was drooling over a meal she had deliciously described and the next I was lost in a fog of anguish brought on by her desire to be in a relationship she couldn’t make happen. Then a few pages later I would find myself reading her list out her short-term goals and how they had to be met so she could reach and accomplish her long-term goals. What would come after that would be her rapid decline into self-loathing for not meeting her goals and then swiftly back to describing a gorgeous view or a detailed interaction with an interesting person she met in passing.
I spent a lot of time in between these dips and dives pondering how they came to be. I feel strongly that is how Plath’s mind worked and I can relate on some level to it. Some days I wake in a get shit done mood and others I am more focused on just being, which means drifting from thought to thought and randomly focusing on minute details of inconsequential things. I think this is truly why I was so bothered by this book and why I had to work slowly through her journal entries. To tear yourself down for not meeting goals is one thing, to see another person doing it to themselves is quite another.
The other reason for it being here and there, I felt had to do with what content was provided to the reader. I don’t believe the author of this book cherry-picked it, but I do believe Plath’s husband did. The author does mention that some journals were missing/destroyed, and I think if the man did that to some then he had the power to alter the content of others. I think we will never truly grasp the full picture of what all she experienced and how she felt about it and honestly, I think that is okay. There are certain bits of our lives that should remain our business only. I will admit that while reading her journals I did feel the same bit of guilt I felt when reading what Kurt Cobain left behind. Not enough to stop though, and that is my little shame demon to deal with.
The fact that she is mostly known for the first thing is unfortunate because her talent was her true shining light. I can't even begin to express how much I am in awe of her abilities. She could string common and obscure words together in such unique and thought-provoking ways. She could thoroughly describe the condition of a room, a gut-wrenching emotional response to a moment or a love for picking her nose, with equal amounts of respect for it or the experience of it. She was a powerhouse wordsmith and the world suffered more than we will ever know with her loss.
Four star to a book that will forever live in my memory. -
I picked up this book to get an intimate understanding of Sylva Plath. What made this woman tick? I wanted to get a handle on both her thoughts and her emotions. Secondly, I love lyrical prose, but have a hard time sitting down with an anthology, and so I thought this book would fit the bill. The book satisfied me on both accounts.
I lapped up Plath’s vivid, colorful, emotive prose. Her descriptions overflow with perfectly chosen details. I was looking for beautiful, lyrical prose and I got it. Of course, not in every line. Plath’s prose goes up and down, along with her moods. Plath was diagnosed as being clinically depressed for much of her adult life. She underwent electroconvulsive therapy and consulted psychiatrists. All along the way, I sensed in her writing her emotional state.
What makes the book difficult to read is that so much is missing. The problem is not just that her last two journals are missing—the last was destroyed by Ted Hughes and the one before that he said could not be found. Journal entries for the days preceding her suicide are thus absent. Her poems are not here; instead she throws out ideas for new novels and short stories. The journals were never intended for publication. As a consequence, they are not always simple to follow. Lines can be misinterpreted. Who is who is not explained. In her journal, after the party when she first met Ted, she obliquely speaks of meeting a “big dark hunky boy, the only one huge enough for me.” This is in fact Ted. He kisses her. She returns with a bite to his cheek. In addition to being confusing, at several crucial periods in her life, Plath wrote not a word in her journals. Startling is the absence of information even at those times when she has daily entries. Extremely little is said about Ted after they first meet! I cannot remember her saying a single thing about the electroshock treatments. When Plath finally becomes pregnant, after moaning and groaning about not ovulating and thus not being able to get pregnant, she fails to rejoice in her journal when she does become pregnant! I counted backwards from the birth and so knew when the pregnancy must have begun to show, but she says not a word. What you note is that her complaining abruptly stops!
My point is this, even if you have read Plath biographies, it is important to keep in mind the exact days when events occur. Why? Because this information is often lacking. I made the following dateline chart so the dates would be easily accessible. I put it here to help others.
DATELINE
*Sylvia Plath: American poet, Oct 27, 1932 – Feb 11, 1963
*Ted Hughes: English poet, August 17, 1930 – Oct 28, 1998
*August 24, 1953: Plath's first medically documented suicide attempt.
*Feb 25, 1956: Plath and Hughes first meet-she s 23 and he’s 25.
*June 16, 1956: Plath and Hughes marry.
*April 1, 1960: Frieda born (London) and is still alive.
*February 1961: Miscarriage
*January 17, 1962: Nicholas born (North Tawton, UK). Death by suicide on Mar 16, 2009.
*June 1962: Plath’s car accident / suicide attempt
*July 1962: Plath’s discovery of Hughes’ affair with Assia Gitmann Wevill.
*September / October 1962: Plath and Hughes separate.
*February 11, 1963: Plath’s suicide
I find it particularly interesting to note Plath’s thoughts and emotions as these events occur, although they are not pointedly mentioned!
The book is by no means a typical autobiography. The reader must be aware of the events of Sylvia Plath’s life, before reading this book! The title of the book indicates that one is given her unabridged journal entries, and that is exactly what one is given, nothing more! Added editorial information is minimal.
Plath discusses authors that she admires. She dissects how they write so she can learn from them. It is fun to observe her analyses of books and authors you have read yourself! Both she and I are fans of D.H. Lawrence.
Reading this book, one cannot help but ponder the relationship between Plath and Hughes. She loved him to pieces. When he betrayed her, it is not surprising she fell apart. An emotionally strong and stable woman might be able to cope with infidelity, but this Plath was not! She had a whirlwind vitality and vibrant energy, but underneath she was unsure of herself. Lacking in self-confidence, she demanded always more of herself, to a point where she cracks.
Portions, i.e. fragments of journals, notes and letters, are taken out of the central text and placed in appendices. I see no logical explanation for the information relegated here. Nicholas’ birth is placed in an appendix! The appendices are not all arranged in chronological order. I wanted to listen to them with the journal entries of the same period. In the audio format, this is possible but complicated—you have to go back and forth between different parts. Until you get the hang of it, it’s easy to get lost. It is both time consuming and annoying. The appendices are a nuisance.
Tanya Eby narrates the audiobook very well. With the new Audible app, I reduced the speed down to 90% and then it was perfect. Words are clearly pronounced and spoken with feeling. Four stars for the narration.
It is easier to read a biography than this. There is so much missing. The advantage of this is that you hear Plath’s own words. Next in line for me is to look at the couple’s marriage from Ted Hughes’ perspective. I have already begun
Her Husband: Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath - A Marriage.
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*
The Bell Jar 3 stars by
Sylvia Plath
*
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath 3 stars by
Sylvia Plath
*
Her Husband: Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath - A Marriage by
Diane Wood Middlebrook reading
*
Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath TBR by
Heather Clark -
Nie chcę oceniać tych dzienników. Czytanie ich było dla mnie bardzo ważnym doświadczeniem.
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اين كتاب كادوى تولد نه سال پيشم بود
و امسال خوندمش
ترجمه عالى كتاب تحسين برانگيزه
اما حذف هاى زياد خواننده رو اذيت ميكنه
البته افسردگى پلات هم خوندن كتابو سخت ميكنه ولى اينكه اين همه سال خاطره نوشته و وقتى خاطراتشو ميخونى انقد بهش احساس نزديكى ميكنى انگار كه زندگى خودته خيلى قشنگه -
To był mój całoroczny projekt czytelniczy, który udało mi się z powodzeniem i zadowoleniem skończyć. Bardzo lubię czytać dzienniki, a w tych podobało mi się wiele rzeczy: to jak krytyczna jest Plath, jak szuka siebie, jak błądzi. Niezwykle dojrzałe są te jej zapiski, jej samodyscyplina jednocześnie mnie przerażała i budziła mój podziw. Tak się akurat złożyło, że w pewnym czasie czytałam jednocześnie Dzienniki i "Mistykę kobiecości". Niesamowite odnajdywać w przemyśleniach młodej Plath to o czym później pisała Betty Friedan w skali całego pokolenia kobiet takich, jak Plath. Ta presja społeczna, którą Plath czuje, to jak próbuje się wyrwać, a jednocześnie chce trzymać się utartych dla kobiet ścieżek zarówno w niej jak i we mnie podczas lektury budziła frustrację i poczucie niesprawiedliwości. Polecam wszystkim fankom dzienników, zainteresowanym literaturą, procesem twórczym, walką z oczekiwaniami.
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،کتابی رو سراغ ندارم که نویسنده ش انقدر دقیق و هنرمندانه و عمیق، تمام کلام و احساساتی که همیشه می خواستم بگم ولی از ترس گرفتار شدن به دام ابتذال هیچوقت نتونستم رو به زیبایی نوشته باشه. حدود پونصد صفحه س و مسلمن جزئیات خسته کننده هم توش هست ولی بخش گسترده ای از کتاب بیان آشفتگی ها و تشویش هاییه که هر زنی -هر آدمی- با دغدغه پیشرفت و درجا نزدن و فرار از جمود و رخوت هر روزه ممکنه بهش دچار بشه. خود پلات اسم کتاب خاطراتش رو گذاشته بود: دیوان رویاها، دستورها و ضروریات. می دونم در آینده بارها و بارها میرم سراغ این کتاب.
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"در خواندن این کتاب"
تنها خواندن یک صفحه از مقدمه مترجم کافیست تا دریابی با اثری فوق العاده متفاوت روبه رویی..اثری کاملا شخصی..ذهن یک انسان که متعلق به تو نیست..
سقوط و شکستن یک فرد در زندگی..افسردگی..شک به خود در مسیری اشتباه..باقی ماندن در قفس گذشته..باران نا امیدی هایی که اسمان هر روز اینده ت را فرا گرفته, مشکلات و خاطراتی که همچون یک افعی که در مغزت زنده است, تکه تکه وجودت را با دردی مسموم و پایان ناپذیر اغشته می کند..تا به انجا میرسی که فقط میخواهی نباشی..نبودن شروع گذشتن از خود است..پاسخ به سوال آیا باید خودکشی کنیم؟ دقیقا در همین جاست..جایی که از وجود خود میگذریم و نبودن را انتخاب میکنیم..
خواندن این خاطرات تجربه ای متفاوت بود,در فرهنگ ما عادت کرده ایم خاطرات افراد موفق را بخوانیم,افراد تلاشگر و هدفمند,افرادی که هر روز از خاطراتی که نوشته اند در حال نزدیک شدن به اهدافشان بوده اند..خاطرات سیلویا پلات اما داستانی متفاوت است..به گونه ای انسانی تر از همه ی خاطرات نوشته ی شده ی دیگر..خاطره ی یک انسان عادی..خاطره انسانی در مسیری اشتباه
خواندن این کتاب فرسایشی بود..خاطرات س��لویا پلات برای "دیگران" نوشته نشده..
خواندن این کتاب به گونه ای مانند دست و پا زدن در باتلاق جهان سیلویا پلات بود..جهانی forever decayin یا در زوالی ابدی..جهانی که هر چه زمان,این پارامتر نا مشخص زندگی انسان,بر ان میگذشت..بی توجه به وقایع باز هم راه خود را به سوی خودنابودی میافت..در نهایت همراه شدن با سیلویا پلات تجربه ای تلخ بود اما من رو به نوشتن تشویق کرد,نوشتن انچه در ذهن من و بر من می گذرد..
پ.ن:حذفیات متعدد مترجم اذیت کننده بود
پ.ن:عمل تد هیوز بر حذف خاطرات دوسال اخر که با خودکشی پلات پایان گرفت اگر چه قابل درک اما سبب شد که این اثر نا تمام باشد..و خواننده کتاب را با حس عدم اغنا به پایان ببرد -
it is a chilling experience to read this. if you keep a journal of your own you probably understand how odd it is to imagine people around the world curling up with it/them. i am a self-admitted voyeur so i couldn't resist this glimpse into her mind.
as always, ted had a say in what we (and more importantly, her children) would know of her:
"I destroyed [the last of her journals] because I did not want her children to have read it (in those days I regarded forgetfulness as an essential part of survival)"
yes, it is disappointing to know those words are forever lost. fortunately she has other ways of guiding us through the darkest portals of her mind, and i am grateful for the challenge of the journey. -
۲۴ساعته دارم با خودم کلنجار میرم که چطور برای کتابی ریویو بنویسم که لیترالی ۳ ماه از مهم ترین و پیچیدهترین دوران زندگیمو باهام همراهی کرد و گاهی یادم میرفت که این دفترخاطرات دختریه که ۶۰ سال پیش زندگی میکرد،نه دفترخاطرات خودم.
انقدر احساسات و پیچیدگیهای ذهن خودم به تک به تک جملاتی که سیلویا نوشته عجین شده بود و شباهت داشت و همشون دقیقا با روندِ این ۳ ماهم پیش میرفت که تنها واکنشی که میتونستم دربرابرش داشته باشم بغل کردن کتاب و بوسیدن جلدش و قرار دادنش تو لیست مهم ترین کتاب های زندگیمه.فکر کنم این کتاب برام زیادی شخصی تر از اونی شد که بتونم به کسی معرفی یا توصیفش کنم.
و اگر میتونستم برگردم به اون زمان و به سیلویا چیزی بگم...
اینه که انقدر سخت نگیر.میدونم دختر،منم از اینکه یک روزم بی فایده بگذره متنفرم،منم از اینکه به تمام اون بُعدها و شخصیتهایی که میخوام تو زندگیم باشم نرسم میترسم.و قول میدم از پسش بربیام.ولی اون همه پیچیده کردنِ همه چیز به کجا ختم شد؟جون خودتو گرفتی.
کاش میدونستی پنجاه شصت سال دیگه هزاران هزار سیلویای دیگه دفترخاطراتت رو میخونن و مث سگ درکت میکنن.کاش میدونستی خاطراتت گنجینهی ادبی ارزشمند تری از شعرهات میشه.مطمئنم اینو ترجیح میدادی.چون عاشق شناخته شدن بودی.
بهت میگفتم انقدر حرص چاپ نشدن شعرهاتو نخور و به شوهرت حسودی نکن چون این تویی که الان شدی "سیلویا پلات".هرچند که خودتو خیلی زود از زندگی محروم کردی که این اسم و رسم رو ببینی.ولی شاید همون تورو خاص تر میکنه.شاید تو باید نمادِ "عاقبت اورثینک کردن و سخت گرفتن به خود" میشدی.شاید مرگت به زندگیت معنا داد در نهایت.همونطور که خودت همیشه بهش فکر میکردی.
تمام این دفتر پر شده از خط کشیهای زیاد زیاد و حاشیهنویسیهای دورتادور و انقدر زیادن که نمیتونم چنتارو انتخاب کنمو تو یه ریویو جا بدمشون.
من بخشی از خودم رو تو این کتاب گم کردم،جا گذاشتم،برداشتم،آروم کردم،معنا گرفتم،
پیدا کردم،کمکم کرد با احساسِ شباهت آروم بگیرم و از سخت ترین حالتهای پاییز امسال لذت ببرم.لذت بردن از مالیخولیا.لذت بردن از زن بودن،هورمون های دیوانهی پیچیدهی زنانگی،لذت بردن از بزرگتر بودن رویاهام از تواناییم و بیشتر بودنِ سلیقهام از تواناییم در نوشتن.
مرسی سیلویا.
برای نوشتن اینا،برای زندگی کردنت هرچند کم،برای پیچیده و در عین حال قابل درک بودنت برای بیشتر زنهای قدیم و امروز و آینده.
پنج پنجره درون این ۵۰۰ صفحه:
زن بودن
نویسنده بودن
میانگرا بودن(برونگرا+درونگرا)
کمالگرا و بزرگتر از دنیای اطرافت بودن
عاشق زندگی و تشنهی معنا دادن به زندگی...
اگر تو هرکدوم از اینا زیادی سختگیر بشید و بلد نباشید شنا کنید،غرق میشید(🙋🏼♀️)
