Tuesday, 9 November 2010

Shaeffer Pen of Sylvia Plath



Your writing was also your fear.
.......................................................
It made a noise like your typewriter.
........................................................
It hid in your Shaeffer pen –
That was its favourite place. Whenever you wrote
You would stop, mid-word,
To look at it more closely, black, fat,
Between your fingers –
The swelling terror that would any moment
Suddenly burst out and take from you
Your husband, your children, your body, your life.
You could see it, there, in your pen.

Somebody took that too.



Ted Hughes, Birthday Letters  - Apprehensions.


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