1981 The Morning of the Poem, by James Schuyler

forthcoming

1982 The Collected Poems, by Sylvia Plath

Childless Woman

The womb
Rattles its pod, the moon
Discharges itself from the tree with nowhere to go.

My landscape is a hand with no lines,
The roads bunched to a knot,
The knot myself,

Myself the rose you acheive—-
This body,
This ivory

Ungodly as a child's shriek.
Spiderlike, I spin mirrors,
Loyal to my image,

Uttering nothing but blood—-
Taste it, dark red!
And my forest

My funeral,
And this hill and this
Gleaming with the mouths of corpses.

Commentary- Wow. Striking. Intense. Gory. Amazing. The personal hell this woman is going through, the mental anguish! Maybe some resentment haunting her. She wants others to understand her plight. The nature in the landscape outside is used to convey what’s inside. Babe, some tea and sympathy.

This is the creativity I fall in love with. What skill, vision, and art. She must have been different than most women, and I would have loved to hang out with her.

My opinion: 10/10