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Suffocation seems to be the only word that fits. I heard Ted Hughes say to Sylvia Plath to write about "anything . . you know your subject, you're just skirting around it" and it was obvious he knew nothing of suffocation. I feel like I have something inside me that suffocates and chokes on the lack of colour I provide to it. It seems cruel to murder again and again but murder is what worked for her. She's as crazy as any other poet and yes, she's very stylized, but she knew what it meant to not have the words you have come outside where you know they belong.I read Daddy again and its impact is still incredible. Its a rollicking, speeding train of anger and metaphors, reaching its terrifying climax like Blaine The Mono reaching Topika. Blaine The Mono, the insane train which flew worlds in seconds and crashed its passengers on a fight about a riddle. Blaine is a pain and that's the truth. Daddy builds to its climax like that, only it is more menacing, and far, far stronger in its immediate impact.

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Batool said…
Ted Hughes used to set out assignments for her like school children to make her write something at least. Remember the 'practice' pieces? When it feels as if you have something phenomenal to say you somehow can't say it at all. I guess humility and a sense of humour do the writer good.

Don't let it suffocate you, will you? I know you're better than that.
3:25 PM
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