sylviaplathink

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friday 13 tattoo. pondering my fig

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via @James_Harlow on Twitter

“I may never be happy, but tonight I am content.”

--Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, diary entry for July 1950

Signature from Sylvia Plath's "The Poetry Society of America" membership card, minus the "Hughes"

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            “Meadow-Flowers” by Sylvia Plath. Pen and ink on paper.

Sylvia Plath tattoo reveal:)

i’ve had it for over a year now still my fav🩷

(help sorry for this weird ass picture it was awfully hard to make since it’s on top of my arm💔)

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“Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.”

–Sylvia Plath, from “Lady Lazarus”, 23-29 October 1962, in Ariel (1965)

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via @paigeofpentacles on instagram

Done at Cult Classic Tattoo @cultclassictattoo in Romford, United Kingdom

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“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”

–Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, Chapter Twenty, 1963

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Today marks the 62nd anniversary of Sylvia Plath’s death! RIP!

(27 October 1932, Boston, USA – 11 February 1963, London, UK)

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Here is my second Sylvia Plath tattoo as a tribute to some of her most well-known and my favorite poems - “Tulips” and the bee poem sequence, especially “Wintering” and “Stings” - done by the incredibly talented Minmal Gdańsk at Sztorm Tattoo in Gańsk Wrzeszcz, Poland - my beautiful old home town, just a few streets away from where I used to live more than thirty years ago 😍

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"The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.

[…]

The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;    They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,    And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me."

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"The bees are all women, Maids and the long royal lady. They have got rid of the men,

The blunt, clumsy stumblers, the boors. Winter is for women ----

[…]

The bees are flying. They taste the spring."

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"but I Have a self to recover, a queen. Is she dead, is she sleeping? Where has she been, With her lion-red body, her wings of glass?

Now she is flying More terrible than she ever was, red Scar in the sky, red comet Over the engine that killed her ---- The mausoleum, the wax house."

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I got my first Sylvia Plath inspired tattoo back in 2021 and knew that I wanted another one, but I made the decision to get a tulip and a bee when I saw his Instagram and fell in love with his minimalistic style.

Additionally, this tattoo means a lot to me because it was done in the city I was born in and spent the first half of my childhood. It is a reminder of my home and my roots, a souvenir I will carry with me forever.

I am really in awe how beautiful it turned out!

It's definitely not my last Sylvia Plath tattoo!

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via Jess Holliday on Facebook & Instagram in Springfield, Missouri

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“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”

–Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, Chapter Twenty, 1963

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via Cassidy Oliviera on Pinterest

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”

–Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, Chapter Twenty, 1963

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via OlsonAH82 on Twitter

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

–From The Bell Jar, Chapter Seven

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via https://eatupmyfreetime.wordpress.com/

Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar is seventh from the left!

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via @poont on reddit

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”

–Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, Chapter Twenty, 1963

&

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

–From The Bell Jar, Chapter Seven

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“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

–From The Bell Jar, Chapter Seven

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via http://tattoosday.blogspot.com/

You can read the whole story behind the tattoo on the website!

The tattoo belongs to Sarah Cook and was done by Jacob Hanks (Hanks Family Tattoo Co), The Dalles, Oregon, USA

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Today marks the 50th anniversary of Anne Sexton’s death! RIP!

(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974)

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“I am a fortunate lady. I've gotten out of my pouch and my teeth are glad and my heart, that witness, beats well at the thought. Oh body, be glad. You are good goods.”

–Anne Sexton, from “Hurry Up Please It's Time” in The Death Notebooks, 1974

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via Andrea Hierro on Pinterest

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Sylvia Plath's poem "Lady Lazarus" (written 23-29 October 1962) meets the fig tree from her novel The Bell Jar:

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

–From The Bell Jar, Chapter Seven

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via https://www.buzzfeed.com/brodiemears

"i suffer from some pretty serious depression, and after coming out the other side of a particularly bad couple of weeks i went out and got this 'bell jar' inspired tattoo on my forearm - a small arrow, to remind me to keep soaring forwards, and one third of the quote "i am, i am, i am". i've actually wanted it for over a year, and after drawing it so many times on my arm in ballpoint pen it's cool to look down and see it there permanently!"

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“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”

–Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, Chapter Twenty, 1963

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via @LMFB9 on Twitter

Sylvia Plath's novel The Bell Jar meets her poem "Poppies in July"

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POPPIES IN JULY Little poppies, little hell flames, Do you do no harm? You flicker. I cannot touch you. I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns. And it exhausts me to watch you Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth. A mouth just bloodied. Little bloody skirts! There are fumes that I cannot touch. Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules? If I could bleed, or sleep!– If my mouth could marry a hurt like that! Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule, Dulling and stilling. But colorless. Colorless.

—Sylvia Plath, written 20 July 1962, in Ariel, 1965