#Ariel poem

[nwpoetariel]

essential angel

draft essential angel a gentle love of a familiar, acheafter him almost another day.a drunk, who hungersbetween blaze and ground,soak there your heart –an imagined bouquetkept sacred between a season of snow& winter, a lesser nature of air.oh beautiful woman, he inspiresa freeze of river, whispers during night. Ariel

[lovingsylvia]

The frost makes a flower, The dew makes a star,

Sylvia Plath, from “Death & Co.”, 14 November 1962, in: Ariel, 1965

[popfatal]

“I am too pure for you or anyone.” ― Sylvia Plath, from “The Collected Poems” (1981)

[fornpt1]

currently reading the bell jar🤎

[metamorphesque]

— Lady Lazarus, Sylvia Plath

[text ID: Dying

Is an art, like everything else.

I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.

I do it so it feels real.

I guess you could say I've a call.]

[uwmspeccoll]

It's Fine Press Friday!

We end the work week with this slim volume of number 12 in The Ariel Poems series, Troy by the Italian-born British poet Humbert Wolfe with illustrations by British artist Charles Ricketts, printed in London by the Curwen Press for Faber & Gwyer in 1928. It is a large paper edition printed on English hand-made paper in an edition of 500 copies singed by the poet. The Ariel Poems were a series of illustrated pamphlets containing poems published by Faber and Gwyer and after 1929 by Faber and Faber. The first series had 38 titles published between 1927 and 1931. The second series, published in 1954, had 8 titles.

View other posts from the Ariel Poems series.

View more posts with work by Charles Ricketts.

View more posts with books printed by the Curwen Press.

View more Fine Press Friday Posts.

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

"How many poems does a guy have to write / to get abducted by aliens? I know you / see me, same as the fat moon peeping / through the trees like a pervert. I just / want to talk."

Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!

[robcam-wfu]

I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.  

— Sylvia Plath, from "Elm"

[beanutputterrrr]

This lovely lady...

[sylviaplathink]

Submitted by Iona Murphy

“The box is only temporary.” in Sylvia Plath’s handwriting

...

The Arrival of the Bee Box

I ordered this, clean wood box Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift. I would say it was the coffin of a midget Or a square baby Were there not such a din in it.

The box is locked, it is dangerous. I have to live with it overnight And I can’t keep away from it. There are no windows, so I can’t see what is in there. There is only a little grid, no exit.

I put my eye to the grid. It is dark, dark, With the swarmy feeling of African hands Minute and shrunk for export, Black on black, angrily clambering.

How can I let them out? It is the noise that appalls me most of all, The unintelligible syllables. It is like a Roman mob, Small, taken one by one, but my god, together!

I lay my ear to furious Latin. I am not a Caesar. I have simply ordered a box of maniacs. They can be sent back. They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner.

I wonder how hungry they are. I wonder if they would forget me If I just undid the locks and stood back and turned into a tree. There is the laburnum, its blond colonnades, And the petticoats of the cherry.

They might ignore me immediately In my moon suit and funeral veil. I am no source of honey So why should they turn on me? Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free.

The box is only temporary.

—Sylvia Plath, written 4 October 1962, in: Ariel, 1965

[nwpoetariel]

the void

the void my muscles are heavy with need. i whisper into the voidstill too quiet for you to avoidall i want is for you to walk into my poemlet to swirl and whirl around youperhaps sneak into your earwork its way into your subconscious then one day you will start to randomlythink about meand love then connect the twoand with a thundering shoutyou will run back to me your muscles heavy with…

[lovingsylvia]

"We should meet in another life, we should meet in air, Me and you."

–Sylvia Plath, from “Lesbos”, 18 October 1962

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I have a call.

- Sylvia Plath, Ariel

[fornpt1]

the real esther greenwood

[moodymeangirl]

finished ariel this morning. my favourite ones were about death and suffering :)

[uwmspeccoll]

A Merry Christmas Eve

On this unseasonably warm Christmas Eve, we offer a very seasonable winter poem, Winter Nights, number 17 in The Ariel Poems series, by English poet Edmund Blunden (1896-1974) with illustrations by British artist Albert Rutherston (1881-1953) printed in London by the Curwen Press for Faber & Gwyer in 1928. It is a large paper edition printed on English hand-made paper in an edition of 500 copies singed by the poet. The Ariel Poems were a series of illustrated pamphlets containing poems published by Faber and Gwyer and after 1929 by Faber and Faber. The first series had 38 titles published between 1927 and 1931. The second series, published in 1954, had 8 titles.

Midwinter mirth! the magic of earth -- My threadbare soul rejoices,. . . The red-screened windows of schoolhouse and inn Dart life through the moorlands raw, And the lovetalk, carolling, dancing din Are the heart's invincible law.

We wish you a joyful Christmas Eve.

View other posts from the Ariel Poems series.

View more posts with poems by Edmund Blunden.

View more posts with books printed by the Curwen Press.

View our other posts from Christmas Eves past.