| Sylvia Plath's "The Couriers" |
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Paul Ferguson
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| Joined: | Fri Feb 15th, 2008 |
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Posted: Thu Dec 5th, 2013 04:40 pm |
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An alchemical and hermetic interpretation:
http://www.iun.edu/~nwadmin/plath/vol6/Gordon-Bramer.pdf
The word of a snail on the plate of a leaf?
It is not mine. Do not accept it.
Acetic acid in a sealed tin?
Do not accept it. It is not genuine.
A ring of gold with the sun in it?
Lies. Lies and a grief.
Frost on a leaf, the immaculate
Cauldron, talking and crackling
All to itself on the top of each
of nine black Alps.
A disturbance in mirrors,
the sea shattering its grey one-
Love, love, my season.
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