Yesterday was #45 for me.



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Sylvia Plath, "A Birthday Present"

What is this, behind this veil, is it ugly, is it beautiful?
It is shimmering, has it breasts, has it edges?
I am sure it is unique, I am sure it is what I want.
When I am quiet at my cooking I feel it looking, I feel it thinking
'Is this the one I am too appear for,
Is this the elect one, the one with black eye-pits and a scar?
Measuring the flour, cutting off the surplus,
Adhering to rules, to rules, to rules.
Is this the one for the annunciation?
My god, what a laugh!'
But it shimmers, it does not stop, and I think it wants me.
I would not mind if it were bones, or a pearl button.
I do not want much of a present, anyway, this year.
After all I am alive only by accident.
I would have killed myself gladly that time any possible way.
Now there are these veils, shimmering like curtains,
The diaphanous satins of a January window
White as babies' bedding and glittering with dead breath. O ivory!
It must be a tusk there, a ghost column.
Can you not see I do not mind what it is.
Can you not give it to me?
Do not be ashamed-I do not mind if it is small.
Do not be mean, I am ready for enormity.
Let us sit down to it, one on either side, admiring the gleam,
The glaze, the mirrory variety of it.
Let us eat our last supper at it, like a hospital plate.
I know why you will not give it to me,
You are terrified
The world will go up in a shriek, and your head with it,
Bossed, brazen, an antique shield,
A marvel to your great-grandchildren.
Do not be afraid, it is not so.
I will only take it and go aside quietly.
You will not even hear me opening it, no paper crackle,
No falling ribbons, no scream at the end.
I do not think you credit me with this discretion.
If you only knew how the veils were killing my days.
To you they are only transparencies, clear air.
But my god, the clouds are like cotton.
Armies of them. They are carbon monoxide.
Sweetly, sweetly I breathe in,
Filling my veins with invisibles, with the million
Probable motes that tick the years off my life.
You are silver-suited for the occasion. O adding machine---
Is it impossible for you to let something go and have it go whole?
Must you stamp each piece purple,
Must you kill what you can?
There is one thing I want today, and only you can give it to me.
It stands at my window, big as the sky.
It breathes from my sheets, the cold dead center
Where split lives congeal and stiffen to history.
Let it not come by the mail, finger by finger.
Let it not come by word of mouth, I should be sixty
By the time the whole of it was delivered, and to numb to use it.
Only let down the veil, the veil, the veil.
If it were death
I would admire the deep gravity of it, its timeless eyes.
I would know you were serious.
There would be a nobility then, there would be a birthday.
And the knife not carve, but enter
Pure and clean as the cry of a baby,
And the universe slide from my side.
Was my birth just like a birthday present?

An unknown and unknowable future?
Concealed in wrapping paper... perhaps beautiful paper?

That gets thrown away/ discarded.

With a beautiful ribbon, and large flowery bow.

That gets thrown away/ discarded.

Is a birthday simply the starting point
on a path leading to an inevitable death?

A dark emptiness only
Temporarily concealed in beauty?

Yet no different than the emptiness from which it originated.

Hmmmm.
Thanks for the "Bell Jar" inspiration for this post. Great song. ;)
Jen said…
Looks like Sylvia struggled with birthdays too. ;)

Jason isbell can write a song, can't he?!

And thanks FJ.
Yep!

"The Life You Chose"

Who are you if not the one I met
One July night before the town went wet
Jack and coke in your momma's car
You were reading The Bell Jar

Where are you if you're not on your own?
Always lonely, never quite alone
Where's the Jesus that you swore you'd find
After running the last line

Are you living the life you chose
Are you living the life that chose you
Are you taking a grown up dose
Do you live with a man who knows you
Like I thought I did back then
But I guess I never did
Did I, kid?

I got lucky when I finished school
Lost three fingers to a faulty tool
Settled out of court, I'm no one's fool
You probably knew

There's plenty left to make a getaway
I've spent enough nights in the bluegrass state
We could go somewhere where people stay up late
Or just somewhere new

Are you living the life you chose
Are you living the life that chose you
Are you taking a grown up dose
Do you live with a man who knows you
Like I thought I did back then
But I guess I never did
Did I kid?

Here I am inviting you to throw your life away
Victim of nostalgia, maybe Tanqueray
Just tonight I realized that I am still in your backseat
Nothing I've had since has meant a thing to me

Are you living the life you chose
Are you living the life that chose you
Are you taking a grown up dose
Do you live with a man who knows you
Like I thought I did back then
But I guess I never did
Did I kid?

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