Is this her real voice?

Hi, Tudor! Thanks a lot for sharing this poem; it's beautiful. Aren't you planning on uploading more videos like this? I really like them! Do you have Instagram? Goodbye!

Wish this was on Spotify

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Life's a playground, so wear that smile proud.

The first poet I ever read. Thus began a lifelong love affair with poetry.

"I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die and get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, and they stuck me together with glue." that is so sad she deserved so much better

well i accidentally listened to this so many times that i've got it memorized

Brilliance

She really stradled those phonemes

As a Polish person, I'm confused.

The white light is artificial, and hygienic as heaven. The microbes cannot survive it. They are departing in their transparent garments, turned aside From the scalpels and the rubber hands. The scalded sheet is a snowfield, frozen and peaceful. The body under it is in my hands. As usual there is no face. A lump of Chinese white With seven holes thumbed in. The soul is another light. I have not seen it; it does not fly up. Tonight it has receded like a ship's light. It is a garden I have to do with -- tubers and fruit Oozing their jammy substances, A mat of roots. My assistants hook them back. Stenches and colors assail me. This is the lung-tree. These orchids are splendid. They spot and coil like snakes. The heart is a red bell-bloom, in distress. I am so small In comparison to these organs! I worm and hack in a purple wilderness. The blood is a sunset. I admire it. I am up to my elbows in it, red and squeaking. Still is seeps me up, it is not exhausted. So magical! A hot spring I must seal off and let fill The intricate, blue piping under this pale marble. How I admire the Romans -- Aqeducts, the Baths of Caracella, the eagle nose! The body is a Roman thing. It has shut its mouth on the stone pill of repose. It is a statue the orderlies are wheeling off. I have perfected it. I am left with and arm or a leg, A set of teeth, or stones To rattle in a bottle and take home, And tissues in slices-a pathological salami. Tonight the parts are entombed in an icebox. Tomorrow they will swim In vinegar like saints' relics. Tomorrow the patient will have a clean, pink plastic limb. Over one bed in the ward, a small blue light Announces a new soul. The bed is blue. Tonight, for this person, blue is a beautiful color. The angels of morphia have borne him up. He floats an inch from the ceiling, Smelling the dawn drafts. I walk among sleepers in gauze sarcophagi. The red night lights are flat moons. They are dull with blood. I am the sun, in my white coat, Grey faces, shuttered by drugs, follow me like flowers.

The line "Ich,ich -- I could barely speak" hits in a different way when she says it -- she literally cannot pronounce the "ch" in "ich". I also noticed the prevalency of the word "do" -- which Plath obviously knew means ''you" in German. You, you, not you! Just my thoughts -- I never saw this anywhere.

Rest in Peace Sylvia. ❤️

Would help if she didn’t call a horse a “lioness”

Didn’t understand a word

Gölde anımsıyor nağmeler bir sabahı, sözlerim yeşil su damlası..

"Every woman adores a fascist" Wow girl...

I don't get it but that was amazing

Too wordy get to the point

All her poems are so deep, she was literally saying that she planned to k*** herself and she knew no one would stop her

02:59

Amber brandyfinger..

My eyes are never dry by the time I finish listening to this. Sometimes I sob uncontrollably. Other times, a single tear rolls down my cheek. I don’t know if it’s the pain in her voice and the words and the fact that I can relate to her pain, but it gets me every time.

One of my favorite poems it even inspired me to write a poem of the same meter ❤

كاجولوووه روشنوووه

اوه اوه عاوز البت تموت لما تشوفنى

"Its like the military but for being nice, instead of shooting bullets we act sweet like sprite." -Sylvia Plath

To hear the voice of my idol. Her use of ther English language and the imagery. I would have loved to have seen her at a poetry reading........

This poem is chilling ❤

jesus what an amazing poem.

The amused shout a miracle it knocks me out

1:33

Next to 'Elm' the best of the best.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna, is not very pure or true.

"Does not my heat astound you?" Connor OMalley recently did a recording of this poem that I really enjoyed.

N..... eyed berries....? Not acceptable.

She’s good.

I been listening to this since y when I was 15

A genius

IT RHYMES IT FUCKING RHYMES!!!!!

"Sylvia Plath reading her own work. This is so magical, beyond what I could imagi- WHO WAS THAT?! WHAT ANIMAL COUGHED DURING HER READING?!"

Wow.... Wow. This is the first time I've heard her voice. It is not what I expected. It's so much much much MORE. It's so haunting and it's so deep and fitting and true to the feeling and the words.

Nobody was brave enough to speak of suicide for fear of Asylyms, I still am and have been in many. They wanted to give me ECT's at 11. I was dealing with sexual, emotional and physical abuse along with being treated by a pedophile priest for my "homosexuality". His answer was a playgirl and heterosexual pornography while he played with himself. 😂 I have to laugh now that I've had a drink. My mother, mommy dearest knew and kept sending me back. I was the victim though I hate the word, Munchausen by Proxy by a family filled with incest. I finally cut my wrists to shreds with a dull knife steak knife until I hit my artery, they hadn't yet taught us enough anatomy. Suddenly my mother burst through the door asking and I quote WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO US? I was astounded, bleeding out as she screamed at me. I had broken the facade, the perfect family facade. I still have the scars and I'm 35. I had them inked over when I was in my early 20's by my late dead fiance. Why do they say late? You're not late or early anymore? You just are and then you aren't anymore. I've died twice and I cannot tell you how beautiful it is. You'll see it and be angry if you come back, feeling robbed, raped and an urge to get back that is uncontrollable. Don't try it, I'm not saying that dying is the answer but just have nothing to fear.

the villagers are dancing and stamping on you

When I first heard this, I was astonished how English she sounded. Expected more of a NA accent.

No use, no use, now, begging Recognize. There is nothing to do with such a beautiful blank but smooth it. Name, house, car keys. The little toy wife Erased, sigh, sigh. Four babies and a cocker. Nurses the size of worms and a minute doctor Tuck him in. Old happenings Peel from his skin. Down the drain with all of it! Hugging his pillow Like the red-headed sister he never dared to touch, He dreams of a new one- Barren, the lot are barren. And of another color. How they'll travel, travel, travel, scenery Sparking off their brother-sister rears, A comet tail. And money the sperm fluid of it all. One nurse brings in A green drink, one a blue. They rise on either side of him like stars. The two drinks flame and foam. O sister, mother, wife, Sweet Lethe is my life. I am never, never, never coming home!

A secret! A secret! How superior. You are blue and huge, a traffic policeman, Holding up one palm-- A difference between us? I have one eye, you have two. The secret is stamped on you, Faint, undulant watermark. Will it show in the black detector? Will it come out Wavery, indelible, true Through the African giraffe in its Edeny greenery, The Moroccan hippopotamus? They stare from a square, stiff frill. They are for export, One a fool, the other a fool. A secret… An extra amber Brandy finger Roosting and cooing ‘You, you’ Behind two eyes in which nothing is reflected but monkeys. A knife that can be taken out To pare nails, To lever the dirt. 'It won't hurt.' An illegitimate baby-- That big blue head-- How it breathes in the bureau drawer! 'Is that lingerie, pet? 'It smells of salt cod, you had better Stab a few cloves in an apple, Make a sachet or Do away with the bastard. 'Do away with it altogether.' 'No, no, it is happy there.' 'But it wants to get out! Look, look! It is wanting to crawl.’ My god, there goes the stopper! The cars in the Place de la Concorde-- Watch out! A stampede, a stampede! Horns twirling and jungle gutturals! An exploded bottle of stout, Slack foam in the lap. You stumble out, Dwarf baby, The knife in your back. 'I feel weak.' The secret is out.

What a beautiful piece of art! she's getting rid of the imagine of Elecktra and starts her next stage to reach the top of her poetry, the annihilation of the self in the poem.❤

She was able to use her personal experiences, disappointments and defeats to craft a unique poetry. Always trying to separate her emotions from the poetic self , she added more psychological drama to it in order to give an exceptional effect to each composition. I simply love it!