The horizons ring me like faggots, Tilted and disparate, and always unstable. Touched by a match, they might warm me, And their fine lines singe The air to orange Before the distances they pin evaporate, Weighting the pale sky with a soldier color. But they only dissolve and dissolve Like a series of promises, as I step forward. There is no life higher than the grasstops Or the hearts of sheep, and the wind Pours by like destiny, bending Everything in one direction. I can feel it trying To funnel my heat away. If I pay the roots of the heather Too close attention, they will invite me To whiten my bones among them. The sheep know where they are, Browsing in their dirty wool-clouds, Gray as the weather. The black slots of their pupils take me in.
words for dissemination … poetry commentary and selected poems … Richard Scutter
The narrators war against nature is actually metaphorical she's not literally fighting against nature, things like the wind in this poem represent the pressure that society puts on her to be like every other woman in society at that time period, to be a conservative house wife, the narrator is fighting to keep her independence but she is weakening and it is starting to take a toll on her mental health as near the end of the poem she's at war with herself unsure of weather to just give up her individuality and do what society wants or keep going against the tide of society. But at the end she give into conformity and does what society wants her to do, she makes everything seem hopeless which is typical in Plath's work. This is my poem inspired by Plath's poem Wuthering Heights. The sky leans on me in this deserted place The wind moans and ripples the dark heather The sun sinks behind the hills Leaving a faint glow in the sky A lone sheep lays formless on wet earth Or is it just a white rock? Push me up against the wall and do dirty things to me. Hey, i am looking for an online sexual partner ; Click on my boobs if you are interested.
"Wuthering Heights" by Silvia Plath. Deconstruction of the Poem.
The horizons ring me like faggots,. Tilted and disparate, and always unstable. Touched by a match, they might warm me,.