“I hated the very idea of the eighteenth century, with all those smug men writing tight little couplets and being so dead keen on reason.”
In this quote, Sylvia Plath expresses her disdain for the eighteenth century and its strict adherence to reason and traditional poetic forms. Plath, a poet known for her emotional depth and raw, confessional style, contrasts herself with the poets of the eighteenth century who she describes as "smug" and "tight." Plath's rejection of the eighteenth century poets reflects her own rejection of the conventions and constraints that she felt stifled creativity and individual expression. This quote highlights Plath's rebellious spirit and her desire to break free from the confines of tradition.
Sylvia Plath's disdain for the writers of the eighteenth century and their rigid adherence to reason and formality can be seen as a criticism of societal norms that restrict individual expression and creativity. In today's world, where the pressure to conform and fit into predefined molds is still prevalent, Plath's words serve as a reminder of the importance of breaking free from societal expectations and forging one's path. Plath's rejection of the past and search for personal authenticity is a sentiment that resonates with many individuals striving to find their voice and identity in a society that often values conformity over individuality.
“I hated the very idea of the eighteenth century, with all those smug men writing tight little couplets and being so dead keen on reason.” - Sylvia Plath
Sylvia Plath’s strong feelings towards the eighteenth century poets and their emphasis on reason raise interesting questions about the role of emotion and reason in poetry and art. Consider the following reflection questions:
“Hard, sharp, ticks. I hate them. Measuring thought, infinite space, by cogs and wheels. Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that — I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much — so very much to learn.”
“Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn.”
“God, I scream for time to let go, to write, to think. But no. I have to exercise my memory in little feats just so I can stay in this damn wonderful place which I love and hate with all my heart. And so the snow slows and swirls, and melts along the edges. The first snow isn't good for much. It makes a few people write poetry, a few wonder if the Christmas shopping is done, a few make reservations at the skiing lodge. It's a sentimental prelude to the real thing. It's picturesque & quaint.”
“Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren't having any of those.”
“I didn't know shorthand either.This meant I couldn't get a good job after college. My mother kept telling me nobody wanted a plain English major. But an English major who knew shorthand would be something else again. Everybody would want her. She would be in demand among all the up-and-coming young men and she would transcribe letter after thrilling letter.The trouble was, I hated the idea of serving men in any way. I wanted to dictate my own thrilling letters.”
“I seem to grow more acutely conscious of the swift passage of time as I grow older. When I was small, days and hours were long and spacious, and there was play and acres of leisure, and many children's books to read. I remember that as I was writing a poem on "Snow" when I was eight. I said aloud, "I wish I could have the ability to write down the feelings I have now while I'm still little, because when I grow up I will know how to write, but I will have forgotten what being little feels like." And so it is that childlike sensitivity to new experiences and sensations seems to diminish in an inverse proportion to growth of technical ability. As we become polished, so do we become hardened and guilty of accepting eating, sleeping, seeing, and hearing too easily and lazily, without question. We become blunt and callous and blissfully passive as each day adds another drop to the stagnant well of our years.”