Plath Parody

An assignment I was given in College was to do a parody of a poet of our choice. Sylvia Plath is a favorite of mine. One of my teachers told me I reminded her of Plath and she showed me some of her poetry. She added, “I hope you don’t end up like her.”

Plath parody is difficult to pull off because her poetry is about a very serious and dark side of life. It’s my belief that pulling out funny sounding words mimicked to her writing style would be belittling to her work.

Plath uses her words carefully, the more you read her work ~ the more it opens up just as a rosebud. At first you only see the bud ~ it may not seem too impressive at first glance. Then you see the flower emerging and eventually it opens up fully to you. That type of talent is hard to capture in a parody. I chose to try and follow her use of words and the tone she produced in her poems: “Mirror” and “Lady Lazarus”. This also produced a challenge because Plath doesn’t use much of a rhyme scheme. Her poetry evokes a dark and solitary mood. It’s difficult to create a parody with this type of ambience.

Plath uses many images to create pictures in the reader’s mind and punctuation is used to stress certain words, she likes to use dashes often; I tried to imitate her writing style as much as possible and tried to keep that slow, melancholy sound that Plath’s writing evokes.

Sylvia Plath is one of those rare artists that you can only dream of walking in her footsteps. Her poems are so much more than just words on paper. They are imaginative expressions which need to be read several times to do them justice. Each time I read a poem she has written, I find something new I hadn’t seen before. Her poems are like complicated puzzles ~ you have to keep working at them to get the whole picture. I can only hope that my imitations do justice to her memory.

Mirror
by Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful ~
The eye of a little god, for cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles.  I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart.  But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake.  A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her.  She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me and old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

     Plate
     by: Joy Elaine

     I am rounded and flat.  I serve with no deceptions.
     Whatever I serve you swallow immediately
     Just as it is, covered with butter or lard.
     I make you drool, by the mouthful ~
     The canvas of a master chef, always honored.
     Most of the time I meditate on your butterball.
     It is pink, with dimples.  You have longed for it with your eyes.
     I think I see your lips part.  Your tongue flickers.
     Fork and knife separate it bite after bite.

     Now I am a glass.  And wine pours over me,
     Filling my reaches with bubbly bitterness.
     Then you turn to those fryers, the thighs and the wings.
     I see your mouth , opened widely.
     I reward you with slurred speech and an agitated bladder.
     I am imported wine.  To the bathroom you go.
     Each morning your face is pressed against the porcelain bowl.
     In it you have puked, and almost drowned
     Your breath reeks day after day, like a terrible fish.

Lady Lazarus
by: Sylvia Plath

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it ~

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
 Do I terrify? ~

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut~crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot~
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
to last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I’ve a call.

It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
It’s the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

‘A miracle!’
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart~
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Her Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do  not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ~
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there ~

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

     Wormgod Warrior
     by: Joy Elaine  Inspired by my Oscars, Medusa and Merlin

     Perhaps you have done it again.
     My segmented friend
     You manage it ~

      To excite the fish, with
      Red, scented skin,
      Your the right size

      A lightweight,
      A wanton, wiggling worm, tasty
      Fish food.

      Open thine mouth
      You fishy.
      Do you salivate?~

      The gills, the bulgy eyes, the sharp little teeth?
      Stagnant fish breath
      Will devour you today.

      Soon, soon the fish belly
      Your grave cave will be
      At home in the sea.

      And I am the Wormgod Warrior
      I will grant your wish
      For my pleasure of tormenting you until you die.

      Worm Number Three
      Consumed totally
      Annihilated without chewing.

      Mangy little rugrats.
      Crowding in to see
      Gathering around my knees

      I dangle the little wormy ~
      the big fat tease.
      Merlin, Medusa

      This is your dinner
      Your feast.
      They may be thin and boneless,

      Nevertheless, I am the Wormgod Warrior.
      The first time I noticed you danced for me.
      It was no accident.

      The second time you meant
      To make me drop more worms.
      You greedy gluts

      Into the tank.
      I dip my hand again and again
      And you suck the worms off me like sticky pearls.

      Dying
      Is an art, like everything else.
      Little worms do it exceptionally well.

      I kill them so it feels like hell.
      I do it because it makes me feel real.
      I guess you could say I have a call.

      It’s easy enough to do it in the tank.
      It’s easy enough to do it and make you jump.
      It’s the theatrical

      Fish feast done my way
      The same place, the same face, the same brute
      Amused shout.

      ‘Here Fishy!’
      A treat for thee.
      There is a charge

      For the taste of my wares, there is a charge
      For the taste of  my worm ~
      You must jump like so

      And there is a charge, a very large charge
      For a taste or a suck
      Or a bit of blood

      From my baby blood worm.
      So, so, I am the Wormgod.
      So, I am the Wormgod Warrior.

      I am your master,
      I am your savior,
      The pure gold hook

      I see you jump.
      You turn and thrash.
      Do not think I underestimate your great splash.

      Splash, splash ~
      You soaked me cur.
      To the bone, water in my ear ~

      A throbbing temple,
      A burning heat,
      A fury brewing.

      Wormgod Warrior ~ Lucifer
      Beware
      Beware.

      Out of the tank
      My little fishies rise
      And I eat them with fries.