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| Slyvia Plath's Bell Jar |
Headline: Slyvia Plath's Unbearable Lightness
Publication: The Economist's intelligent life
Reshma Says: Good poetry is powerful. When I cut my wrist open while lifting a jug full of watermelon juice and saw the red blossom out of a gash, the first thought that came to mind was was *&#%! quickly followed by 'What a Thrill, my thumb instead of an onion'; the opening lines of Slyvia Plath's brilliant poem Cut. I am in no position to critique her poetry since I got a measly C at English A Level but I do love it. And for others who love it as much as me her pen and ink sketches are on show Mayor Gallery in London. For fans closer to home here is one of my all time favorite poems. Preferably neither read before nor after food.
Cut
for
Susan O'Neill Roe
What
a thrill ----
My
thumb instead of an onion.
The
top quite gone
Except
for a sort of hinge
Of
skin,
A
flap like a hat,
Dead
white.
Then
that red plush.
Little
pilgrim,
The
Indian's axed your scalp.
Your
turkey wattle
Carpet
rolls
Straight
from the heart.
I
step on it,
Clutching
my bottle
Of
pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out
of a gap
A
million soldiers run,
Redcoats,
every one.
Whose
side are they one?
O my
Homunculus,
I am ill.
I
have taken a pill to kill
The
thin
Papery
feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze
man ----
The
stain on your
Gauze
Ku Klux Klan
Babushka
Darkens
and tarnishes and when
The
balled
Pulp
of your heart
Confronts
its small
Mill
of silence
How
you jump ----
Trepanned
veteran,
Dirty
girl,
Thumb stump.
Headline: Christopher Hitchens Obituary - Where have all the journalists gone?Publication: The Guardian
Reshma Says: When was the last time you read something that jolted you or opened your eyes to a new thought? Who is your go to person for an opinion in politics? Don't know. Our parents would have said N Ram at The Hindu or S. Gurumurthy at the Indian Express. So you didn't agree with them or their sometimes extreme views but at least they were consistent and always questioning. No, Frontline is not my favorite magazine but at least it stands for something. Now opinions don't matter because honestly when was the last time someone really knew their stuff. Our views are governed by noises emanating from the television craving for TRP's. They shout, they dramatize in the end telling you what you possibly already know. This is a lovely obituary that also seems to double up as a tribute to the lost art of standing your ground. A fine tribute to a rockstar journalist whose life seems almost as dramatic as the events and people he covered.
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