(October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963 / Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts)

Winter Trees

The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve.
On their blotter of fog the trees
Seem a botanical drawing -
Memories growing, ring on ring,
A series of weddings.

Knowing neither abortions nor bitchery,
Truer than women,
They seed so effortlessly!
Tasting the winds, that are footless,
Waist-deep in history -

Full of wings, otherworldliness.
In this, they are Ledas.
O mother of leaves and sweetness
Who are these pietas?
The shadows of ringdoves chanting, but easing nothing.

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Comments (1)

After a quick look at some of Plath's poems one recognizes all over again how important it is to proof-read poems very carefully. Here a mistake in the last line is more important than the spelling howlers in some of the other poems glanced at. The line should read ' The shadows of ringdoves chanting, but easing nothing'. The frequency of mistakes soon creates a distrust in the reader, in particular when you are looking at a poet you are not familiar with. And before long you have lost another member.