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Sylvia Plath - Mary's Song

The Sunday lamb cracks in its fat.
The fat
Sacrifices its opacity. . . .

A window, holy gold.
The fire makes it precious,
The same fire

Melting the tallow heretics,
Ousting the Jews.
Their thick palls float

Over the cicatrix of Poland, burnt-out
Germany.
They do not die.

Grey birds obsess my heart,
Mouth-ash, ash of eye.
They settle.  On the high

Precipice
That emptied one man into space
The ovens glowed like heavens, incandescent.

It is a heart,
This holocaust I walk in,
O golden child the world will kill and eat.

Added: on September 14th, 2005 at 9:29 AM | Viewed: 7752 times | Comments and analysis of Mary's Song by Sylvia Plath Comments (6)


Mary's Song - Comments and Information

Poet: Sylvia Plath
Poem: Mary's Song
Volume: The Collected Poems

Comment 6 of 6, added on February 28th, 2007 at 7:25 PM.

omg this poem is REALLY good! i love it to death! im doing the holocaust right now in English..

skidish from United States
Comment 5 of 6, added on October 4th, 2005 at 2:02 PM.

This poem was interesting. It had much meaning, at least to me. I felt the pain of the Holocaust. This should be read by people so they can feel the way i felt, when i read this poem.

Mag from United States
Comment 4 of 6, added on September 14th, 2005 at 9:29 AM.

i love this poems it was awesome, it made me have a tear in my eye, i am very intrested in the holicault stuff and i have done so many projects and i am sooo happy that someone besides me likes the same thing i do way to go.

Jennifer from United States

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