Summer grows old, cold-blooded mother.
The insects are scant, skinny.
In these palustral homes we only
Croak and wither.
Mornings dissipate in somnolence.
The sun brightens tardily
Among the pithless reeds. Flies fail us.
he fen sickens.
Frost drops even the spider. Clearly
The genius of plenitude
Houses himself elsewhwere. Our folk thin
Lamentably.
Do you have any comments, criticism, paraphrasis or analysis of this poem that you feel would assist other visitors in understanding the meaning or the theme of this poem by Sylvia Plath better? If accepted, your analysis will be added to this page of American Poems. Together we can build a wealth of information, but it will take some discipline and determination.
Sylvia in this poem is saying she is going through a blank period when she is bereft of any inspiration, all is monotonous and dull and drab. Her muse is failing her. But still she manages to produce a striking poem, even though is is about barrenness of ideas.
This poem sucks! Okay, i don’t care who you are it’s awful. What in tarnations was she thinkin’ when she used all those big words. Normal people don’t talk like that. At home we walk down the street and say howdy, not the insects are getting very skinny.
good job
as we all know in our history books that Sylvia Plath
Lived a depressing life. and what I got out of this poem Frog Autumn I felt that the life of hers is being relived again in her poems. It’s a good one but by the feeling that I got was depressing
Just a suggestion of what this might mean. If you look at “Mushrooms”, you can tell that it was about the women’s struggle for more civil liberties. They were gaing strength. In this poem, it seems that she’s discouraged. There is little to eat (no energy, no fuel to keep their campaign going). Just a suggestion. Anyone else care to comment? agree? disagree?