grrr, I'm such a spaz. Somehow missed the first line of the poem when copying and pasting (which is actually one of my favourite parts, as the language is so precise, and devoid of emotion. It reflects and establishes the theme of the poem quite well.) I wish songmeanings.net let you edit or delete your posts.
ANYWAY, here is the whole poem. Let's hope I get it right this time :P :
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 god, four-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 women 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 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 me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
grrr, I'm such a spaz. Somehow missed the first line of the poem when copying and pasting (which is actually one of my favourite parts, as the language is so precise, and devoid of emotion. It reflects and establishes the theme of the poem quite well.) I wish songmeanings.net let you edit or delete your posts.
ANYWAY, here is the whole poem. Let's hope I get it right this time :P :
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 god, four-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 women 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 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 me an old woman Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.