Sylvia Plath and the strange case of the grubby dishcloths.

Nicholas Hughes and the poem 'Child' by Sylvia Plath

Before she died, Sylvia wrote a poem dedicated to her son Nicholas called ‘Nick and the Candlestick’, which includes the line: “The pain you wake to is not yours.” Both absolving the baby from any feeling of future guilt about her marital breakdown, but also maybe ominously pointing to a darker intent about her own life.

Another poem written at this time in Fitzroy Road, ‘Child’ also covers the love and possibilities for her children, and in particular Nicholas who had just celebrated his first birthday on 17^th January. At the time, Sylvia, Nicholas and Frieda were living in a flat on the top floor of 23 Fitzroy Road in Primrose Hill, London. The poem would later feature in the Winter Trees collection, published in 1971, although the photos here are from my copy of the Rougemont Press limited edition pamphlet.

The poem was written on Monday 28^th January 1963, just 11 days after Nicholas’s birthday and 12 days before she herself died, on Monday 11^th February.

Looking at the facsimile of her handwritten notes, Sylvia had rattled off the first three stanzas reasonably quickly and with clear thought. However, the fourth stanza seems to have caused the most consternation, as her mind worked hard to conclude the poem with three lines that reflected her current state of mind, marriage and life, and again absolving the child of any blame or responsibility. In the end she got it just right but the journey to the fourth stanza includes many crossed out lines, indeed half of her notes are workings of the last stanza! Lines noted but omitted include:  

“Not this troublous wringing of dishcloths….not this grubby dishcloth…this sudden absence of planets….paralytic hands + dishcloths…this black paper without moon or planets…ceiling with no planets or constellations…”

The references to ‘dishcloths’ and ‘grubby dishcloths’ suggests the poem was written at the kitchen table as these references appear to be real time observations flashing through the poets quicksilver mind. Through this editing and what looks like quite a bit of effort and thought, the final version of the last stanza was finally arrived at:

Not this troublous   

Wringing of hands, this dark

Ceiling without a star.

Sadly, Nicholas Farrar Hughes committed suicide on March 16, 2009 aged just 47 in Alaska and had a successful career as a marine biologist.