Sylvia Plath’s Resting Place

For Sylvia – 27^th October 1932 to 11^th February 1963

I’ve visited Sylvia Plath’s resting place on a number of occasions and often noticed pens and pencils placed on her headstone. Like offerings to the immortal spirit so that another life can continue beyond this one. 

I remember lying down on my side to get a photos of the headstone from a quirky angle and a voice behind me in a strong Yorkshire accent said, “If you lie there any longer they’ll shovel some soil on you!” We laughed and nodded then moved on. 

The poem below simply reflects my thoughts and feelings on my regular visits to Heptonstall.

Pen's Atop

Visitors cannot see your face, just an edifice

To feel your presence beneath our feet, the soil, the turf, a hilltop cemetery to rest in ‘peace’

To reach the wuthering height I have wandered the cobbled, banked streets

Passing time-capsuled houses and yesteryear shops

The monolith is a magnet for the searching ones, the reverential ones to pay obeisance

All pulled in and drawn in like a black hole swallowing light

We willingly trudge and traipse to the site and become our senses

To offer condolences and search for insight

And grow beyond what we are now, to turn into something new.

Heads swirl, dizziness not uncommon, silent photographs taken to relive the scene, revive the moment

Pens and pencils adorn the headstone top, as if in the hope you will rise and use them to set down new verse

And add to your canon, expand your oeuvre at night when no one is watching, silently writing

As the crows maintain a respectful distance, the hawks fly high, gliding, observing.