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A review by roisin_prendergast
Birthday Letters by Ted Hughes
3.0
Phew.....
Well...where do I begin? Obviously it is difficult to read this poetry objectively and not in the engulfment of the Plath/Hughes tragedy. But then again, that is what it is - a memoir of the relationship of two people, who are ultimately very different, and as we know, destined for doom. The collection runs chronologically with each poem detailing a different event or aspect of Ted Hughes' and Sylvia Plath's life together. Although admittedly with a sense of morbid fascination, I enjoyed the feeling of wanting to read the next instalment.
The poems are scattered throughout with dark premonitions that allude to Sylvia's death which is disquieting and left me with a vague fear, particularly in the poem 'The Gypsy', with the line from the French gypsy woman - Vous Crèverez bientôt
A feministic predisposition couldn't help but pick up on Hughes' apparent disdain for his wife's Americanisms, her middle/upper class sensibilities of college girl gone travelling, and her grief for and infatuation with, her dead father. I felt I could also get a hint of some mimicry of her chronic sense of fatalism.
Though not many, there were moments of tenderness. Mostly only when referring to Sylvia's clothing, her hair and brown eyes, and her morning coffees. These endearments repeated themselves, but so did the patronisation of the 'Mummy, Daddy' line. I got really tired of that.
Despite everything, I felt empathy for Hughes - I could understand the dark undertones that consistently exist and threaten to seep through when living with depression, either within yourself or the person you love. In Hughes' case it was the person he married. I won't say 'loved' because to be honest, after reading this collection, I can't say I felt that. But the sadness certainly flowed both ways, and I felt the frustration and loneliness forced upon the marriage because of Sylvia's moods - particularly in the poems 'Error', and 'The Rabbit Catcher'.
I'm glad I have read this book, but I don't think I enjoyed it as such. I was absorbed. Standout poems for me were the ones already mentioned, and 'Wuthering Heights', 'The Blue Flannel Suit', and 'Robbing Myself'. I would like to try some of Ted Hughes' nature poetry - I think that would give me a better feeling. Birthday Letters isn't the best for the January blues....
Well...where do I begin? Obviously it is difficult to read this poetry objectively and not in the engulfment of the Plath/Hughes tragedy. But then again, that is what it is - a memoir of the relationship of two people, who are ultimately very different, and as we know, destined for doom. The collection runs chronologically with each poem detailing a different event or aspect of Ted Hughes' and Sylvia Plath's life together. Although admittedly with a sense of morbid fascination, I enjoyed the feeling of wanting to read the next instalment.
The poems are scattered throughout with dark premonitions that allude to Sylvia's death which is disquieting and left me with a vague fear, particularly in the poem 'The Gypsy', with the line from the French gypsy woman - Vous Crèverez bientôt
A feministic predisposition couldn't help but pick up on Hughes' apparent disdain for his wife's Americanisms, her middle/upper class sensibilities of college girl gone travelling, and her grief for and infatuation with, her dead father. I felt I could also get a hint of some mimicry of her chronic sense of fatalism.
Though not many, there were moments of tenderness. Mostly only when referring to Sylvia's clothing, her hair and brown eyes, and her morning coffees. These endearments repeated themselves, but so did the patronisation of the 'Mummy, Daddy' line. I got really tired of that.
Despite everything, I felt empathy for Hughes - I could understand the dark undertones that consistently exist and threaten to seep through when living with depression, either within yourself or the person you love. In Hughes' case it was the person he married. I won't say 'loved' because to be honest, after reading this collection, I can't say I felt that. But the sadness certainly flowed both ways, and I felt the frustration and loneliness forced upon the marriage because of Sylvia's moods - particularly in the poems 'Error', and 'The Rabbit Catcher'.
I'm glad I have read this book, but I don't think I enjoyed it as such. I was absorbed. Standout poems for me were the ones already mentioned, and 'Wuthering Heights', 'The Blue Flannel Suit', and 'Robbing Myself'. I would like to try some of Ted Hughes' nature poetry - I think that would give me a better feeling. Birthday Letters isn't the best for the January blues....