Sylvia Page #2

It is herewith returned

with our compliments.

Yours faithfully"

blah, blah, blah.

How many today?

Two, and they went

straight back out.

And I typed up four more

copies of your manuscripts,

so now there's seven

in circulation.

Sylvia?

Come on.

Wake up.

Mmm, what time is it?

Doesn't matter about the bloody time,

look at this. Look, look, look.

"Our congratulations

that 'Hawk in the Rain'

judged winning volume,

Poetry Center first prize"

- You won! You won!

- I f***ing won.

I didn't even know I'd entered.

You know what this means,

don't you?

You're going to be

a published poet.

And?

We're going to America.

And?

Those whom God

hath joined together,

let no man put asunder.

It's so beautiful.

Oh, no, Daniel,

don't not there, dear.

Put it over there.

That looks much better, yes.

Great.

I'd like to tie this

back if I could.

Mommy!

Oh, darling!

Welcome home, my darling.

Oh, God.

Oh, you look beautiful.

Oh, my sweet.

So this is the uebermensch.

Pleased to meet you,

Mrs. Plath.

Sylvia's told me

a lot about you.

Let's hope for both of our

sakes that some of it's true.

Leave the bags.

I'll have Sam and Daniel

get them. Sam, Daniel.

What do you think?

Still too runny.

About Ted.

- He's very

- What?

I don't know.

Different.

Why can't you ever

just be pleased for me?

How is he gonna support you?

I don't want to be supported.

He's gonna be a great poet.

He just won this poetry prize

that was judged by W.H. Auden.

Really?

And I've got money saved up.

And when that runs out?

Mother, I just got

this teaching job.

And I can always sell stories to those

stupid magazines. It doesn't matter.

Darling, you know I've only

wanted what's best for you.

Well, he is the best for me.

Then what do you want me to say?

That you like him.

Do you love him?

I love him.

Then I like him.

Mmm, thank you.

- Outstanding girl

- WOMAN:
That looks good.

- Hey, Bob.

- Hey.

Oh, Mrs. Bergstrom.

- Hello, how are you?

- Sylvia! I'm well.

- It's so lovely to see you.

- And you, you're looking beautiful.

Thank you.

This is my husband Ted.

- Hello.

- Pleased to meet you.

- We've heard a lot about you.

- Likewise.

- Thank you.

- How are you enjoying yourselves?

- Hello.

- Oh, we're having such a nice time.

- Good.

- Thank you.

You've made us feel

so at home. Hasn't she?

Oh, if I close my eyes I could

be back in Mytholmroyd.

Your hem's up in the

front, darling.

Elizabeth, meet Ted.

- Ted, Elizabeth Brooks.

- How do you do?

My, aren't you

the catch of the day.

- Ted is going to be a great poet.

- Oh.

His last book

won what was that?

It was the New York

Center Poetry Prize.

- Ooh!

- It's rather good.

It's the

"The Hawk in the Rain."

- Really wonderful.

- You read it?

Yes. Of course.

What did you think of the

poem about the giraffe?

Oh, listen to that accent.

There wasn't a poem

about a giraffe.

Say something else.

I need a drink.

Excuse me, ladies.

Well!

This Sylvia's father?

Mm-hmm. Yes. Bumblebees

were his specialty.

It's all he ever thought about.

Before the war, back in Germany,

his colleagues always called

him "Der Bienenkonig."

- And that means

- King of the bees.

Yes, that's right.

That was Otto.

King of the bees.

You must forgive

my friends, Ted.

They haven't had

the advantages you have.

And what might they be?

Having to fight

for what you want.

That's why she is in love with

you, you know, Sylvia, I mean.

Oh my God, they were

oh, they were

I don't I don't mean to sound

disloyal, but there were

a lot of other boys. But

they didn't scare her.

She rather

frightened them, I think.

You're

you're very different.

But I think you frightened

her, that's why she likes you.

You think I'd hurt her?

But I wouldn't hurt her.

Do you know that we found her

right where you're standing?

Right under there,

near the boards.

We thought she was dead

she was so pale, so white.

Some people want to be found.

Sylvia didn't. She'd just

crawled into a hole

and waited to die.

Be good to her.

Always.

- Hi.

- I hope you like fish.

Wow, look at those.

My God.

- Did you have fun?

- Uh-huh.

It finally cooled down. It was

so hot earlier, wasn't it?

- You tell me.

- I look a bit messy,

- because I started baking and I made

- Baking?!

I made one real cream cake, but they

went a bit funny in the center.

I decided to throw it

out and start over.

But the funny thing is the second one looks

nicer than the first one anyway, so

I thought you were gonna write.

Do you know some husbands

would be happy

that their wives stayed home and

baked them some nice cakes?

I am happy.

I'd just be happier

if you were writing.

I've got the whole

summer to write.

How was your walk?

Good.

Got a poem, a good one.

You?

I'm dried up.

That's 'cause

you've got nothing to say.

- I'm not a real writer.

- Never will be.

- I'm no good.

- You make great cakes.

You know what your trouble is?

I have a husband who thinks he

can tell me how to write poetry?

There's no secret to it.

You've just got

to pick a subject and

stick your head into it.

You've got to write.

That's what poets do.

Yes, well, that's

easy for you to say.

You go out for a bike ride and come

back with an epic in hexameters.

I sit down to write,

I get a bake sale.

Do you know what?

Do you know what my trouble is?

It's that I don't have

a subject.

The novel, "Falcon Yard,"

what's that about?

It's about a girl

who meets a boy.

No, what's it really about?

You and me.

- What's it really about?

- Me!

A girl who spends

her summer at the beach.

No, see, no,

that's not really me.

Yes, it is. You told

me it was about you.

What I'm trying to say is that

you've already got your subject.

It's you.

I mean, you keep skirting

around the issue.

- You keep flowering it up.

- All right, all right! All right.

Sh*t!

- Jesus Christ!

- What?

The tide is dragging us out.

I'm not gonna get us back in.

People drown like this.

I tried to drown myself once.

I swam out in the sea

as far as I could,

but it just spat me out

like a cork.

I guess it didn't want me.

You know what's funny?

I was always happy

until I was nine years old.

I was always in one piece.

Then my father died.

"Full fathom five

my father lies,

Of his bones were coral made, those

were pearls that were his eyes."

"Destroy! Destroy! Destroy!"

Hums the underconsciousness.

Love and produce!

Love and produce!

Cackles

the upper-consciousness.

And the world hears only

the 'Love and produce' cackle.

Refuses to hear the hum

of destruction underneath.

Until such time

as it will have to hear.

The American has got to destroy!

"It is his destiny."

And finally,

this poem by Yeats, I think

illustrates

that point rather well.

At least, I hope it does.

Excuse me.

"The Sorrow of Love."

"The quarrel of the sparrows

in the eaves,"

The full round moon

and the star-laden sky,

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes