The Colossus
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BY SYLVIA PLATH
I shall never get you put together entirely,
Pieced, glued, and properly jointed.
Mule-bray, pig-grunt and bawdy cackles
Proceed from your great lips.
It’s worse than a barnyard.
Perhaps you consider yourself an oracle,
Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other.
Thirty years now I have labored
To dredge the silt from your throat.
I am none the wiser.
Scaling little ladders with glue pots and pails of lysol
I crawl like an ant in mourning
Over the weedy acres of your brow
To mend the immense skull plates and clear
The bald, white tumuli of your eyes.
A blue sky out of the Oresteia
Arches above us. O father, all by yourself
You are pithy and historical as the Roman Forum.
I open my lunch on a hill of black cypress.
Your fluted bones and acanthine hair are littered
In their old anarchy to the horizon-line.
It would take more than a lightning-stroke
To create such a ruin.
Nights, I squat in the cornucopia
Of your left ear, out of the wind,
Counting the red stars and those of plum-color.
The sun rises under the pillar of your tongue.
My hours are married to shadow.
No longer do I listen for the scrape of a keel
On the blank stones of the landing.
Sylvia Plath published this poem originally in 1957. This poem was part of an anthology, Colossus and Other Poems, that was published in 1960. Sylvia Plath wrote this poem in memory of her 80 year old father who had died. Many analysis of this poem was made to understand what she was saying about her father, or the possibility that she was talking her rights of a woman climbing the colossus of society.
By Keira Zirkle
Not a lot of romance movies have come out this year with all the super movies coming out. But this one has caught my eye. 
