Lady Lazarus

Sylvia Plath said, rather provocatively, that “Lady Lazarus” was “light verse”. She also remarked that it was about a “good, plain, resourceful woman.” These descriptions do not even begin to describe the power this poem, and its protagonist, possess. As in the previous poem, “Ariel”, we see the poet remaking famous myths, as she creates her own original and disquieting version of the biblical story in which an old man is raised from the dead. Sylvia Plath’s female Lazarus proves herself to be a formidable woman.

The alliteration and assonance of the title roll off the tongue smoothly, languorously. Our initial response to this work will already be very different from the impression gained when reading the fierce attack of “Daddy”, which Sylvia Plath composed a fortnight earlier. This is a different kind of assault. The luxuriant sounds of the title befit a speaker who is confident in her ability to die “exceptionally well”; so effectively, in fact, that she draws a large crowd, who are enthralled by her phoenix-like reappearance every decade. Lady Lazarus speaks to us directly, questioning us haughtily, “Do I terrify?” she wants to intimidate as well as amaze. Sylvia Plath presents her as a very theatrical persona; her deaths are presented as an “art”, she has a “call”. Like an actress, this woman is drawn to perform, addressing the crowd as “Gentlemen, ladies”. But what exactly does her “big strip tease” consist of? It is an astonishing journey through pain to vengeful rebirth.

Sylvia Plath juxtaposes images of brilliance with horrifying evocations of the Holocaust right from the start of the poem. The effect is startling. Lady Lazarus may be a “miracle”, but the components that make up the miracle are grotesque. The speaker anatomises her parts in stanzas 2 to 6. is she deliberately dehumanising herself by employing a listing technique? Her skin, her right foot, her face, nose, “eye pits”, “full set of teeth” and “sour breath” are increasingly repugnant. The precision of these images places the reader in the position of the “peanut-crunching crowd”: we are voyeurs as we watch Lady Lazarus’s display. Sylvia Plath describes her creation in such a way as to make us feel we are moving in on the speaker gradually, eventually coming so close that we can smell her breath. At this point we are pushed away, repulsed by the image of Lady Lazarus’s flesh, which, the poet says, with diabolically playful sound patterning, “The grave cave ate”. What sort of horrible curiosity would bring an audience in this close, especially to observe someone who feels persecuted? She has compared herself to a Jew twice with her references to linen and the “Nazi lampshade”, a particularly disturbing simile (the Nazis reportedly had lampshades made out of the skin of their victims). No wonder Lady Lazarus sees us as her enemy.

Nonetheless, Lady Lazarus seems pleased with her performance so far. She is smiling. She knows she has 2nine times to die”, and this is only “Number Three”. Glorying in her ability to annihilate decades, she is defiant and powerful. But we are aware that her striptease is performed at an enormous cost. In the very first stanza she talks about how she has to “manage” her resurrections. The verb suggests physical exertion; rebirth is not easy. Now, in stanzas 9 an 10, the audience becomes more intrusive. They shove in so that they can see Lady Lazarus being unwrapped. She has to defend herself; in stanzas 11 and 12 she is perhaps apologising for her “skin and bone”, reassuring the spectators that she is “the same, identical woman” they were expecting to see. In spite of the great effort she has to gird herself for, she will not disappoint.

Lady Lazarus’s history is explained in stanzas 12 to 14. in spite of her power and self-belief, she sounds increasingly victimised. Her first rebirth “happened” to her, it was an “accident”. After her second death she meant to “not come back at all”, but the ominous “They” could not escape her “call”. But how it wounds her. Sylvia Plath’s repeeateed use of colloquial slang in stanzas 16 and 17 contrasts vividly with the simple elegance of the language of the preceding stanza. It is shockingly intimate and direct. We are forced to confront the idea that Lady Lazarus is not simply a walking miracle; she is a real woman, who feels “like hell”.

However, this victim refuses to accept humiliation. She turns on her persecutors, sarcastic when she says “That knocks me out”. She retains her pride. If you wish to touch her there is “a very large charge” (her words sound like a warning at this point). Lady Lazarus becomes confrontational again, addressing her enemies – they are all male – by name. She knows her own worth, “I am your opus, / I am your valuable, / The pure gold baby”. But we cannot escape the idea that she is being pushed way beyond the limits of endurance; she “melts to a shriek” like a Jewish victim of the gas chambers, turning and burning like someone tied to a stake; she is reduced to ash that “You poke and stir” in the hope of finding some valuable item. Yet she retains her playfulness even at this dreadful moment; disdainfully she says “Do not think I underestimate your great concern”. Sylvia Plath’s use of rhyme – burn / concern – insists on the speaker’s power. This is entirely appropriate because Lady Lazarus is about to take her revenge. She has trapped her enemies; “there is nothing there” for them to find. “Beware / Beware she calls threateningly, “I eat men like air”. The final stanza provides defiant closure. In “Daddy” and her poem “Ariel” Sylvia Plath is ambiguous about the possibility of rebirth, but here she seems to present us with a more positive conclusion. The extraordinarily resourceful Lady Lazarus has triumphed over her persecutors: death allows her to wield enormous destructive power over the masculine crowd that has gathered. And she reclaims her sexual allure too; her “red hair” is a symbol of her desirable vitality. Earlier in the poem the reader will have been uneasy about the strange eroticism of the dead woman’s striptease, but here we can applaud Lady Lazarus for using her blazing beauty cruelly.

As we read this poem from a feminist perspective, we might feel that Sylvia Plath achieves something remarkable in “Lady Lazarus”. Lady Lazarus denies God’s power; she reinvents herself and has worshippers of her own. Not only this, but Sylvia Plath also sets up, subverts and then denies the male gaze. Her brazen female persona questions and commands her masculine enemies as she flaunts her scars, ridiculing the men for falling for her act, for jostling to touch her flaking corpse. And having seduced her tormentors, she rounds on them swiftly, voracious in her appetite for revenge. Her exhibitionism ultimately serves her turn. Being objectified has worked to her advantage; Herr Doktor, Herr enemy, Herr God and Herr Lucifer are all waiting there, conveniently, to be assaulted. Will the resurrection become Lady Lazarus’s personal massacre of the guily?

Valentine*

Valentine.

Nothing materialistic or fancy.

I give you a kiss.
It is a tender promise wrapped with sincerity.
A promise of love.
Simple as it is yet still so beautifully intricate.

Here.
Let it burn your tongue
Like acid.
Let it stain your lips
Like ink marking you with my name.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a ring, a locket, or a beautiful bouquet.

I give you a kiss
Just a brush of the lips like a note,
Passed between lovers
Between the shadows and sheets,
Read into it what you will.

Take it.
Its delicacy crushing if delivered correctly,
A fatal blow.
Understatement.
Taste the desperation eternally,
Sinking beneath your skin.


* i fixed the clumsy line* - Joj

Here.

I give you an Onion.