Sylvia_Plath's_Tulips

Tulips signifies the commencement of Plaths psychological journey of searching for her true identity and purpose in life. The opening lines of Tulips evoke a sense of calmness through such images as winter, white and snowed-in. Plath sees herself as nobody, having shut herself off to the outside world: I have nothing to do with explosions. The act of surrendering her name, belongings and body implies that she has rejected her identity and effectively erased herself from the world in an effort to find internal peace. The following stanza sees Plath reduce herself to an object, a stupid pupil, watching, learning and admiring the efficiency and order of the nurses. Her body is a pebble to them as they smooth out her problems and cleanse her as gently as water. They bring her numbness in their bright needles, allowing her to disengage from reality and loose herself. An extended pause is followed by a decrease in the rhythm, as Plath catches sight of mementos of reality. Her overnight case reminds her that this state of numbness is only temporary and that commitments and expectations await her at home, whilst the smiles of the husband and child out of the family photo/catch onto [her] skin and conjure up feelings of guilt for detaching herself from the aforementioned commitments and expectations. Plath perceives herself as a cargo-boat; battered, loaded up and carrying everything and is completely exhausted from doing so. Fleeing her responsibilities she becomes purified: I am a nun, symbolising her rebirth and allowing her to remove herself from her responsibilities. A change in tone: I didnt want any flowers emphasises Plaths desire to escape normality and routines, whilst the religious connotations of my hands turned up promotes an image of peace and tranquillity. Plath utilises the metaphor of an awful baby to illustrate that the tulips are a constant reminder of the responsibilities that she is hiding from. Their sudden tongues and colour are a reminder of life, which Plath sees as a burden in the heavily accented line: A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck. The tone becomes paranoid as the tulips turn to [Plath] and she sees herself from their point of view: flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow. The tulips embody how Plath believes she is viewed from the apparently conspiratorial outside world; constantly watched and judged, and she has a concurrent fear of being criticised. The rhythm increases as Plath begins to compete with the tulips, who eat her oxygen, to remain anaesthetised. Before they came the air was calm enough insinuates that the arrival of the tulips and the visit from her family has woken her from her numbness and brought her back to the realities of life which she is not prepared to confront yet. Despite her objections Plath has allowed the beauty, warmth and life of the tulips to touch her soul. In contrast to the first stanza, the white walls are now warming themselves, and she becomes aware of her heart as it opens and closes its bowl of red blooms. It is here that Plath reclaims herself and embarks on her final plunge into self-purification: The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea/ And comes from a country far away as health. She accepts the realisation that the state she is in is only temporary and is content in the knowledge that she will have to eventually return to reality.