https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHVEMogmxZ0
https://krallar.bandcamp.com/album/dying-is-an-art
http://www.sylviaplath.de/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_Plath
http://www.discogs.com/artist/854503
Nocturne
Sylvia Plath Lyrics
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Such a racket of echoes from the steely street,
Tacking moon-blued crooks from the black
Stone-built town, that she heard the quick air ignite
Its tinder and shake
A firework of echoes from wall
To wall of the dark, dwarfed cottages.
Gave way to fields and the incessant seethe of grasses
Riding in the full
Of the moon, manes to the wind,
Tireless, tied, as a moon-bound sea
Moves on its root. Though a mist-wraith wound
Up from the fissured valley and hung shoulder-high
Ahead, it fattened
To no family-featured ghost,
Nor did any word body with a name
The blank mood she walked in. Once past
The dream-peopled village, her eyes entertained no dream,
And the sandman's dust
Lost luster under her footsoles.
The long wind, paring her person down
To a pinch of flame, blew its burdened whistle
In the whorl of her ear, and like a scooped-out pumpkin crown
Her head cupped the babel.
All the night gave her, in return
For the paltry gift of her bulk and the beat
Of her heart was the humped indifferent iron
Of its hills, and its pastures bordered by black stone set
On black stone. Barns
Guarded broods and litters
Behind shut doors; the dairy herds
Knelt in the meadow mute as boulders;
Sheep drowsed stoneward in their tussocks of wool, and birds,
Twig-sleeping, wore
Granite ruffs, their shadows
The guise of leaves. The whole landscape
Loomed absolute as the antique world was
Once in its earliest sway of lymph and sap,
Unaltered by eyes,
Enough to snuff the quick
Of her small heat out, but before the weight
Of stones and hills of stones could break
Her down to mere quartz grit in that stony light
She turned back.
The singer describes a woman’s late night walk, which starts in a town filled with steel and stone. As she walks, there is an echo of her footsteps, which fades away as she moves towards fields and grasses. Even though she is surrounded by darkness, she keeps walking, undeterred by any distractions along her path. Her journey continues through a pasture where herds and flocks are mute as boulders. The woman does not seem afraid of the dark, nor does she seem to be concerned with what lies ahead. She is at peace with the silence and has no need to escape this familiarity.
The song's tone and imagery are contradictory and confusing to some. While Sylvia Plath's poetry is often melancholic, "Nocturne" may be a hopeful scene from her creative output, as implied by the peaceful majestic night sky. Nonetheless, it is possible that the walker is in touch with her surroundings and exhibits a sense of invisibility, which seems to be a quality Plath values. Moreover, women and their sense of place in the world are recurring motifs in Plath's work. The walker in "Nocturne" can be seen as embodying some of the stereotypes of womanhood.
Line by Line Meaning
Flintlike, her feet struck
Her feet were hard and unyielding, as if made of flint
Such a racket of echoes from the steely street,
There was a loud noise of echoes reverberating through the street
Tacking moon-blued crooks from the black
The strange curves of the moon were reflected in the dark streets
Stone-built town, that she heard the quick air ignite
The air seemed to catch fire with a sudden brightness
Its tinder and shake
There was a disturbance that shook everything around her
A firework of echoes from wall
The echoes bounced around from wall to wall
To wall of the dark, dwarfed cottages.
The dark, small houses were dwarfed by the echoes
But the echoes died at her back as the walls
The echoes stopped as she moved past the houses
Gave way to fields and the incessant seethe of grasses
The houses were replaced by fields teeming with grass
Riding in the full
The grass was swaying gently in the bright moonlight
Of the moon, manes to the wind,
The grass was like hair blown by the wind
Tireless, tied, as a moon-bound sea
The grass seemed to be tied to the moon, restless like the sea
Moves on its root. Though a mist-wraith wound
The grass was moving, rooted to its place, while mist rose from the valley
Up from the fissured valley and hung shoulder-high
The mist rose high and hung like a shroud on her shoulders
Ahead, it fattened
The mist grew thick, obscuring what was ahead
To no family-featured ghost,
The mist was not a ghost or apparition of any kind
Nor did any word body with a name
There were no words or names to describe what she saw
The blank mood she walked in. Once past
Her mood matched the emptiness of the landscape; once she left the village
The dream-peopled village, her eyes entertained no dream,
She was no longer dreaming or imagining things after leaving the village
And the sandman's dust
The drowsiness and slowness of sleep
Lost luster under her footsoles.
She was not affected by fatigue or sleep
The long wind, paring her person down
The wind was slowly wearing her down
To a pinch of flame, blew its burdened whistle
The wind was whistling and making her feel light, like a small flame
In the whorl of her ear, and like a scooped-out pumpkin crown
The sound of the wind was like a circular whirl in her ear, and her head felt empty
Her head cupped the babel.
She felt enclosed and wrapped up in the sound of the wind
All the night gave her, in return
The night did not offer any comfort or relief
For the paltry gift of her bulk and the beat
Even though she did not have much to give, she received nothing in return
Of her heart was the humped indifferent iron
Her heart felt heavy and unmoving, like a lump of iron
Of its hills, and its pastures bordered by black stone set
The landscape was defined by its hills and pastures lined with black stone
On black stone. Barns
The black stone surrounded everything, including the barns
Guarded broods and litters
The barns were full of animals and their offspring
Behind shut doors; the dairy herds
The dairy cows were shut inside, away from the night
Knelt in the meadow mute as boulders;
The cows were motionless, like large rocks in the meadow
Sheep drowsed stoneward in their tussocks of wool, and birds,
The sheep were sleeping, curled up in wooly tufts, and birds
Twig-sleeping, wore
The birds were sleeping in the trees
Granite ruffs, their shadows
The birds' shadows looked like hard, stone basins
The guise of leaves. The whole landscape
The shadows looked like they were made of leaves; the entire landscape
Loomed absolute as the antique world was
The landscape seemed eternal and unchanged, like the ancient world
Once in its earliest sway of lymph and sap,
Back when the world was new and full of life
Unaltered by eyes,
The world was unchanged by human perception
Enough to snuff the quick
The vastness of the landscape could overwhelm someone
Of her small heat out, but before the weight
Her small fire of life could be extinguished, but
Of stones and hills of stones could break
The stones and hills could not crush her
Her down to mere quartz grit in that stony light
She would not be reduced to a mere speck of dust in the stony landscape
She turned back.
She decided to turn back instead of continuing to face the vast emptiness.
Contributed by Liam K. Suggest a correction in the comments below.