Otto and Aurelia Plath as a Couple

Boston University Women's Building, once Aurelia's refuge, now the Elie Wiesel Center for Jewish Studies

"She was not happily married; she thinks because of her husband's incipient illness, which he refused to have treated, made him emotionally unbalanced, leading to loss of temper." Aurelia Plath in 1953 was describing her eight years of marriage to her late husband Otto, twenty-one years older than she. The transcript continued, "Age difference too great. He led narrow life; no entertaining, no outings." [1] 

That meant Aurelia led a much narrower, more isolated life than she was used to as a student and dedicated teacher. The only visitors Otto allowed at their house were her parents. Aurelia couldn't entertain old or new friends. Within a year of their wedding, with Sylvia a newborn, Aurelia famously decided she "had to become more submissive," adding, "although it was not in my nature to be so." She quit arguing and trying to reason with Otto and, within the limits of safety, began subverting him, going as far as having secret dinner guests while Otto taught night school.

The couple did go on a few outings, but with one exception those on record were Boston University German-language events such as the annual College of Practical Arts and Letters variety show (1933, 1934), emceed by Marshall Perrin, Aurelia's favorite professor of German. At the college's annual scholarship banquet the Plaths and fellow German teachers the Haskells were guests of honor. When they moved to Winthrop and attended a civic banquet, the news clipping called them "Mr. and Mrs. O. E. Plath representing Boston University." [2]

Limited to university-related functions, Aurelia created for herself a Boston University social life. Before marriage she had represented her college for the university alumni association, and continued to do so while pregnant and after Sylvia was born. [3] Both Marshall Perrin and Mrs. Haskell died in 1935, depriving Aurelia of allies who had known her as the shining star of her college class. At BU's Faculty Wives' Club, Aurelia confessed to at least one woman that Otto was a tyrant and hurt her. This woman sympathized and introduced Aurelia to Mildred Norton, a future best friend and decisive influence on Aurelia's parenting.

Aurelia had another baby, who was sickly, and Otto's health declined. She had to serve as nurse to both. In 1937 Aurelia wrote to Mrs. Helen Gaebler:

". . . I haven't been in Cambridge once during the last three years. Usually I can slip away on the average of once a week . . . At the Women's Building of Boston University, where the wives of the faculty members meet, I thoroughly enjoy my connection with these women, for we have much in common, and these monthly gatherings comprise all the social life I have." [4]

Aurelia then wasn't counting as "social" her recent election as recording secretary to BU's Boston alumni association, or the banquet in Winthrop with 500 attendees. She wanted friends who were intellectual peers. Otto in their courting days promised her an ideal partnership and failed to deliver. If in the 1930s  your husband was controlling or abusive the pressure was on you never to say so -- except Aurelia did.

I don't think it was Otto's death and the burden he left her that Aurelia was bitter about. I think it was what she underlined in Sylvia's copy of Middlemarch: "Only those who know the supremacy of the intellectual life -- the life which has a seed of ennobling thought and purpose within it -- can understand the grief of one who falls from that serene activity into the absorbing soul-wasting struggle with worldly annoyances." She was not so much bitter as grieved.

[1] McLean Hospital intake interview with patient's mother Aurelia Plath, page 2.

[2] Winthrop Review, 21 Oct 1937, "Tercentary Banquet of Deane Winthrop House Monday."

[3] Boston Globe, 13 December 1932.

[4] ASP to Mrs. Helen Gaebler, 9 December 1937, Smith.

This Ghastly Archive: Remembering a Plath Superfan

Claim to Fame

 

Like many dying women she spent her time making collages.

I mean it. Stuffed between oversized scrapbook pages,

  clashes of greeting-card images cut

from the times she had been greeted or congratulated.

None is attractive or makes any sense.

It was late in life that she became an artist and no less;

finally we all get around to making art,

the language when language ends, and the motionless track

travels on while the train puts us out

onto the platform that at any hour is inadequately lit.

 

A boy named Sawyer his mother calls Soya

  brings chimneys of magazines seventy percent advertising,

exactly life’s proportion. Mary Ann must make her mark.

Neighbors interrupt her making-for-posterity

collages, edge-to-edge frustration, a series of barren wants

coupled with annoyances. In her thirties she had written

letters to celebrities asking them for money and tried to sell

to rare-book dealers their angry or astonished replies, events

not in the collages. No words are. Language couldn’t root in them.

The colors red and black did. Frowning, she concentrated.

 

Collage as a claim to fame. If only it had the body’s depths

of bone, sinew and fat. Remarkably she had gone from shameless

begging to graduate school in her fifties, choosing a place

she could go entirely mad, a comparative arts program,

where no one said anything and no judgment was final. Ginsberg’s

penpal, she called herself; everyone knew she was lying.

Ginsberg had replied that her letter was stupid. She ran and begged

Sylvia Plath’s mother to “Tell me something secret about her,”

as Mrs. Plath backed out of her Wellesley driveway

in 1977. She clings to the historical record by fingertips.

 

That is what she approached with scissors and what

she approached the scissors with. To acquire the few letters

from the famous in her files, the archive had to take the lot

and store acid-free cartons of late-in-life collages

in bulk, uninteresting and unattractive, dated,

made daily as she tried to live, Mary Ann Montgomery,
old and sick and living on Social Security in a house

in Michigan she had inherited, magazines to its ceiling, every

scrapbook filled to the limit of its binding with images.

Tired of words and reading, she tried collages, wanting

her name in an archive’s collection, and succeeded.

 

Mrs. Aurelia Plath was usually generous with the Sylvia Plath fans and mourners who came unannounced to her house on Elmwood Road, but one morning in September 1977 Aurelia could not stop to talk with a would-be visitor parking a motor home with a Michigan license plate. The stranger was a 47-year-old ex-nun, music teacher and divorcee trying to live by selling famous people's letters, and obsessed with Sylvia Plath. Terribly hurt that Aurelia didn't speak with her, she sent Aurelia a letter and, each having ulterior motives, they kept up an unctuous correspondence from 1978 to 1989: eleven years. Some of Aurelia's replies include useful biographical information. 

 

Montgomery early on begged Aurelia for "something of Sylvia's, even a letter or scrap" and for Aurelia to tell her something secret that Aurelia had never told anyone else. Aurelia declined. Montgomery sent Aurelia a poem comparing her own life to Sylvia's; she sent unwanted gifts such as flowers (once) and cassette tapes of her piano playing, refusing to take seriously Aurelia's statements that she didn't have time or energy or eyesight enough to correspond. Montgomery visited twice, once bringing a priest friend, once sick with a cold or flu that Aurelia caught.

 

Plath superfan Mary Ann Montgomery, Ph.D. (1931-2022) in the 1990s distinguished herself as a university teacher and donated her letters collection and more to the Lilly Library at Indiana University. Viewing her archive there moved me to write the poem "Claim to Fame," which takes poetic license, but the boxes of collages are real.

"Loyalty"

Young Aurelia Schober was Winthrop High School Class of 1924's salutatorian and at graduation had to give a speech. She chose the topic "loyalty" and her speech was what anyone there would have expected, in no way radical. Although "obedience" and "virtue" and "Woodrow Wilson" today would seem strange coming from an 18-year-old, the text is so boilerplate classic I got AI to write me a 21st-century graduation speech about loyalty for comparison.

"Loyalty," by Aurelia F. Schober, salutatorian, Class of 1924, printed in The Winthrop High School Echo 1924, pp. 30-31.

 

Loyalty

 

Aurelia: Loyalty is that quality which makes a man a friend and a worthy citizen, for loyalty is fidelity to our superiors, to duty, and to love. No man can be of any true value in this world unless he is loyal to God, to his fellow men, and to his own highest ideals. It is the one requisite demanded of every human being that he be loyal to the one great Master who made him. No real friendship can exist without loyalty on both sides. It is the duty of everyone to guard his friend’s interests as though they were his own. How far should this loyalty go? We all remember the answer of Christ when asked, “How often should I forgive my brother? Seven times?” Christ’s answer, “Until seventy times seven,” means, as we all know, that there should be no limit to one’s forgiveness.

 

AI: Today, as we stand on the threshold of a new chapter in our lives, I want to take a moment to reflect on a value that has been pivotal in shaping our journey together: loyalty. In a world that often prioritizes speed, convenience, and individual achievement, loyalty remains a steadfast anchor, reminding us of what is truly important. Loyalty is not merely a word; it is a commitment to those we care about, to our values, and to the principles that guide us. As we celebrate our accomplishments today, let us consider how loyalty has woven itself into the fabric of our experiences here.

 

Aurelia: In the same way there should be no limit to our loyalty to our friends. If we are loyal to the good and  noble characteristics of friendship, loyalty should be bounded only by our friend’s need and our power. As we demand that our friends “ring true” we should first be sure that we are giving them the one great gift of friendship—loyalty.

 

AI: To our families, thank you for your unwavering support and guidance. You have stood by us through our triumphs and challenges, reminding us that loyalty is not just about being present during good times, but also about being there when the road gets tough. Your belief in us has inspired us to push through adversity, to strive for excellence, and to remain steadfast in our goals. Today, we celebrate not only our achievements but also the unwavering loyalty you have shown us.

 

Aurelia: Conflicting loyalties in friendship often occur. Should we forsake our own sense of honor in order to be loyal to our friends? Lovelace expresses this thought in the oft-quoted couplet:

 

“I could not love thee, dear, so much

Loved I not honor more.”

 

AI: To our teachers, your dedication to our education has been a testament to the loyalty you hold for your profession and for your students. You have invested your time, energy, and passion into shaping our minds, nurturing our talents, and cultivating our character. Your loyalty to our growth has ignited a flame of curiosity within us, encouraging us to explore, to question, and to learn. As we leave this institution, we carry with us the lessons you have imparted, and we are grateful for the loyalty you have demonstrated to our futures.

 

Aurelia: In friendship we give our loyalty to those we love, but there is a loyalty that is demanded of us—loyalty to our superiors. This means we must obey those to whom obedience is due. If this were not an unbreakable rule, no army could endure for a day. The quicker and better we obey orders the more quickly and certainly shall we show ourselves fitted to give them when the time comes. The man or woman who cannot obey can never govern.

AI: As we navigate the complexities of adulthood, we will inevitably face choices that test our loyalty. In a rapidly changing world, it is essential to stay true to our commitments—to our loved ones, our friends, and our values. Loyalty requires courage; it requires us to stand by our principles even when the winds of change threaten to sway us. It asks us to remain faithful, not only to others but also to ourselves.

 

Aurelia: Loyalty means obeying orders in the spirit as well as in the letter. To be successful in life one must be loyal to one’s self. This loyalty is usually termed “self-respect.” Unless we have self-respect, we cannot hope to win the respect of others. Above all, we must be true to ourselves. 

 

AI: Let us remember that loyalty is a two-way street. It thrives on mutual respect, trust, and understanding. When we are loyal to others, we inspire loyalty in return. We foster relationships built on a foundation of integrity, and we create environments where collaboration and support flourish. In our personal lives and professional pursuits, let us always strive to be individuals who honor our commitments and uplift those around us.

 

Aurelia: There is not a better place to begin this loyalty than in school. There we meet the temptation, probably for the first time, to do a thing in a way that is easier although not quite so “square” as the right way. By overcoming those sometimes termed “insignificant” temptations, we become loyal to the unwritten law of “fair play” and it is the surest display of proper school spirit. Every temptation overcome strengthens the character and helps us to be victorious over even greater battles. Well has Shakespeare said, “To thine own self be true, and it must follow as the night the day, thou cans’t not then be false to any man.”

 

AI: As we embark on this new journey, I urge each of you to carry the spirit of loyalty with you. In a world that often feels fragmented, let us be the glue that binds. Let us cultivate loyalty in our friendships, our families, and our workplaces. Be the person who shows up, who listens, and who stands by others, for it is in these moments that we forge lasting connections that enrich our lives.

 

Aurelia: Loyalty when practiced in everyday life helps us to answer the call of a great cause during a great crisis—the call of loyalty to our country in time of war. Here is where small practiced loyalties in school and business help us to obey greater and more difficult orders. The habit of loyalty and obedience, when once fixed, may save thousands of lives or turn a defeat into a victory.

 

AI: Together, let us embrace the future with loyalty in our hearts and determination in our souls.

 

Aurelia: One of our greatest helps in learning to face duty rightly and to prevent conflicting loyalties is to review the lives of those who lived in the past, and thereby profit by their example. This is the value of true hero worship. Abraham Lincoln was true to God, true to his fellowmen, and true to himself. Loyalty was the secret of his success. Honesty and his name have become proverbs. Woodrow Wilson was loyal to his highest ideals, and, while he did not live to accomplish his end, he died working for his ideal. Surely the world must be getting better when future generations have such noble influences as may be gained by loyalty to the heroes of the past. A great man [Daniel Webster] has said, “If we work upon gold, it will perish; if upon brass, time will efface it; if we raise temples, they will crumble into dust. But if we work upon immortal minds—if we imbue them with high principles, with the just fear of God, with manhood and womanhood and the respect of it—we engrave on those tablets something which no time can efface, but which will grow brighter through all eternity.”

 

Aurelia: If loyalty has played and yet plays such an important part in all lives, may not loyalty be called the “summum bonum” or greatest thing in the world? Unswerving loyalty means courage; and courage is an essential of a high character. If you wish to be successful, you must be loyal. The upright man, the loyal man, fears not to meet and cope with whatever difficulties are in store for him.

 

AI: Together, let us embrace the future with loyalty in our hearts and determination in our souls.

 

Aurelia: Phillips Brooks [Boston-based Episcopal clergyman, 1835-1893, famous preacher] expressed this sentiment when he said, “Do not pray for easy lives! Pray to be stronger men! Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers; pray for powers equal to your tasks! Then the doing of your work shall be no miracle but you shall be a miracle. Every day you shall wonder at yourself, at the richness of life which has come in you by the grace of God.”

 

AI: In conclusion, as we celebrate our graduation today, let us not only commemorate our accomplishments but also the lessons learned along the way. Loyalty will be our guide as we navigate this uncharted territory. May we always remain loyal to our dreams, our communities, and to each other. Thank you.

 

[Aurelia's speech was followed by a speech on “The importance of athletics.”]

Your Genius I.Q.

A modern IQ puzzle designed for non-English speaking children, ages 7-8.

 

 

Stanford-Binet intelligence testing kit, 1937-60, like the one used on Sylvia and Warren Plath; Science Museum Group Collection,
© The Board of Trustees of the Science Museum

Most of us believe that an IQ of 130 or above means "genius," and although intelligence testing did away with that category in 1937, nearly a century ago, the word enchants us more than ever, especially if our own score is in that neighborhood. 

The Stanford-Binet IQ test, standardized in 1916, reduced human intelligence to numerals, stirring up the racists and nativists with its convenient two- or three-digit proofs that people of color and immigrants scored lower than whites, and those categorized as "feeble-minded" should be sterilized. Twenty years later, the test's second edition walked back the idea -- so seductive -- that a quotient from a sit-down test identifies "genius" (etym., "to beget"). They clarified that "IQ" measures cognitive ability or potential, and "genius" is an aptitude or gift that manifests if opportunity allows.

Sylvia Plath, age 12, took the Stanford-Binet intelligence test for children, second edition [pictured], in 1944 and scored "about 160." Today her IQ category is called "very gifted or highly advanced." Plath's IQ score first appeared in print in Sylvia Plath: Method and Madness (1976); the source was a student teacher who gave tests for practice. [1] Aurelia Plath told psychiatrist Ruth Beuscher Warren Plath's IQ was 185. [2] She didn't mention Sylvia's. However, Warren was two and a half years younger than Sylvia, and test scores were relative to the ages of the test-takers, so the siblings' IQs can't be rightly compared. The third edition (1960) resolved that problem but then faced accusations of cultural bias. Same with its rival test, "the Wechsler," for children and adults.

A whole bunch of people now call intelligence testing pseudoscience or a measure of how well one takes tests.

Aurelia Plath gave IQ tests, but not to her children. Concerned that Boston University, her employer, might ax its Secretarial major and her job, in 1959 she enrolled in evening courses seeking another subject she might teach. Aurelia struggled in a German refresher course. Then, at friend Miriam Baggett's suggestion, Aurelia switched to studying how to teach remedial reading. To identify students in need of remedial guidance, Aurelia had to practice giving IQ tests. By then IQ tests for children and adults had become a craze and big business as the U.S. competed with Russia in the Space Race.

 

Aurelia wrote Baggett on 15 December 1961:

How often I have thought of you while giving these Binet and Wechsler tests! I find this work fascinating. My whole neighborhood is co-operating with me and nearly as excited as I am. I had a fine letter from Dr. Cole this fall, wherein he said that he would be glad to have me work with them in the department when I was ready. I hope my program will be such that I can give some time there in the fall of 1962.

All along, Sylvia Plath, from her home in England, cautioned her mother not to "lash'' herself through night courses and unpaid practice-teaching while working full-time. Fall 1962 brought such awful crises to mother and daughter that Aurelia never started a remedial guidance career.

[1]  Edward Butscher, author of Sylvia Plath: Method and Madness (1976), p. 27, interviewed Dorothy H. Humphrey, in 1944 "a senior in Boston University's School of Education, taking a course on 'ability testing' during the 1943-44 school year" who chose to practice-test students at Perrin School, where Sylvia was a sixth-grader. Humphrey said she could not recall the exact score but it was around 160.

[2] When giving Dr. Ruth Beuscher Sylvia's history in 1953, Aurelia Plath said that Warren's IQ was 185. When or where he was tested is not known. Typed transcription by Harriet Rosenstein of "McLean Hospital Record #17878, Sylvia Plath," Collection 1489, Box 3, Folder 10, Stuart Rose Library, Emory.

Book Review: Loving Sylvia Plath by Emily Van Duyne

I could treat you to the notes I took as I read and re-read Loving Sylvia Plath: A Reclamation, by Emily Van Duyne.

Or I could tell you my opinion, but it'd be only one of many.

Then I wondered, what is the purpose of a book review? I learned early on that reviews exist so readers can pretend to have read recent books, preparing themselves for cocktail conversations or the MLA.

What value does criticism have after a book is published? It's as Gertrude Stein said, "Criticism always comes too late."

I could link you to an article I wish I had written, about the trend toward literary "auto-criticism" that does not pretend to objectivity but loves its subject. We know that "emotionless" "objectivity" always granted the reviewer liberty to savage the book or damn with faint praise or embed little digs at the book or its author, or complain (as I wished to) that the book took insufficient notice of my point of view. Some reviews are weapons against a certain school of thinking, or showcase how erudite or in the Zeitgeist the reviewer is.

To review a Plath book is also a chance to "whatabout" my pet concerns such as Sylvia Plath's privilege and amorality and Ted Hughes's blaming the solar system for the couple's fate. Or I could harp on critics' suspension of judgement or squelching of inquiry because Plath is too special, holy, smart, for mortals to judge or edit, gung-ho to publish every word she wrote, much of it like Elvis's Greatest Shit, an LP compiling the King's most ludicrous recordings such as "Do the Clam" (from Girl Happy) and studio outtakes. 

Critical "objectivity" has guessed Plath killed herself having all sorts of diseased or existential motives. An early one, taken seriously by Al Alvarez and others, was "Her poetry killed her," a statement so absurd I wonder why no one jeered -- while proscribing inquiries such as: Why does Loving Sylvia Plath, so eloquent and persuasive about Plath's experience of domestic abuse and the silencing of abused women in general -- erase Sylvia's mother? Aurelia Plath was a woman too, in an abusive marriage. That's not my opinion or new discovery. Aurelia -- she who wrung her hands about what the neighbors thought -- described her abusive marriage at length in Letters Home, published fifty years ago. Critics labeled her a "martyr," the bad kind.

There is evidence that Plath's domestic abuse is part of a family pattern: quick, defiant weddings followed by brutalization, traceable through five generations of Greenwoods and Plaths. Domestic violence is Plath's heritage and remains a family concern. A poem by her daughter Frieda Hughes, who like Plath uses poetry as expose and retribution, describes being "livid" with bruises and seeking shelter with her stepmother, who won't take her in. [1] Frieda's cousin Susan Plath Winston, who is Warren's daughter, is a lawyer representing victims of domestic violence. [2]

Loving Sylvia Plath focuses on Plath and Assia Wevill as victims of Ted Hughes, whose own mental warp required vows of silence from everyone he knew and, in partnership with sister Olwyn, hiding or destroying evidence of intimate partner violence or his portion of responsibility for intimate partners' suicidal despair. As far as I know, critics have not explored the likelihood that Hughes came from a violent family, information about his father, William, being exceptionally scarce. (Maybe more will come to light when Hughes-worshipping gets old.) Loving Sylvia Plath does say Olwyn, tireless tormentor and manipulator of lots of people, had an abusive alcoholic boyfriend and married him. [p. 185]

And a small example of inexplicable Aurelia erasure:

Van Duyne writes [p. 114] that the church sexton witnessed the wedding of Plath and Hughes. Aurelia Plath was a witness too. That's fact. Go look at the photograph of the registry (courtesy of scholars Di Beddow and Ann Skea). Why is the sexton credited as a witness but Aurelia not?

There are more such erasures, but I want to avoid nits and off-topic arguments such as, "Whoa, there; Plath's achievement is not equivalent to Virginia Woolf's." [p. 21] Better, "If Van Duyne read Harriet Rosenstein's acidic notes about her interview with Aurelia Plath, notes archived at Emory, Van Duyne surely read in that same document Rosenstein's notes about Sylvia's maternal great-grandmother":

“Miss Meyer (Beyer? What was her first name, Esther?) was married by grandfather, Greenwood, who felt that he’d stooped.” . . . “ONE OF THE FEW TIMES SHE [Aurelia] SHOWED STRONG EMOTION. BRUTALITY OF GREENWOOD. Treated Grandmother wretchedly. She bore nine children, raised seven of them, ran the store in Vienna. He did nothing but be charming and feel destroyed by improvident marriage. BRUTAL, IRRESPONSIBLE, CHARMING MEN" [3]

Possibly the editors suggested Van Duyne cut out Aurelia or family stuff. So domestic abuse looks as if it hit Sylvia from out of the blue.

I changed my approach to: "What can I offer that might build on this book's many merits, such as good scholarship, an unusual approach, and bold argumentation?"

I'll link you to that thoughtful article about the trend toward book-length "auto-criticism," which discusses Van Duyne's open affinity with Sylvia Plath, and addresses the problems of the auto-critical approach. (Every approach has problems.) [4]

I am not persuaded Sylvia's "violent marriage" was always violent and that in life she was only a victim. She married Ted Hughes knowing he "bashed people around," admired "such violence, and I can see why women lie down for artists." Plath knew she fused Hughes's personal presence and power with what she recalled of her father. So her family had a role in her choice of mate and marriage dynamics, and it's worth looking into.

Her family's gift to her, as far as we can prove, because physical abuse at home was not then a crime -- was verbal abuse. Sylvia Plath raised verbal abuse to a fine-art form. That's why we love the Ariel poems and The Bell Jar and Journals. That's why we get our dopamine ya-yas no matter how many times we read her.

Those who in life loved Sylvia Plath got burnt really badly.

[1] "Twenty-Third Year, 1982," pp. 45-46 in 45: Poems (Harper Collins, 2006).

[2] https://www.wral.com/story/sylvia-plath-a-postwar-poet-unafraid-to-confront-her-own-despair/17403369/

[3] Harriet Rosenstein's notes on her interview with Aurelia Plath (1970), p. 2, Manuscript Collection 1489, Stuart Rose Library, Emory.

[4] Lindemann, Frances. "Reading Oneself: Auto-Critics and the Sylvia Plath Problem," The Drift, issue #13, 19 July 2024.

Scary Prussian Art

Plath family heirloom c. 1881, 24" wide. Click to enlarge.

Otto Plath left Prussia before he was old enough to serve in the Imperial German army, but his uncle Emil Adolph Plath (b. 1859) had served, and as a parting gift the army gave Emil this personalized lithograph with three uniformed Emils posed in three phases of his service. 

Each pose has an identical face, cut from duplicate photographs of Emil, and pasted where his face ought to be. Headgear was hand-painted on. The leftmost figure's original face peeled or tore away and was restored but without headgear.

Cross the popular American prints by Currier & Ives with the typically heroic paintings of Prussian battle scenes and you get this official military lithograph, c.1881, a fantasia abristle with weapons and heraldry. [1] Crown Prince Frederick, Emperor Wilhelm I, and another noble occupy the lunettes. The white ribbon at bottom center says, "A reminder [memento] of my service." At the very bottom, barely visible in this photo, is the name Emil Plath. Descendant Rod Pope told me Great-Grandfather Emil had served with the palace guards and the background aligns with that.

In 1885 Emil Plath, honorably discharged, with his parents and sister Maria left an increasingly militant Imperial Germany for the U.S. [2] Emil married Martha Ebert in 1889 and they were the first whites to settle in Maza, North Dakota, where much of the Plath family story unfolded. Otto's mother Ernestine and his five siblings traveled from Prussia to Maza in 1901. [3] Otto's father Theodor, already in the States and traveling for work, had told Ernestine to lie to immigration officials that Emil was her husband. She did. [4]

A blacksmith, the family profession, Emil died in in 1922, leaving his customized work of art to his descendants who hid it during World War II. It was rescued from a closet where it spent the past quarter-century.

This family photo of Emil Plath in Maza, at right, was probably taken around 1920 when he sold his smithy and moved to Oregon. Old newspapers say his business had survived a tornado, blizzards, and the drought years that plagued Maza's short life as a North Dakota boomtown. Joyriders also stole Emil's car and drove it to Minnesota. He got it back.

There's a lifetime of hard work in Emil's face. Does he look at all like his nephew Otto Plath?

[1] The only similar German military portrait lithograph I found appears on eBay and is precisely dated "1881."

[2] Ship's manifest, heritage.statueofliberty.org, 1885, ship: Belquenland; passengers John Plath, 60, Carolina Plath, 60, Emil, 25, Maria, 17; all from Budsin; destination Chicago.

[3] Hadler, Mabel Lyles Jacques, North Dakota: Towner [County] Genealogies, 1700-1900, Image 711, calls Emil Plath "first resident of Maza." "Maza" is a Lakota word meaning "metal" or "iron." A Lakota named Chante Maza ("iron heart") operated a general store near the site of Maza, ND.

[4] Ship's manifest at right, 1901.

Thanks to Rod Pope for sharing the family photos and history.

Warren

We don't know Warren Plath very well. After his sister Sylvia's death he refused interviews, even those proposed by his own daughters. At Aurelia's memorial service he spoke not at all, thinking someone might capitalize on whatever he said. Warren was within his rights. He was the one who had to see his dead sister in her coffin and face her husband, who had treated her badly.

We've been so blinded by Sylvia that we forgot her brother Warren, raised alongside of Sylvia and cared for just as much.

From what Aurelia Plath wrote we learn that Warren could be irritable and hated to be told what to do; rather, one should ask him to do things. After learning from his wonderfully detailed obituary that teenage Warren had been a "candy striper" (hospital volunteer), I saw that when in summer 1953 Aurelia suggested Sylvia try the same, she was holding up Warren as a model, and most likely that happened more than once.

Sylvia was in New York at Mademoiselle and couldn't attend Warren's June graduation from Phillips Exeter. But the Boston Globe preserved it all (15 June 1953):

Which one is the little angel?

Warren J. Plath, son of Mrs. Aurelia S. Plath of Wellesley, won the Faculty Prize for General Excellence awarded to the senior "who is recognized on the grounds of scholarship and general character as holding the first rank." Among the Greater Boston boys who won college scholarships were: Harvard National Scholarship, Warren J. Plath of Wellesley; Harvard Competitive Prize Scholarship, Earl J. Silbert of Brookline; Teschemacher Scholarship to Harvard, Warren J. Plath of Wellesley. . .

After those awards, Warren graduated summa cum laude from Harvard in 1957 and got his Ph.D. at Harvard, too, although in 1959 when Sylvia whined to her psychiatrist that Warren was at Harvard but she was not, his path through grad school had been interrupted by a Fulbright year at the University of Bonn, where he learned to speak German.

Sylvia's original "rival," Warren was perceived as such even as their mother was nursing him. To my surprise I realized that the authentic part of Sylvia's memoir "Ocean 1212-W" was the toddler narrator's violent jealousy and hatred of the new baby about to displace her as the center of her family's attention. That mattered an awful lot to her, although it happens to eldest children every day. The memoir says she sought from the ocean a sign of her "specialness." In real life the ocean did not give one. But her memoir delivers to her a wooden carving of a "sacred baboon" which to me sounds rather comical.

Displaced she was. The story "Among the Bumblebees," which Sylvia wrote in college, describes her family life after Warren was born. "Warren" in the story, as in life, was blond and angel-faced. (Sylvia, frankly, was not as cute.) At a family supper, "Alice," age five or six, feeling jealous, quietly kicks "Warren" in the shins, making him cry. Then:

 

"Good lord, doesn't he do anything but cry?" Alice's father scowled, lifting his head, and making a scornful mouth. Alice glared at Warren in safe contempt.

"He is tired," her mother said, with a hurt, reproving look at Alice. Bending over the table, she stroked Warren's yellow hair. "He hasn't been well, poor baby. You know that." . . . The light made a luminous halo of his soft hair. Mother murmured little crooning noises to quiet him and said, "There, there, angel, it is all right now. It is all right."

 

With elaborate and passive-aggressive cooing and care, Mother takes Warren upstairs and Alice bonds with her father, who saw her kick her brother and tacitly approved; they have both felt deprived of the mother's attention. [1] This "pacifist" household loaded Sylvia Plath's emotional toolbox with propensities to punish, control, compete, and claim the center of attention. We know little about young Warren's emotions except that he had a short fuse and rigid habits. He grew up to be a computer genius.

Warren was smarter than Sylvia, proven at age 2-1/2 when he bested her storytelling with his own. In college the memory still stung; she wrote about it. [2] Aurelia Plath in her Letters Home preface soft-pedals her children's sibling rivalry, saying only “[t]here were many times when each made the other miserable; and Sylvia, as the older, was the more dominant and the more culpable.” That the conflict-avoidant Aurelia even mentioned their conflict means it was much worse than she said. Sylvia's Dr. Beuscher, paraphrasing Sylvia's case notes to a biographer, said that Sylvia's teasing "went beyond normal." Picking on or even hitting a new sibling is normal. But Sylvia had tried to choke Warren and stuff cloth down his throat. [3] No surprise, then, that Aurelia wrote of 1938-39, "Warren develops many allergies, food, grasses, pollen, etc. He has two serious bouts with bronchial pneumonia and an asthmatic condition develops." [4] Warren had asthma attacks well into his teens.

The siblings sometimes played nicely, but where did Sylvia learn to ridicule and kick shins and bite people, and to cut her brother's neck with an ice skate, and think to strangle him? She hadn't yet seen any wartime movie newsreels. Television did not exist. I hate to think the model for such behavior was her family. We will never know how Warren recalled Sylvia's teasing, which persisted until he grew taller than she.

Eventually Sylvia came to love and confide in her brother because as well as being taller he had mastered fields of knowledge not her own. Warren was a dutiful son who kindly helped Aurelia edit Letters Home and when he had his own family saw his mother three times a year. He was no fan of the older Aurelia. When she sent Warren letters he had his wife Margaret answer them.

[1] On a carbon copy of this story kept in the Plath archive at Smith College, Aurelia Plath wrote in Gregg shorthand "realistic."

[2] Composition written in German for a Smith College German course, 1955; read it in English here.

[3] Audio recording and written notes c. 1970 by Harriet Rosenstein of Ruth Beuscher reading case notes from a February 1959 session with Sylvia Plath, Emory.

[4] "Chronology" document by Aurelia Plath, Smith College Special Collections.

"Plath" Versus "Platt": Her Real Last Name

Otto Plath's Ellis Island entry record, September 1900

A couple of biographers say Sylvia Plath's family name is really "Platt," and they did not make that up; they can point to two federal documents, one calling Sylvia's future father "Otto Platt" (above), and the 1910 U.S. census calling her grandfather "Theodor Platt." Yet dozens of other documents, U.S. and German, including signatures, say "Plath" back to 1826. The Plaths knew their own name. "Platt" was a clerical error, common in U.S. official papers. But then . . .

"Plath" was not a rare name. Wisconsin was crawling with Plaths, unrelated, when Sylvia's father started college there. "Plath" or "Platt," meaning "flat" or "low," indicates origins in northern Germany's lowlands and wetlands (see the red in the map, its original here). Plath versus Platt? The German language's historic consonant and vowel shifts did not reach the north, so the north's Low German dialect has the "th" that High German famously does not except for words borrowed from Greek such as Bibliothek and Mathematik, and names such as Theodor or Goethe. It's "t" with a little puff of air.

Now, the exception: The Plath who became a Platt after threatening to kill folks he said owed him money. [1]

January 1914

What we know of Otto's youngest brother Hugo Friedrich Plath suggests one who had big plans. Born in 1890, fourth of six children, Hugo did not want to farm in Oregon with his father and brothers Paul and Max. In 1911, age twenty, Hugo returned to the U.S. from Canada where he'd tried to cash in on a building boom. At the border he claimed to have no relatives [2] and then moved restlessly between Oregon and Washington state. Three years later Hugo threatened -- idiotically, in writing -- to kill a father and daughter. Hugo in 1917 claimed exemption from the draft because his parents were his dependents. [3] They probably weren't; his mother was in a public mental hospital. I wondered if Hugo was mentally ill, but the army found him sane enough to enlist him in July 1918. In December 1918 he was discharged with a 12.5 percent disability for an injured eye. [4]

Hugo "Platt" married briefly and divorced. [5] (The Plaths, for their era, had a high divorce rate: Otto, 1; Max, 3; Hugo, 1, and younger sister Frieda Plath married a divorced M.D. whose wife had alleged "extreme cruelty"). [6] Hugo maybe alternated between "Plath" and "Platt" to dodge the warrant and any demands for alimony. Hugo "Platt" in the 1940 census was jobless after working on a WPA highway project. By 1942 he had settled in a Long Beach, California, trailer park, naming a lawyer as his next of kin. [7] In the 1950 census "Platt" lives in his trailer, unable to work. He died in 1974, age eighty-three, outliving all his siblings.

The army recorded two names for him (see card below). [8] The State of California issued two death records, one for Hugo "Platt" [9] and one for Hugo "Plath."

[1] Oregon Daily Journal [Portland], 18 January 1914, p. 8.

[2] "Plath, Hugo F., Contractor," U.S. Border Crossings, Port of Eastport, Idaho, August 1911.

[3] Plath, Hugo Friedrich, WWI draft registration card, 5 June 1917.

[4] Oregon, U.S., State Military Records 1846-1977, WWI Army Statement of Service Cards 1917-1919, image 25794.

[5] The Recorder [San Francisco] 21 January 1924; 11 February 1925. Her name was Edith.

[6] The Recorder [San Francisco], 21 September 1931, p. 1.

[7] Platt, Hugo F., WWII draft registration card, 1942.

[8] U.S. Veterans Administration Master Index, 1917-1940.

[9] California death certificate #36677.

Flying Over Baghdad With Sylvia Plath

U.S. Army Sergeant Paul David Adkins packed poetry books for his tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan. While nighttime artillery shook his container housing unit, he read by flashlight The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath and other poets "who pulled me from the fire, fed me bread and wine in the dark, warm corners of their books." Adkins responded to each poet with a poem of his own, collected and published by LitRiot Press as Flying Over Baghdad with Sylvia Plath.

I could not resist that title!

Adkins (B.A. history, M.F.A. poetry; jobless, he joined the army; today, he teaches) was my grad-school classmate, now the author of six poetry books and chapbooks, the latest, Sound and Fury, giving voice to the victims of Attica's prison rebellion. Like Plath's his poems irradiate their subjects down to their subatomic particles, and readers feel it. Paul and I recently met again after 30 years. In this video (6:33) he reads from Flying Over Baghdad a poem inspired by Adrienne Rich's poem about Ethel Rosenberg and the deadly nature of the powers that be.

Paul says: "You are who you read."

Killing Her Kids

-Did Sylvia Plath in her final days really think about killing her children?

What Plath thought, nobody knows. We know what Plath wrote in her first draft of the poem "Edge," probably the last poem she wrote: "She is taking them with her." It seems to say that the dead woman "who wears the smile of accomplishment" has killed her children along with herself.

Click to enlarge

"She is taking them with her" appears only in that draft. Plath chose to delete that line. It's not in the finished poem. Nor did Plath take her children "with her" when she killed herself. She took care that they survived.

-But if Plath had killed them, could she be held responsible? She was in such a state, post-partum depression, taking poisonous prescription drugs, suicidal, deserted --

You mean we play "court of criminal law" and exonerate Plath, our favorite writer, our idol, of having written that line, on the basis of insanity? Deny that a sane Plath could ever have thought that awful thought? Did the line "The illusion of a Greek necessity" not hint that the poem might be metaphorical, a creative work, not 100 percent literal? Even if Plath did mean it, why does what did not happen engross you? Does this unpublished, deleted, sensational line somehow reflect so badly on Plath that it reflects on you?

Sylvia's mother Aurelia Plath had a unique denial strategy for the deleted line first exposed in Judith Kroll's Plath study Chapters in a Mythology (1976). Aurelia wrote in her copy of Kroll's book a response to a footnote. Kroll's footnote explaining "Edge" says in part:

The children must be dead in order for the woman's history to be perfected, for she regards them as extensions of herself; that is why she speaks of folding them "back into her body."

Alongside that, Aurelia wrote "not correct." Taking the line literally, Aurelia wrote that it "really meant" that Sylvia folded the future children she wanted, two unconceived that she had already chosen names for, "back into her body." Aurelia further clarified:

"These are 'Jacob' and 'Megan', the two she still hoped to bear." Aurelia added as a reference "1961 & 2."

From Aurelia's copy of Chapters in a Mythology. She and Kroll had been in mutually respectful correspondence about the manuscript. Click to enlarge.

How Much Money Aurelia Got For Sylvia's Letters

It was such a big event in Aurelia's life I had to pursue the question although told the answer was confidential, none of my business, they didn't know or they wouldn't say.

Aurelia Plath was paid $190,000 for her daughter Sylvia's letters and other items now in the Sylvia Plath mss. at the Lilly Library at Indiana University at Bloomington.

The sale, through a dealer, was completed in March 1977.

$190,000 in 1977 is worth in 2024 either $985,150 or $1,101,400. In either case, a cool million.

Worth it, for Sylvia's letters home, early short stories, diaries, paintings, and memorabilia: more than 3,000 items. Aurelia opened the Lilly collection to the public having decided what the public should see. I think she removed Sylvia's "lost" short stories "The Trouble-Making Mother" and "The Mummy." But let's admire Aurelia's amazing foresight in amassing and preserving for 45 years this dazzling literary trove and making it available. Many a scholar has made money from it.

Aurelia's writings and correspondence never mention meeting an appraiser or dealer, or negotiations over the price and dealer's fee.

Aurelia -- in 1977, age 70 -- for tax reasons divided the $190,000 into 10 annual payments. [1]

I heard more than once that the dealer held back some items and sold them.

Aurelia at a later time donated further Plath materials to the Lilly Library's Sylvia Plath archive.

[1] In 1977 a single filer with a taxable income of $19,000 (in 2024 money, $100,000) was taxed at 34 percent. $190,000 would have been taxed at 70 percent. TaxFoundation.org.

Beth Hinchliffe's Unpublished Sylvia Plath Biography

How differently we would read Sylvia Plath's work and life story had Elizabeth Hinchliffe's Plath biography been completed and published, showing Sylvia and Otto and Aurelia at their weakest and most helpless, portrayals that biographies have tried to avoid.

Part One of The Descent of Ariel, 58 pages, depicts Sylvia, in London in her final winter, as a nuisance who pounded on her downstairs neighbor's door until he opened it and wailed for his help: Would he please crawl over the roof and through a window because she'd locked herself out of her flat? Did he know a plumber? Clearly we're getting the neighbor's view of Sylvia. (In this manuscript he's called "Evans.") Hinchliffe notes that when snowbound, Sylvia had no other adult besides "Evans" to talk with; she didn't yet have a telephone.

Now, I don't believe everything I read unless I can find corroboration and I had to find my own because this manuscript has no footnotes.

Corroboration: Sylvia's anguished letters from fall and winter 1962 and '63, and Dr. Anita Helle, a Plath relative: "Sylvia was almost beside herself with grief and terror in her last months."[1]

In the next chapter Otto Plath's fellow graduate students at Harvard's Bussey Institute describe Otto as a a timid, sniffling outsider who agreed with whatever anyone said and defended himself by quoting other people. A nice guy, someone said, who didn't "carry the guns" to be a scientist. Feared completing his dissertation because then he would have to defend it.

This matches the Otto of the 1918 FBI report: a nervous, morbid man who made no friends, lied that he thought he was a U.S. citizen, and when asked about the war did not say he was a pacifist. 

Otto saved his "Daddy" act for home. His kids learned to shed their real selves at the door and became quiet, well-mannered robot children so he wouldn't yell at them the way he yelled at their mother. They'd assume this outer armor for the rest of their lives.

Aurelia described her own parents as sources of love and laughter -- not as Austrian immigrants who shut out neighbors and tried to re-create Austria in their living room, speaking only German, teaching obedience to authority, to hide one's emotions, work hard, and expect the worst. I'd add that Aurelia's parents were Roman Catholics, a faith centered on sacrifice. They were taught to believe that mother pelicans, when they had to, tore their own flesh to feed the blood to their children. Although pelicans don't really do that. 

Interesting: It was Aurelia's mother who looked for houses and found the one on Elmwood Road. Aurelia was at work, of course. Aurelia's mother had a car and was the household's only driver. So quit saying Aurelia chose the WASPiest house she could find because becoming a WASP was her ambition.

About Aurelia Plath -- plainly the source and link to much of this information -- the unfinished biography says Aurelia wanted her children to have the fun and freedom her own childhood did not. It doesn't mention Aurelia's job or college years, or any of her triumphs; in fact portrays her as friendless. So even a neighbor and professional journalist was another in a long line of biographers who didn't ask Aurelia about herself. 

The text is well-woven, well written and absorbing.

The manuscript, in the Fran McCullough archive at the Hornbake Library at the University of Maryland-College Park, is 123 pages and incomplete. It includes a few photos. It's undated.

[1] A. Helle, "Family Matters," Northwest Review, Vol. 26 No. 2, 1988.

Poems About Aurelia Plath

Perseus isn't finished with Medusa until he turns his mother's suitor into stone.

"Sappho" by Beth Hinchliffe. America magazine, 29 June 2023. This poem was a runner-up in the Jesuit magazine's annual poetry contest. Aurelia Plath's friend and neighbor, journalist and author of an unpublished Plath biography, Hinchliffe said this was the first poem she ever wrote.

"Cottage Street, 1953" by Richard Wilbur, first published in 1972, describes Aurelia and a very depressed Sylvia having tea at his mother-in-law Edna Ward's house on Cottage Street in Wellesley. Mrs. Ward was Aurelia's friend. Hear Wilbur read the poem (and defend it).

"Aurelia Plath Confesses" by Lisa Mullenneaux, published in Prairie Schooner, Vol. 93, No. 2, Summer 2019. Mullenneaux is a poet, scholar, translator, and professor of writing, best known for the essay "Can You Call Her Sister? Amelia Rosselli on Sylvia Plath."

"Medusa" by Sylvia Plath (1962).

Frieda Hughes wrote several poems about her grandmother Aurelia. You've probably read some. Here are quotations from four different poems:

1. "Mirror, mirror on the wall / Who is the least dead / Of us all?// You loved me not, just saw / A copy of the face / You gave birth to."

2. "Come live with me!" it cried, / Nostrils spread above like nose wings / As if the face would take off from its neck-end / Like a ghastly bald crow."

3. "Chipping away at her / As if she were an egg, / to be broken and beaten / And turned into something else."

4.  "She is the gypsy / Whose young have rooted / In the very flesh of her scalp. // Her eyes are drill-holes where / Your senses spin, and you are stone / Even as you stand before her."

I think you get the gist.

Although Ted Hughes wrote at least one poem centered on Aurelia, Birthday Letters offers only glimpses. His poem "Night-Ride on Ariel" makes a typically chilling reference: "Mother / Making you dance with her magnetic eye / On your Daddy's coffin"

Her Parents' Graves

I traveled to Boston to view Plath-related sites and saw Otto's grave in Winthrop Cemetery and Aurelia Plath's in Wellesley's Woodlawn Cemetery. Both cemeteries are well-kept, tree-shaded, quiet and bewildering. Winthrop Cemetery has three terrace-like sections separated by streets and Otto is buried in the bottom-most terrace, the one not yet filled, which abuts a golf course. At Otto's grave I was alone. What came to mind was "He died like any man." There's no mythic aura unless you bring your own.

It's right off the path as Sylvia said. See it for yourself (video, 21 seconds).

At Aurelia Plath's grave in Wellesley I left a thank-you note near Aurelia's "flush marker," that is, a stone flush with the ground, not even a 3-D brick like Otto's. I used Findagrave.com's coordinates and map to find the Schober plot where Aurelia is buried at her parents' feet. Crabgrass partly obscures Aurelia's marker. Only garden tools could clean it up. I brought the thank-you note thinking gratitude is all any mother really wants. (I don't know what fathers want.) I weighted the note with a stray chunk of marble, and had my picture taken there for social media.

Woodlawn Cemetery, Wellesley, 2024

I had prepared to travel on to Linden, New Jersey and photograph the grave of Aurelia's African-American uncle Christopher Nicholson, buried in Rosedale-Rosehill Cemetery there. Burials in Manhattan are unlawful, so its dead end up in the boroughs or New Jersey. Phoned the cemetery, learned Nicholson has no marker and the only info is the date he was buried: October 31, 1956. The Manhattan death record says Nicholson was 70. In fact he was 73, but apparently he had no one close enough to know that, least of all his niece and great-niece Aurelia and Sylvia.

I didn't go to New Jersey.

Neither parent's gravestone has a quotation or says "beloved" or anything, and neither had any tributes such as plastic flowers, coins, or little flags. I should have brought and planted American flags on all three graves.

Because how these three people became family, Sylvia Plath's family, is a very American story.

Contusions: What Purple Means in Sylvia Plath

Medical Illustration by Dr. Ciléin Kearns (Artibiotics)

How a bruise works: an impact breaks the capillaries. Gradually the pooled blood breaks down into its components, as illustrated. Can't think of another writer besides Plath so taken with bruises. The crown jewel of the lot is her poem "Contusion," written February 4, 1963, Plath's third-to-last poem. The poem's speaker watches a bruise develop. The speaker doesn't say it's theirs. This bruise is somehow decisive: a minor injury elevated by its formal, medical name, it portends a death.

 

Sylvia Plath’s works include far more bruising than most writers describe by age 30. In The Bell Jar, a male escort’s grip on Esther Greenwood’s arm leaves purple fingerprints. Esther describes her injured face as “purple and bulged out in a shapeless way, shading to green along the edges, and then to a sallow yellow.” The writer knows bruises, has studied them. Plath's journal says her first night with Ted Hughes gave her a "battered face smeared with a purple bruise" (26 March 1956). Over time, the bruises in Plath's work increase and so does her artfulness in describing them:

O adding machine--

Is it impossible for you to let something go and have it go whole?

Must you stamp each piece in purple,

 

Must you kill what you can? ("A Birthday Present")

 

In October 1962 a jealous Plath wrote in the “The Swarm,” the most nebulous of Ariel’s bee poems, these heated and personal lines, like nothing else in the poem:

 

Jealousy can open the blood,

It can make black roses.

 

Admired for her evocative use of the colors red, black, and white, even yellow, the color purple in Sylvia Plath’s writings ranges from "wormy purple" in "Poem for a Birthday" to "The Ravaged Face" ("Grievously purpled, mouth skewered on a groan") to The Bell Jar's decorously sick Miss Norris who wears only purple. Emily Dickinson used the adjective "purple" more than 50 times, connoting, as it had for thousands of years, "priestly" or "princely," or like violets, which Dickinson loved. The first synthetic purple dye was patented in 1856: after that, anyone could wear it. I think Plath, who grew up without priests or princes, redefined the "royal color" as morbid or livid: Cadavers are purple-black. Berries bleed purple. "Fat purple figs" shrivel and rot.

In a draft of Plath's poem "Fever 103,º" purple did signify authority, the priestly type:

 

O auto-da-fe! 

The purple men, gold crusted, thick with spleen, 

Sit with their hooks and crooks and stoke the light.

 

Plath deleted that stanza after recording the poem for the BBC.

 

In Plath's view (then and now widely shared) purples render commoners worse than common. Esther Greenwood's mother wore "a dress with purple cartwheels," and "looked awful." Esther's boss Jay Cee in a lavender suit, hat, and gloves "looked terrible, but very wise." (39) "Irwin's" friend "Olga," a professor's wife, wears purple slacks when she calls on Irwin, who has Esther as his guest instead. (227) Esther more authentically wears the color on her flesh, "bruised purple and green and blue" from insulin injections. (191) Purple, once so exclusively for royals that non-royals were killed for wearing it, Esther wears on her butt.

 

Plath's purples are fleshly and literal. In other Ariel poems one finds a purple tongue and a surgeon's description of the "purple wilderness" exposed during surgery. Plath made the color corporeal. And linked it with women's injuries.

I'm hoping someone will enrich the world with deeper thinking so I don't have to read Jonathan Bate (Ted Hughes: The Unauthorized Life) or his kind saying or quoting, "For Plath, desire was a purple bruise; for Hughes, poetry was the healing of a wound," when Plath's purples communicate something else. [1]

[1] Martin Rubin, review of Ted Hughes: The Unauthorised Life, SFGate, 19 November 2015.

"I Am the Same, Identical Woman" (or Am I?)

Sylvia's paternal grandmother

Courtesy of a descendant, here is Ernestine Kottke Plath (1853-1919), Otto Plath's mother and Sylvia's grandmother. Inscribed on the reverse, "Earnestine Kottke," suggesting this photo was taken before she married in March 1882, when she was 28. It might have been cut from a group photo or her wedding photo. The photo's owner has other vintage family photos all inscribed with the names of those pictured.

The Gibson-girl hairdo suggests the photo was taken after 1880: It's typical to fix one's hair stylishly when sitting for a photo. Where the photo was taken is not known.

I can barely reconcile this image with a known image of Ernestine, age 62, taken at Oregon State Hospital (formerly "for the Insane") in 1916. Another descendant shown the "young" photo had never seen it, could not confirm it was Ernestine Kottke although it was so labeled. What do you think? The older Ernestine seems to be toothless. Here is information about how aging alters one's nose.

There exists a third photo of Ernestine Plath posed with her husband, taken in Oregon between 1911 and 1916, showing features their son Otto inherited.

Theodor and Ernestine Plath had seven children: the first died in infancy, and Otto was born next, in 1885. Ernestine was first hospitalized for depression, sleeplessness, and "persecution" in 1905, three years after moving with her family from Prussia to North Dakota. In Oregon her diagnosis was dementia. Just another "sad Plath woman"? I don't think so. In both photos I see spirit.