It was not a heart, beating.
That muted boom, that clangor
Far off, not blood in the ears
Drumming up and fever
To impose on the evening.
The noise came from outside:
A metal detonating
Native, evidently, to
These stilled suburbs nobody
Startled at it, though the sound
Shook the ground with its pounding.
It took a root at my coming
Till the thudding shource, exposed,
Counfounded in wept guesswork:
Framed in windows of Main Street's
Silver factory, immense
Hammers hoisted, wheels turning,
Stalled, let fall their vertical
Tonnage of metal and wood;
Stunned in marrow. Men in white
Undershirts circled, tending
Without stop those greased machines,
Tending, without stop, the blunt
Indefatigable fact.
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Comments2Sylvia Plath is deep. What's the noise about? 🤔ðŸ’
THIS POEM MAKES ME FEEL AS IF I'M IN ANOTHER WORLD, A PLACE WHERE EVERYDAY SOUNDS BECOME STRANGELY UNSETTLING. THE POET DID AN AMAZING JOB AT CREATING THIS VIVID IMAGERY THAT STICKS WITH YOU. I CAN ALMOST HEAR THE METAL CRASHES AND FEEL THE GROUND SHAKING. IT'S EVERYDAY LIFE, BUT TOLD IN A WAY THAT MAKES IT SOUND SO OTHERWORLDLY. IMPRESSIVE!