The New Yorker: Poetry cover image

Vijay Seshadri Reads Sylvia Plath

The New Yorker: Poetry

00:00

Is This a Blues, All Their Love in Vain?

i like that it doesn't end there. It ends with this possibility of reaching out, sure, and someone there. I also love that you smuggled in some robert johnson right in the and of the first stanza. Your objunctive mood represents a state of mind. I'm embivland. I'membivilent forever.

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