For years, I didn't dare to read Sylvia Plath, thinking she is too deep, arty, subtle for me.
This morning I read this book in my morning commute. Reading it from back to front, I first met Maya Angelo's "Still I Rise," brave, bold and inspiring, and simple and to the point.
Then I met Plath's "Daddy." No big deal.
Next came Anne Sexton's "Wanting to Die." No big deal either.
To my shock, these 2 suicidal poetesses wrote to a formula! "The phone is off the hook" in both poems. So much for authenticity, sincerity and originality. They both seemed to be paraphrasing Freud and bogus psychoanalysis.
They are far too simpler than simple poets like Frost, Wordsworth or Maya Angelo.
Don't be intimidated by complexity, so-called sophistication and airs. Just look at it calmly. Just keep your cool. Fake art can never stand that kind of gaze or stare or even wink.