This will be the first instalment of a new section of this blog. I'm extremely excited by it. So much so that later down the track it may even turn into a blog of itself.
In this section I plan to focus each time on a truly phenomenal woman. One that is not only remarkable for her achievements or her insights but one that inspires other women to strive.
These are the kind of women that are team players, that know that we are all better off working together. That rejoice in another persons successes and that also do truly want other people to be able to do their own thing and to be truly, utterly happy.
They are not the kind of women that is unfortunately all too common. That feigns to be inspiring but really guilt other women into feeling and about themselves. They are not the kind of women to only focus on themselves. Phenomenal women are positive, strong but human. The kind of woman you not only wish you knew but feel as though you do know, like a very old, a very best friend, mother, grandmother, big sister, professor, mentor.
They are not just empowered women they are empowering.
All you phenomenal women and me!
Wednesday 21 January 2015
Saturday 17 January 2015
ISBN / Sylvia Plath - Lady Lazarus
An incredible poem written the year before she committed suicide.
The image is of herself and husband, Ted Hughes.
The image is of herself and husband, Ted Hughes.
Lady Lazarus
I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it-- A sort of walking miracle, my skin Bright as a Nazi lampshade, My right foot A paperweight, My face a featureless, fine Jew linen. Peel off the napkin O my enemy. Do I terrify?-- The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth? The sour breath Will vanish in a day. Soon, soon the flesh The grave cave ate will be At home on me And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty. And like the cat I have nine times to die. This is Number Three. What a trash To annihilate each decade. What a million filaments. The peanut-crunching crowd Shoves in to see Them unwrap me hand and foot-- The big strip tease. Gentlemen, ladies These are my hands My knees. I may be skin and bone, Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman. The first time it happened I was ten. It was an accident. The second time I meant To last it out and not come back at all. I rocked shut As a seashell. They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls. Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I’ve a call. It’s easy enough to do it in a cell. It’s easy enough to do it and stay put. It’s the theatrical Comeback in broad day To the same place, the same face, the same brute Amused shout: ‘A miracle!' That knocks me out. There is a charge For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge For the hearing of my heart-- It really goes. And there is a charge, a very large charge For a word or a touch Or a bit of blood Or a piece of my hair or my clothes. So, so, Herr Doktor. So, Herr Enemy. I am your opus, I am your valuable, The pure gold baby That melts to a shriek. I turn and burn. Do not think I underestimate your great concern. Ash, ash-- You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there-- A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.
23-29 October 1962
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