"In Plaster" was a poem written by Sylvia Plath on March 18, 1961. The
poem was written while Plath was in St. Pancras hospital in England, immediately
following an appendectomy. Her journals, as well as the letters she wrote to her
mother, vividly describe the events surrounding the composition of this poem.
Interestingly, Plath also wrote another one of her famous poems,
"Tulips", on the same day. The events in Plath's personal life
surrounding the writing of this poem were fairly chaotic. Two years earlier,
Plath suffered an extreme case of writer's block while at Yaddo. She later
concludes that her unknown pregnancy with Frieda was the cause of this block.
After Frieda's birth, Sylvia pours her entire life into caring for her daughter.
A year later, in early 1961, Plath suffers a miscarriage of her second child. A
mere month after this occurs, she undergoes an appendectomy. Plath, as concluded
from her letters and journals, exhibited a type of schizophrenia during this
time period. Her letters to her mother, just days before she wrote the poem,
create the image of a happy-go-lucky, ever-optimistic little girl. However, her
journals create a very different picture. Sylvia is far more critical of her
surroundings, constantly saying that she does not fit in to the false optimism
of the hospital environment. Her poem, "In Plaster", seems to be an
expression of Sylvia's inner conflict. Sylvia's actual inspiration for the poem
"In Plaster" was a woman by the name of Joan. Joan was in the hospital
bed next to Plath, and according to Sylvia, was "in a cast from toe to
bosom". "In Plaster" has a persona, indicating that Plath wanted
to express personal opinions and feelings. The title itself can be interpreted
several different ways. First, it has the literal connotation of the plaster
bandage Plath was wearing following her operation. However, the title also has
the symbolic significance of plaster acting as emotional prison, in which the
persona is trapped. The poem itself consists of eight stanzas of uniform length.
Each stanza has seven lines, most of which are of considerable length (7-12
words). The poem entails the experiences of the persona with someone she calls a
"new, absolutely white person". The persona herself is an "old
yellow" person. In the first half of the poem, the persona discusses her
introduction to, and her getting accustomed to this new person. However, the
reader sees a drastic change in the last 4 stanzas. The persona goes from
admiring the white person to being resentful of her. She becomes quite hostile
and critical, saying that the white person has become too overbearing, arguing
for more power and influence. This conflict depicted in the poem can be referred
to as inner turmoil within the mind of the persona. She does not know which of
her personalities she should bear forward, and which she should hide. The events
of the poem can be interpreted as somewhat juvenile, like a teenage girl being
resentful of her friend for getting more attention. Plath may have juxtaposed
these two personality types in order to represent some sort of inner turmoil
regarding her identity. "In Plaster" I shall never get out of this!
There are two of me now: This new absolutely white person and the old yellow
one, And the white person is certainly the superior one. She doesn't need food,
she is one of the real saints. At the beginning I hated her, she had no
personality- She lay in bed with me like a dead body And I was scared, because
she was shaped just the way I was Only much whiter and unbreakable and with no
complaints. I couldn't sleep for a week, she was so cold. I blamed her for
everything, but she didn't answer. I couldn't understand her stupid behavior!
When I hit her she held still, like a true pacifist. Then I realized what she
wanted was for me to love her: She began to warm up, and I saw her advantages.
Without me, she wouldn't exist, so of course she was grateful. I gave her a soul
, I bloomed out of her as a rose Blooms out of a vase of not very valuable
porcelain , And it was I who attracted everybody's attention, Not her whiteness
and beauty, as I had at first supposed. I patronized her a little, and she
lapped it up- You could tell almost at once she had a slave mentality. I didn't
mind her waiting on me, and she adored it. In the morning she woke me early,
reflecting the sun From her amazingly white torso , and I couldn't help but
notice Her tidiness and her calmness and her patience: She humored my weakness
like the best of nurses, Holding my bones in place so they would mend properly.
In time our relationship grew more intense. She stopped fitting me so closely
and seemed offish. I felt her criticizing me in spite of herself, As if my
habits offended her in some way. She let in the drafts and became more and more
absent-minded. And my skin itched and flaked away in soft pieces. Simply because
she looked after me so badly. Then I saw what the trouble was: she thought she
was immortal. She wanted to leave me, she thought she was superior, And I'd been
keeping her in the dark, and she was resentful- Wasting her days waiting on a
half-corpse! And secretly she began to hope I'd die. Then she could cover my
mouth and eyes, cover me entirely, And wear my painted face the way a mummy-case
Wears the face of a pharaoh , though its made of mud and water. I wasn't in any
position to get rid of her. She'd supported me for so long I was quite limp- I
had even forgotten how to walk or sit, So I was careful not to upset her in any
way Or brag ahead of time how I'd avenge myself Living with her was like living
in my own coffin: Yet I still depended on her, though I did it regretfully. I
used to think we might make a go of it together- After all, it was kind of a
marriage, being so close. Now I see it must be one or the other of us. She may
be a saint, and I may be ugly and hairy, But she'll soon find out that that
doesn't matter a bit. I'm collecting my strength; one day I shall manage without
her, And she'll perish with emptiness then , and begin to miss me.