Freedom In Sylvia Plath's The Arrival Of The Bee Tree

“Child” is one of Plath’s most personal poems. It was written just two weeks before her tragic death and addresses one of her children. Although the opening line of the poem - “Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing” - initially appeared positive, I quickly realised that it indicated that Plath had lost the ability to see beauty in anything beyond her child. She had almost nothing left to live for. The poem is full of heartbreak. Plath lists what she wishes she could provide for her son – “color and ducks, The zoo of the new”. She understands that a mother’s job is to provide positive, joyful images for their child and she lists flowers that represent innocence and purity: “April snowdrop, Indian pipe”. However, in the final stanza

This poem can be explored on a literal level or understood symbolically. Plath finds security in the box being locked but still fears their danger - “The box is locked”. She fluctuates between fascination and fear. Perhaps this is a metaphor for her contained emotions which pose danger if released. She is ambivalent towards the box. The bees are “angrily clambering” to escape their entrapment, perhaps like Plath’s mind. A sense of fear and dread is evident in stanza four where she questions her power to free the bees. “It is the noise that appalls me most of all”. The danger is exacerbated as she imagines them as a “Roman mob”. Plath envisions chaos and danger and appears overwhelmed and aghast. Some semblance of stability returns when she acknowledges she can return the “maniacs” or starve them. She realizes she has control of their destiny; “I am the owner”. But when Plath orders her mental state she can be benevolent towards the bees. She no longer sees them as a threat and understands their desire for freedom and food. She then envisions the bees in their natural habitat. In her compassionate nature she decides to be a “sweet god”. The poem ends on an ambiguous note where the bees will be released from the box. However, if taken as a symbol for Plath’s mind, there is a darker

The title is misleading. The state she describes is profoundly terrifying. It exhausts her to watch the poppies flickering, yet she masochistically continues to carefully observe them. She is not just depressed but she is far removed from the energy and colour of the poppies: “but colourless. Colourless”. She perceives them as “hell flames” and wishes for pain or death: “if I could bleed or sleep”. She is at a point where the mind is so shocked and tired that it cannot even feel. I think this is the most honest and strongest description of excruciating, suffocating emotional crisis that I have ever read. Plath remains in an inner