Another totally foundational work. Plath wasn't so much a poet as a sculptor who used verse as her medium rather than clay or marble. The saddest part of reading her poetry is knowing that right as she was really maturing as an artist and entering strange and beautiful new territory she committed suicide. I actually do like Hughes's poetry too (irrespective of how I feel about his behavior as a person) and while he was certainly inventive and daring Plath was operating on a whole other level. It's like she was tapped into some alternate dimension and broadcasting these sublimely horrific and darkly beautiful words to a public that wouldn't get it (but of course, there children ended up loving it). Unfortunately the whole imaginary best friend cult that's grown up around Plath has obscured how wonderful her work is, which is a shame. Sylvia I know it was hard but you had so much to live for