Notes: 25 / 12 hours ago
99.9% of the Sylvia Plath related tattoos on here are not only unoriginal, but poorly done.
I don’t think that Sylvia Plath tattoos have to be objectively original. Let’s be honest, the scope for originality is not the biggest one, since there is only a handful of her quotes people want to have tattooed on their bodies. Sure, sometimes you can find pretty unique designs accompanying the quote or sometimes very orignal quotes. However, I believe that most people who choose a Plath quote for a tattoo choose it because it has some kind of a deeper meaning to them. Even though if it’s the notorious “i am i am i am”. That’s why the quote is special for them and I think this is what it’s all about when it comes to Sylvia Plath tattoos.
And, even when I encounter the 100,000,000th “i am tattoo,” it still looks pretty original to me because they still differ in placement, in font or in punctuation. And they surely differ when it comes to the personal meaning they have for their owners.
Love them all and that’s why I created this blog here! Keep them coming! ♥
Notes: 13 / 1 day ago
Notes: 5 / 2 days ago
Done today by Chris Barnett at Good Faith Tattoo in Boston. Hands down, the best tattoo experience ever. I am never going anywhere else!
The bell jar part is after Plath. The nightingale is not particularly literary, but one of the things nightingales symbolize is teaching and learning, and as I am a graduate student of literature, it seemed apt.
It got a little wonky on one side because of how I had to torque my body to take the picture. It’s actually symmetrical; Chris is an excellent artist.”
Notes: 41 / 3 days ago
I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root;
It is what you fear.
I do not fear it: I have been there.
Is it the sea you hear in me,
Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness?
Love is a shadow.
How you lie and cry after it.
Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.
All night I shall gallup thus, impetuously,
Till your head is a stone, your pillow a little turf,
Or shall I bring you the sound of poisons?
This is rain now, the big hush.
And this is the fruit of it: tin white, like arsenic.
I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
Scorched to the root
My red filaments burn and stand,a hand of wires.
Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs.
A wind of such violence
Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.
The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me
Cruelly, being barren.
Her radience scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.
I let her go. I let her go
Diminshed and flat, as after radical surgery.
How your bad dreams possess and endow me.
I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.
I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
Clouds pass and disperse.
Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrevables?
Is it for such I agitate my heart?
I am incapable of more knowledge.
What is this, this face
So murderous in its strangle of branches?—
Its snaky acids kiss.
It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults
That kill, that kill, that kill.
—written 19 April 1962
Notes: 8 / 4 days ago
Check out this Slyvia Plath tattoo on our coworker!
Notes: 30 / 5 days ago
Sylvia Plath, you goddess. Anon wanted a picture of my tattoo and this one was so tricky because I didn’t want my boobs or belly being in it but if I cropped too much it was too small :( firstworldproblems
Notes: 36 / 6 days ago
Close up of my tattoo *^.^*
I love it even if I don’t love myself ha
“I took a deep breath and felt the brag of my heart: I am. I am. I am.” -The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
Notes: 22 / 1 week ago
"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."
Notes: 10 / 1 week ago
Never actually posted a picture of my tattoo. It reads “unmisted by love or dislike” from the poem Mirror by Sylvia Plath. I love it.
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful-
The eye of the little god, four cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
—written 23 October in 1961, Sylvia Plath, The Collected Poems