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Not even my lovely Sylvia can make me feel any better. This might be more serious than I thought. [By the way, I am in love with this poem. Couldn't even begin to tell you why.]
Today marks the 58th anniversary of the tragic, untimely death of Sylvia Plath. Between 1958 and 1962, when she was in her 20s, Plath contributed nearly a dozen poems to The New Yorker. Our archive editor recommends one of her favorites, “Tulips.”
