Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
New Year on Dartmoor
This is newness: every little tawdry
Obstacle glass-wrapped and peculiar,
Glinting and clinking in a saint's falsetto. Only you
Don't know what to make of the sudden slippiness,
The blind, white, awful, inaccessible slant.
There's no getting up it by the words you know.
No getting up by elephant or wheel or shoe.
We have only come to look. You are too new
To want the world in a glass hat.
Was SP so alienated when she got there and was forced to reflect on her own "newness"? How similar is the glass-wrapping (and the glass hat) with the bell jar and/or the "untouchable" snowscape in a childhood gadget?