Cut

The poem ‘Cut’, written by Sylvia Plath is about how she feels and reacts when she cuts her thumb off when chopping an onion.

Plath uses some great techniques in the stanzas of the poem. One of them is that she used similes, to make her poem interesting to read. One of the similes was “A flap like a hat”. I think what she is trying to tell us is that the skin that remained from the cut was like a flipping hinge (swinging joint).

Another technique was her usage of interesting and sophisticated words that we probably won’t use when we talk today. I think she uses the word ‘Redcoats’ (British army) to describe the blood that was coming out of her cut. I also reckon that she uses the word ‘Babushka’ (Russian for grandmother) to represent how it looked- probably there was pus that she wanted to tell us about.

Other words like ‘Saboteur’ (someone who ruins something purposely) and ‘Kamikaze’ (suicide pilot) to show her feeling of self-hate.

The mood of the poem changes from the beginning and as it develops. I think as the poem starts, Plath had no emotions whatsoever except for cutting the onion. Then after she cuts her thumb, she starts to get thoughts of celebration and happy feelings- the lines ‘Clutching my bottle Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.’ show this. Then the lines ‘O my Homunculus, I am ill. I have taken a pill to kill’ show a feeling of sorrow. As the poem nears the end, the poet develops the mood of self-hate (angry at your self). A good line to represent this is ‘The balled Pulp of your heart Confronts its small Mill of silence’ when she is talking about broken hearts.

In my opinion, this is a well-written and detailed poem with plenty of information in the stanzas. Plath’s lines are structured very well, and I liked her using the similes, but it has got too many words that we don’t know the meaning of and are hard to understand. I also reckon that this poem is effective and interesting, and the change of mood is just amazing. I would give this poem 7 ½ out of 10.

The Actual poem

Sylvia Plath
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Cut

For Susan O'Neill Roe




What a thrill ----
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of a hinge

Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.

Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls

Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one. Whose side are they on?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill

The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man ---

The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux Klan
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence

How you jump----
Trepanned veteran,
Dirty girl,
Thumb stump.

24.10.62

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