Sylvia Plath reads November Graveyard

In this poem, Sylvia talks about the cemetery in Heptonstall. She was buried there in 1963. November Graveyard The scene stands stubborn: skinflint trees Hoard last year s leaves, won t mourn, wear sackcloth, or turn To elegiac dryads, and dour grass Guards the hardhearted emerald of its grassiness However the grandiloquent mind may scorn Such poverty. No dead men s cries Flower forgetmenots between the stones Paving this grave ground. Here s honest rot To unpick the heart, pare bone Free of the fictive vein. When one stark skeleton Bulks real, all saint s tongues fall quiet: Flies watch no reserrections in the sun. At the essential landscape stare, stare Till your eyes foist a vision dazzling on the wind: Whatever lost ghosts flare Damned, howling in their shrouds across the moor Rave on the leash of the starving mind Which peoples the bare room, the blank, untenanted air.