Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Sylvia Plath, Letters Home: Correspondence, 1950-1963, ed. Aurelia Schober Plath (New York: Harper & Row,
1975), 21.
2
Poetry Foundation, Sylvia Plath, http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/sylvia-plath (accessed November 11,
2014).
3
A.V.M. Foster and M.E. Edmonds, The Roots of Ariel: Sylvia Plath and Her Fathers Foot, Diabetic Medicine
12, no. 7 (July 1995): 583.
4
Susan Sontag, Illness as Metaphor (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1978), 7, 47.
5
Ibid, 21, 43-49.
6
Ibid, 82-84.
Miriam Goldstein
notes in her 1926 essay On Being Ill, poetry may be the only writing form capable of
communicating the experience of illness.7 The condition of being sick, of having the police [of
reason] off duty makes one more attuned to words beyond their surface meaning.8 English in
its formal usage, Woolf asserts, lacks the words to adequately express sickness.9 Without the
language of poetry to help them along, the sufferers are left to their own resources in explaining
their symptoms to their doctors.10
The metaphors and other literary devices commonly employed in verse seem to work
particularly well in describing diseases. Nonetheless, almost forty years ago, Sontag claimed that
cancer is a rare and still scandalous subject for poetry.11 That was during the days when even
the word cancer was deemed too awful for utterance.12 However, today, with other diseases
diabetes among them taking cancers place as the ugliest of them all, cancer has become one
of disease poetrys favorite subjects. Mental health and HIV/AIDS are also popular topics.13
Other diseases have a harder time making their way into art, which frequently demands that its
subjects be worthy of creative expression. Tuberculosis, according to Sontag, became a common
theme in literature and theatre in the nineteenth century because, as a disease of the lungs, it was
associated with the ethereal, with delicate souls.14 Today, having cancer is frequently compared
to a fight or battle, a metaphor which inspires all sorts of heroic imagery. Mental illness, lacking
the concrete nature of so many other diseases, is the perfect subject for poetry, because as Sontag
points out, the more mysterious the disease, the more easily metaphors can be built around it.15
Finally, because HIV and AIDS still have so much controversy and fear surrounding them, the
emotions they incite can be easily translated into poetic form. That is not to say that something as
mundane as a fever cannot make its way into poetry in fact, Sylvia Plath herself wrote a poem
titled Fever 10316 but in the absence of concern or passion for the subject, poetry is not as
intuitive of a response.
Diabetes is unfortunately one topic that has not aroused as much attention as it ought to,
whether in poetry or in the real world. Currently, almost one in ten Americans suffers from the
disease, 17 yet it never inspires the same fundraising efforts or campaigns as, for instance, breast
cancer.18 Although Plath, Dickey, and Ginsberg all wrote poetry on the subject of diabetes, they
were some of the only poets to do so. This paper will look at the different meanings that Plath,
Dickey, and Ginsberg ascribed to diabetes, based primarily on the various ways they chose to
7
Virginia Woolf, On Being Ill (Ashfield, MA: Paris Press, 2002), 19.
Ibid, 21-22.
9
Ibid, 6.
10
Ibid, 7.
11
Sontag, Illness as Metaphor, 20.
12
Ibid, 6-7.
13
This is based on an informal search of the more than 10,000 poems available in the publisher of Poetry
magazines, the Poetry Foundations, online database (www.poetryfoundation.org/browse/), with poems coming
from across the globe and reaching back as far as the sixteenth century. 67 of these poems contain the word
cancer, 37 the word depression and 25 HIV or AIDS.
14
Sontag, Illness as Metaphor, 18, 25.
15
Ibid, 61.
16
Sylvia Plath, Fever 103, in The Collected Poems, ed. Ted Hughes (New York: HarperPerennial, 1992), 231232. (See Appendix 1 for complete versions of Plaths poems that are mentioned in this paper.)
17
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), National Diabetes Statistics Report, 2014 (Atlanta: CDC,
2014), 1.
18
Sarah Klein, The Diseases We Donate To Arent Always the Diseases the Kill Us, The Huffington Post, August
27, 2014, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/08/27/disease-fundraisers-deaths_n_5724662.html (accessed
December 10, 2014).
8
Miriam Goldstein
incorporate the disease into their poems and their presumed purpose in doing so. It will also
evaluate these poets on the extent to which their use of diabetes metaphors helps or harms those
who live with the disease. By exploring its symbolic meanings and their implementation in the
real world, this paper aims to better understand the instances in which diabetes has found its
place in poetry, with the ultimate goal of explaining why these instances are so rare.
Sylvia Plath: Daughter of a Gray-Toed Giant
Given the general character of Plaths poems, in which she frequently explores her
innermost traumas, it would only make sense that they would bring the unfortunate
circumstances of her fathers death to the surface. However, because of Plaths frequent use of
metaphor, it is unlikely that those who are unaware of the role that diabetes played in Otto
Plaths death would recognize the disease in his daughters poems. In fact, many scholarly
analyses of Plaths poems, even those that feature clear references to her fathers condition
such as Electra on Azalea Path, which explicitly notes the gangrene [that] ate [him] to the
bone do not mention or perhaps even recognize that Plaths usage of gangrene and other
amputation-related terms is, at least in part, literal.19 According to Plaths husband Ted Hughes, a
talented poet in his own right, it was the image of the amputated limb that terrified Plath more
than any other.20 Although her father had been sick throughout much of her childhood, he died
less than a month after his amputation, an operation that had kept him in the hospital for the
remainder of his days.21 Furthermore, because Otto had refused to see a doctor and was therefore
unaware that he had diabetes until it was too late to do much of anything about it, young Sylvia
hardly experienced any less grotesque markers of the disease, such as her father taking insulin.22
It is no wonder then that the image of her fathers amputated leg is the one Plath retained in her
head for all those twenty-two years by which she survived him. In almost every poem that
features her father (which make up a rather significant number of her poems overall), Plath has
something to say about his acquired deformity. Perhaps this is because, in solidarity with her
fathers physical lameness, Plath is somewhat lame in [her] memory of him, as she describes it
in Little Fugue. In this aptly-titled poem, Plath confides that the fact that her father had one
leg is one of the few things she can recall about him.23 Plath, in this poem as well as in many of
her others, is reducing the memory of the man to a single motif: the amputated limb and the
disease that gave it to him.
Although Plaths references to her father and his amputation are grounded in reality, it is
also important to recognize that her poems have meaning outside their literal context. Plaths
later works (a category into which most of the poems included in this paper fall) are her most
intimate and openly autobiographical, but even given their personal qualities, they still combine
the private with the public.24 In fact, this may be the reason that those who attempt to analyze
Plaths poetry have so much trouble getting at the symbolisms roots: their dual grounding in
Plaths personal life and in the larger world means that one must not be familiar with the former
in order to understand the poems greater implications. Because Plath uses amputation
19
Plath, Electra on Azalea Path, in Collected Poems,116-117; Eileen M. Aird, Sylvia Plath (New York: Barnes &
Noble Books, 1973), 28-29; Elisabeth Bronfen, Sylvia Plath (Plymouth, UK: Northcote House, 1998), 78-79; Jahan
Ramazani, Daddy, I Have Had to Kill You: Plath, Rage, and the Modern Elegy, PMLA 108, no. 5 (October
1993): 1144, 1147, doi: 10.2307/462991 (accessed November 26, 2014).
20
Ted Hughes, Letters of Ted Hughes, ed. Christopher Reid (New York: Straus, Farrar and Giroux, 2008), 699.
21
Plath, Letters Home, 16, 23-24.
22
Ibid, 22.
23
Plath, Little Fugue, in Collected Poems, 188.
24
Aird, 28, 78.
Miriam Goldstein
metaphorically most frequently to represent the public themes of loss or oppression, common
to everyone her readers may be blind to the fact that amputation has a private meaning for her
as well. It is where the private and the public overlap that Plath gives diabetes meaning beyond
its objective self.
At first glance, one of Plaths most famous poems, Daddy, written only four months
before she took her own life, has nothing to do with Plaths own father, let alone diabetes. In
Plaths own words, Daddy is about a girl with an Electra complex. Her father died while she
thought he was God. Her case is complicated by the fact that her father was also a Nazi and her
mother was very possibly part-Jewish. In the daughter the two strains marry and paralyse [sic]
each other she has to act out the awful little allegory before she is free of it.25 Although Plath
may not have publicly let on that Daddy is, at least in part, based on her father, its use of
amputation imagery makes it clear where its roots lie. For thirty years, Plath has lived in the
shadow of the Ghastly statue with one gray toe/Big as a Frisco seal that is her father.26 His
absence had forced her to live confined, like a foot in his black shoe, the cousin of the black
boot that makes an appearance in Plaths Berck-Plage, where it is the hearse of a dead foot,
one of a dead man.27 This gray toe and this black shoe belong to a man who, even with his
disfigurement, is a still a powerful brute who has the power to bit[e] [her] pretty red heart in
two.28 Despite Otto Plaths own concerns that his amputation would render him less of a man, it
is clear from Plaths Daddy that in his daughters eyes, his missing limb makes him no less
impressive, and perhaps even a bit more intimidating.29 In Daddy, the father with the
gangrenous toe is merged with the image of a Nazi officer, still handsome despite his deformity,
with an Aryan eye, bright blue.30 Daddy has been thoroughly criticized for its usage of
Holocaust imagery, but Plath needed this metaphor to explain just how she felt about her
father.31 The character of the Nazi is terrifying, and yet he has a certain air of stateliness about
him. The Nazi, both ghastly and a statue, is just like Plaths father who, in dying of diabetes
complications, became only slightly more distant and off-putting than the man who had already
been practically untouchable while alive.32
Not only in Daddy but in a number of other poems as well does Plath portray her father
as a statuesque, godlike being whose missing limb does little to destroy her heroic perception of
him.33 In an early poem, Letter to a Purist, Plath proudly proclaims that [t]hat grandiose
colossus [h]as nothing on Otto Plath, even with one foot/Caught (as it were) in the mucktrap/Of skin and bone, another probable reference to his gangrened limb.34 This is only the first
time Plath would compare her father to a colossus, most likely a specific colossus, the Colossus
of Rhodes, one of the Seven Wonders of the World. When an earthquake toppled it almost sixty
25
Ibid, 79.
Plath, Daddy, in Collected Poems, 222.
27
Plath, Berck-Plage, in Collected Poems, 197.
28
Plath, Daddy, in Collected Poems, 223, 224.
29
Plath, Letters Home, 24.
30
Plath, Daddy, in Collected Poems, 224.
31
Aird, 78-81.
32
Due to Ottos then-mysterious illness, which often left him cranky and in severe pain, his wife decided to separate
their home into an upstairs-downstairs, where the children, confined to the homes upper level, could not disturb
nor be disturbed by their father. See Plath, Letters Home, 18.
33
Plath, Letters to a Purist, Full Fathom Five, Electra on Azalea Path, The Beekeepers Daughter, The
Colossus, Little Fugue, Daddy, in Collected Poems, 36-37, 92-93, 116-117, 118, 129-130, 187-188, 222-224.
34
Plath, Letter to a Purist, in Collected Poems, 36-37.
26
Miriam Goldstein
years after its completion, the statue was broken up and sold for scrap.35 In a latter version of
Letter to a Purist, The Colossus, Plath describes her failed attempts get the statue, a stand in
for her lost father, put together again, pieced, glued, and properly jointed.36 Both literally
and in her memory, Plaths father is a shattered man, but one, that, unlike the original Colossus
of Rhodes, is seen as worthy of repair. In Full Fathom Five, Otto Plath, this time portrayed as a
mythical sea god, has some strange injury at which she [c]annot look much. Perhaps his
disfigurement horrifies the speaker too greatly for her to accept what has become of her idol,
whose death she can also only half-believe.37 Just as in real life the doctor had questioned how
such a brilliant man [as biologist and professor Otto Plath could] be so stupid, the narrator
wonders how such a powerful man, her once protector, from whose kingdom she had been
exiled to no good, could fade away so quickly. 38 By comparing her father to a deity, his
amputation, his diabetes, becomes a real-life Achilles heel. It becomes something that can befall
any man, no matter how great.
In Electra on Azalea Path, a poem about a girls visit to her fathers graveside and the
thoughts about his passing that ensue there, Plath depicts her fathers death as a sort of suicide.
She had convinced herself that, in failing to see a doctor for his then-unknown condition until it
was too late, her father let himself die, killed himself.39 This is the only poem where Plath
explicitly mentions gangrene, a gangrene [that] ate [him] to the bone. She is not convinced, as
her mother said, that he died like any man. Yes, any man can die of gangrene, but few men
use it as the gun to the head, as an instrument of suicide that removes them from the world, and
quickly at that. Worst of all, the speaker sees not just gangrene, but her own love [as] that
[which] did [them] both to death. 40 Plath is surely aware that she did not cause her fathers
diabetes, but because she sees his choice to not treat his diabetes as a willful one, she cannot rule
out her own presence as a force driving his decision to end his life. Just as she had an intense
desire to please her father, perhaps he had an intense desire not to let his daughter down.41 By
avoiding medical treatment, Otto may have reasoned, at least his family would not have to see
him crippled by ineffective surgery for what he believed to be a lung cancer that was killing
him.42
Despite the overall lack of acknowledgement in Plaths poems of the root cause of her
fathers amputation and death, one, The Beekeepers Daughter, seems to allude to diabetess
role in his demise. The bees produce a fruit thats death to taste: honey.43 As a young boy, Otto
Plaths sweet tooth had led to his interest in bees (his main topic of study as a biologist), for they
had allowed him to satisfy his hunger for sweet things with their seemingly endless supply of
honey.44 In Plaths depiction of [t]he queen bee marr[ying] the winter of [her fathers] year
[u]nder the coronal of sugar roses, the choice of the word sugar does not seem accidental.
35
Katherine Nichols, The Cold War Gothic Poetry of Sylvia Plath, in A Companion to American Gothic, ed.
Charles L. Crow (Chichester, West Sussex, UK: Wiley Blackwell, 2014), 335; Encyclopdia Britannica, s.v.
Colossus of Rhodes, http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/501620/Colossus-of-Rhodes (accessed
December 11, 2014).
36
Plath, The Colossus, Collected Poems, 129-130.
37
Plath, Full Fathom Five, in Collected Poems, 92-93.
38
Plath, Letters Home, 23.
39
Jeffrey A. Kotler, Divines Madness: Ten Stories of Creative Struggle (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2006), 27.
40
Plath, Electra on Azalea Path in Collected Poems, 116-117.
41
Plath, Letters Home, 19.
42
Ibid, 18.
43
Plath, The Beekeepers Daughter in Collected Poems, 118.
44
Connie Ann Kirk, Sylvia Plath: A Biography (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2004), 21.
Miriam Goldstein
But it is not only Ottos taste for sweet things that Plath believes did him in. As in Electra on
Azalea Path, Plath suggests that she, who is both [t]he [b]eekeepers [d]aughter and the
queen bee (whose queenship no mother can contest) herself, also carries some of the
responsibility for her fathers demise.45 Plaths recognition in this poem of the role of honey or
sugar, both stand-ins for the high blood glucose that is a marker of diabetes, in Ottos passing
suggest that the grotesque nature of her fathers death had not caused her to forget its root cause
entirely. Ottos gangrenous limb may have been the most salient cause of his death in Plaths
mind, but it is clear from The Beekeepers Daughter that it was not the only one that she
retained.
In Berck-Plage (at 162 lines, Plaths longest poem), Plath makes use of her experience
with her fathers diabetes and amputation in order to relate to more recent happenings in her
life.46 In doing so, she also allows herself to confront the demon from the past that haunts her
most: her fathers death. According to Ted Hughes, the poem combines two main incidents
(aside from Plaths fathers passing): Hughes and Plaths visit to a visit to Berck-Plage, a beach
on the north coast of France where cancer patients and amputees came to get fresh air and
exercise, and, a year later, the death and funeral of their next-door neighbor and friend, Percy
Key.47 Key has died of neither diabetes nor gangrene, but cancer (another disease, that like
gangrene, as Sontag makes clear, eats away at the body, the healthy tissue being replaced by
rot).48 However, it is the juxtaposition of his burial with Berck-Plages amputees that finally
allows her to (symbolically) attend her own fathers funeral, an opportunity she had been denied
by her mother, who had believed that the children would find it too traumatic.49 In the poems
funeral scene, Old blood of caked walls the sun heals,/Old blood of limb stumps, burnt
hearts.50 Keys own funeral surely featured no limb stumps, but recalling the [t]ubular steel
wheelchairs, aluminum crutches of the beach, the green pool [of the sea that] opens its
eyes,/Sick with what is has swallowed-/Limbs, images, shrieks, the bloody stump of the man in
the coffin makes much more sense.51 However, there that could be considered slightly
problematic with Plaths use of amputation imagery in Berck-Plage: she makes amputation a
metaphor for loss and death in general. Although using beach-going amputees and another mans
funeral to confront her own fathers death may help Plath heal, it also presents the danger of her
readers perceiving amputation (a condition that unfortunately affects many people with diabetes,
with sixty-percent of non-traumatic lower-limb amputations occurring in those with the
disease52) as an almost certain death sentence, when it does not have to be.
45
Miriam Goldstein
53
Dickey released a poem called The Cancer Match in the same collection of poems as Diabetes appears. (See
James Dickey, The One Voice of James Dickey: His Letters and Life, 1970-1997, ed. Gordon Van Ness (Columbia,
MO: University of Missouri Press, 2005), 8.)
54
Henry Hart, James Dickey: The World as a Lie (New York: Picador, 2000), 415; Dickey, One Voice, 77.
55
Dickey, One Voice, 9; Gordon Van Ness, James Dickeys Pantheism: Nature and Philosophy in the Last
Motion, in The Way We Read James Dickey: Critical Approaches for the Twenty-first Century, eds. William B.
Thesing and Theda Wrede (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 2009), 141.
56
James Dickey, In Virginia: A Conversation with Carolyn Kizer & James Boatwright, in Night Hurdling: Poems,
Essays, Conversations, Commencements, and Afterwords (Columbia, SC: Bruccoli Clark, 1983), 243.
57
James Dickey, Diabetes, in The Complete Poems of James Dickey, ed. Ward Briggs (Columbia, SC: University
of South Carolina Press, 2013), 428-431.
58
Ibid.
59
Richard J. Calhoun and Robert W. Hill, James Dickey (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1983), 89, 92.
60
Woolf, 18.
Miriam Goldstein
night I thirsted like a prince/Then like a king/Then like an empire like a world/On fire, for
example, does much more for the senses than a simple I was thirsty ever could.61
Because Diabetes is at least partially based on Dickeys fear of disability and death,
and, according to Dickey biographer Henry Hart, Dickeys avoidance of confronting his own
alcohol abuse, he sometimes overdramatizes some elements of the experience of living with
diabetes to make a point.62 Some of the metaphors he employs, for example, reach the point of
ridiculousness. Using gangrene in white as a metaphor for sugar almost trivializes the effort
that people with diabetes must put into managing their diets.63 In all fairness, Dickeys equation
of eating sugar with guaranteed gangrene does make some sense given the fact that, in Dickeys
day, people with diabetes were instructed to avoid sugar entirely.64 However, it also promotes
feelings of hopelessness and being out of control that often already accompany the disease.
Dickey makes it seem that, despite their efforts to take care of themselves, they will ultimately
fail. Is the battle even worth it? he seems to ask. The world of the man with diabetes is only a
livable death (emphasis added).65 Dickey believed that death itself is all right so long as it
protects one from his ultimate fear of being incapacitated by some long, lingering, humiliating
disease.66 With Dickey perceiving diabetes to be one such disease, it is no wonder that, latter
on in the poem, he implores the buzzards to take him, a faltering creature who, in his state of
livable death, has already caught their attention.67
By the end of Diabetes, Dickey gives up, calling [his] birds by taking a long drink
of beer, which, like the gangrene in white, was considered another forbidden fruit for those
suffering from diabetes.68 Now, just as in Plaths Electra on Azalea Path, diabetes becomes a
sort of suicide.69 Dickeys chief terror [wa]s that they[d] discover ways to keep [him] alive
beyond [his] time70 so his character euthanizes himself before his brain [can] be sweetened/to
death. It is better, he reasons, [t]o know when to die. 71 The narrator chooses not to comply
with the doctors demands because, as Dickey had learned in his experience with alcoholism,
physicians can manage a condition, but they not make it worthwhile to live with it.72 The narrator
of Diabetes realizes that my blood is clear/For a time/But something is gone from me.73
The diabetes care regimen takes too much out of his life, to the point that he decides it is just not
worth it any longer. He no longer feels like he used to, but the buzzards will be the salvation of
our sense/Of glorious movement.74 Unfortunately, by including this ultimate noncompliance in
his poem, Dickey may make those with diabetes feel as if they ought to disobey their doctors, as
if there is nothing they can do about their disease, because a horrible death is inevitable.
Therefore, although Dickeys Diabetes shows that diabetes is a valid topic for poetry, it also
61
Miriam Goldstein
makes one wonder whether or not it should be. His poem may help doctors better understand
what their patients are going through, but by equating people with diabetes to vultures prey, he
may also be promoting despondency among them.
Allen Ginsberg: Going with the Beat of Diabetes
Allen Ginsberg was no stranger to using illness as metaphor. In fact, if Sontag had read
his 1986 poem You Dont Know It, with his claim that [i]n Poland police state double agent
cancer grew large as Catholic/Church Frankenstein, she probably would have criticized him for
his use of the word cancer to describe an instance of spreading corruption from the past.75 It is
interesting that, despite the personal experience that Ginsberg had with cancer by the time that he
wrote those words (his father having died of it in 1976), he seemed to have no qualms about
using the disease to refer to a foreign evil.76 Perhaps, unlike Sontag, Ginsberg did not believe
that employing a disease metaphor would make it all the more difficult for those suffering from
the disease to cope.77 Or maybe, like many people probably do, he did not think twice about the
implications. Ginsberg would ultimately die of cancer (of the liver) himself in 1997, learning of
his diagnosis only a week before his demise.78 But it was his diabetes (likely first diagnosed in
the early 1990s79), as well as his other physical limitations, that would make it into a number of
his poems. However, unlike Ginsbergs use of cancer in You Dont Know It, on almost every
occasion that he refers to diabetes in his poems, he does not do so metaphorically. That is
because there is almost nothing that Ginsberg and his fellow Beats a group of writers known
for their works on topics that had until that point been considered unliterary80 do not see
worthy of poetry (e.g., bodily functions frequently make their way into Ginsbergs poems, which
have titles anywhere from Excrement and Bowel Song to This Kind of Hepatitis Can Cause
Ya.81). Nonetheless, for better or for worse, it does not seem that Ginsberg found diabetes to be
worthy of metaphor.
In Ginsbergs first poem to mention diabetes, The Charnel Ground, (written in August
1992) diabetes is just one of the many afflictions, both physical and otherwise, that plague the
residents of Ginsbergs 12th Street apartment in the East Village, the neighborhood in New York
City, known for its artistic residents, that became the center of Beat activity.82 Jenny crashed her
car, the inhabitant of/Apt.24/[had] put his boyfriend in Bellevue, [t]he Russian landladys
husbanddisappeared again/[or rather] died, and [t]he Hispanic lady/waited all week
[for her] welfare check. [T]he artistic Buddhist composer/on sixth floor lay spaced out feet
swollen with water, dying slowly of/AIDS over a year, th old hippie flower girl fell
75
Allen Ginsberg, You Dont Know It, in Collected Poems: 1947-1997 (New York: HarperCollins Publishers,
2006), 943.
76
Allen Ginsberg and Gary Snyder, The Selected Letters of Allen Ginsberg and Gary Snyder, ed. Bill Morgan
(Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint Press, 2008), 179.
77
Sontag, Illness as Metaphor, 7, 47.
78
Stokes Howell, Allen Ginsberg, Tricycle: The Buddhist Review, Summer 1997,
http://www.tricycle.com/feature/allen-Ginsberg (accessed December 11, 2014).
79
Ginsbergs first poem to mention diabetes, at least by name, appears to be The Charnel Ground, written on
August 19, 1992. (See Ginsberg, The Charnel Ground, in Collected Poems, 1038-1041.
80
Poetry Foundation, Allen Ginsberg, http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/allen-ginsberg (accessed December
11, 2014).
81
Tony Trigilio, Legendary Beat Poet: Allen Ginsberg, in Buddhists: Understanding Buddhism Through the Lives
of Practitioners, ed. Todd Lewis (Chichester, West Sussex, UK: John Wiley & Sons Ltd, 2014), 121.
82
Tim Lawrence, Hold on to Your Dreams: Arthur Russell and the Downtown Music Scene, 1973-1992 (Durham,
NC: Duke University), 337; William T. Lawlor, ed., Beat Culture: Lifestyles, Icons, and Impact (Santa Barbara, CA:
ABC-CLIO, 2005), 258.
Miriam Goldstein
drunk/[and] smashed her jaw, Mary had a cane and was heavy-legged with heart/failure,
the and poet highschool teacher fell dead mysterious heat dysrhythmia,/konked over. 83
Meanwhile, diabetic/sidewalk homeless were dumpster diving, and Ginsberg was on [his]
way uptown to get a CAT scan liver biopsy, visit the/cardiologist,/account for high blood
pressure, kidneystones, diabetes, misty eyes &/dysesthesia---/feeling lack in feet soles, inside
ankles, small of back, phallus head,/anus (emphasis added).84 Caught up in their own lives,
none of the residents have time to pay attention to the [n]ews [that] comes on the radio, they
bomb Baghdad and the Garden of Eden/again?/A million starve in Sudan, mountains of eats
stacked on docks, local/gangs & U.N.s trembling bureaucrat officers sweat near the equator
arguing over/wheat piles shoved by bulldozers---Swedish doctors ran out of medicine.85
Diabetes is just one minute detail among many, but like all the other seemingly minor concerns
in the poem, it is enough to distract Ginsberg from his surroundings, both those in his immediate
vicinity and in the greater world. The word diabetes is easily lost in the lengthy poem, but not
in Ginsbergs mind. It may be just another feature of life, but it is a feature of his life.
Only a month after The Charnel Ground, Ginsberg would write Autumn Leaves. In this
poem, with a title seeming to allude to the autumn of his life, Ginsberg notes that [a]t 66 [he
is] just learning how to take care of [his] body. Check[ing his] bloodsugar is just one of the
many things he know he must do so, as he jokes, that he can stay happy not yet/to be a
corpse.86 Likewise, Tuesday Morn is an almost too realistic (not everyone wants that much
information!) portrait of Ginsbergs daily routine. This time around, diabetes gets lost even amid
the small fragment of life that is Ginsbergs schedule, rather than among the slightly more
encompassing experiences of his fellow apartment dwellers, as it does in the The Charnel
Ground. Among the myriad pills he must take, the tidying around the house he must do, the
contacts he must make, and the personal hygiene steps he must fulfill, there are also the diabetesspecific elements of his regimen: the pricking of his finger that releases a drop, Exac-Tech
blood sugar teststrip results noted morn & eve/98 today, a little low, swab pinkie with alcohol
pad.87 Taking up slightly more than one line in a sixty-three-line poem, Ginsberg, who has to
also deal with his lack of blood to kidney, heart stress by lung liquid, and high blood
pressure, yet again makes it clear that there is nothing remarkable about diabetes. It is what it is,
and there is really no need for him to use it to mean anything else.
Richard III, written at 4:03 on the morning of February 7, 1997 (almost exactly two
months prior to Ginsbergs death), yet again in true Ginsberg fashion, makes poetry out of an
otherwise stereotypically non-poetic experience. Up at 4 a.m./reading Shakespeare, (which
explains the poems title), no outside sensations to distract him, Ginsberg cannot help but notice
all the things wrong with his body. Practically all of his organs from his heart, to his liver, to
his gut, to his lungs do not function properly. To top it all off, there are also the problems of
Ginsbergs diabetes, with [s]ugar coating [his] nerves, leg/muscles lacking blood.88 A poem
written a month later (and therefore only a month before Ginsbergs death), Hepatitis Body
Itch is very similar to Richard III in its casual listing off of a number of things (but by no
means everything) that is wrong with his body at the moment. But Hepatitis Body Itch is
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much more pessimistic than its predecessor. Perhaps Ginsberg had figured out by then that the
shit factory this corpse that he lived in would not be able to support life for much long, that his
High Blood/Sugar and a thousand other ailments would soon kill him.89 And unfortunately, he
would be right.
Only one of Ginsbergs poems that mentions diabetes seems to differ markedly from his
others. It is in Cmon Pigs of Western Civilization Eat More Grease that Ginsberg uses
diabetes to help him make a statement, and in doing so, finds a purpose for metaphorizing it.
Ginsbergs use of poetry from social commentary was well-known,90 and it is in this poem that
he criticizes the overindulgence in unhealthy food by many in the United States and Europe.
Ginsberg notes that the excess fat, sugar, and salt can lead to angina, heart attack, hypertension,
high cholesterol, cancer, stroke, and the enlargement of the liver and spleen, and he dares the
inhabitants of Western Civilization (likely the readers themselves) to Drop dead faster! The
pigs are slowly killing themselves in a world where diabetes is a monument[ ] to
carnivorous/civilizations. 91 Of course, there is definitely some truth to Ginsbergs claim that
unhealthy eating leads to disease and death. More specifically, overeating causes weight gain,
and being overweight or obese is highly linked to the development of type 2 diabetes.92 Referring
to diabetes as a monument[ ] to carnivorous/civilizations may not be the most flattering
depiction, but if it helps get the job done, if it convinces more people that something needs to be
done about the obesity epidemic, then at least it counts for something.
_____________________
In answer to the question of why diabetes hardly ever figures into poetry, the works of
Plath, Dickey, and Ginsberg seem to point to one main conclusion: it is neither pretty nor
mysterious enough. As already noted in the introduction to this paper, Sontag claims that
tuberculosis was able to make its way into creative works because of its association with beauty
and grace.93 Tuberculosis, in this sense, is worthy of art. Cancer, a so-called ugly disease, is
not, but it is the perfect material for metaphor. That is because, as Sontag asserts, it is mystery
that drives metaphor, and cancer, especially at the time when Sontag wrote Illness as Metaphor,
was one of the most mysterious of them all.94 (By the late 1980s, when Sontag wrote her follow
up to Illness as Metaphor, called AIDS and Its Metaphors, AIDS had become the most
mysterious of the diseases, and like cancer, became a prime source for metaphor.)95 Poetry sits at
this crossroads of art and metaphor, because most poetry cannot get by without employing at
least some figurative language. What this means is a disease does not have to be both beautiful
and mysterious to appear in poetry, but the few exceptions to the rule aside, it must have at least
one of these features. Diabetes typically fails both tests, but in the case of Plath and Dickey, it
passes the former. Although diabetes usually does not hold much mystery (unlike cancer, both its
causes and course are clearer), it does for these two poets. It robbed a very young Plath of a
father, in a very sudden, shocking way, and for this reason, diabetes will always be slightly
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incomprehensible to her. Dickey, who seemed not to have the disease at all, could not have
understood diabetes to the same degree as someone who actually has the disease, so it was
always slightly mysterious to him as well. For Ginsberg, who unlike Plath or Dickey, definitely
had the disease, diabetes is neither beautiful nor mysterious, so it might at first be hard to
understand why he mentions it in a number of his poems. But the fact is, he only mentions it. As
a part of the Beat generation, whose members were inclined to write about anything and
everything, Ginsbergs poems break the typical mold. Diabetes makes its way into Plath and
Dickeys poems because their experience with the disease is not typical, and it finds itself in
Ginsbergs poems because his filter for what makes good poetry is very porous. By looking at
Plath, Dickey, and Ginsberg as exceptions, the reason why diabetes is currently so rare in poetry
becomes clearer. Only when diabetes is made more attractive (because it can only become less
mysterious) will it become a more viable source of inspiration for poetry.
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Where bees, striped black and gold, sleep out the blizzard
Like hieratic stones, and the ground is hard.
It was good for twenty years, that wintering-As if you had never existed, as if I came,
God-fathered, into the world from my mother's belly:
Her wide bed wore the stain of divinity.
I had nothing to do with guilt or anything
When I wormed back under my mother's heart.
Small as a doll in my dress of innocence,
I lay dreaming your epic, image by image.
Nobody died or withered on that stage.
Everything took place in a durable whiteness.
The day I woke, I woke on Churchyard Hill.
I found your name. I found your bones and all
Enlisted in a cramped necropolis,
Your speckled stone askew by an iron fence.
In this charity ward, this poorhouse, where the dead
Crowd foot to foot, head to head, no flower
Breaks the soil. This is Azalea Path.
A field of burdock opens to the south.
Six feet of yellow gravel cover you.
The artificial red sage does not stir
In the basket of plastic evergreens they put
At the headstone next to yours, nor does it rot,
Although the rains dissolve a bloody dye:
The ersatz petals drip, and they drip red.
Another kind of redness bothers me:
The day your slack sail drank my sister's breath
The flat sea purpled like that evil cloth
My mother unrolled at your last homecoming.
I borrow the stilts of an old tragedy.
The truth is, one late October, at my birth-cry,
A scorpion stung its head, an ill-starred thing;
My mother dreamed you face down in the sea.
The stony actors poise and pause for breath.
I brought my love to bear, and then you died.
It was the gangrene ate you to the bone
My mother said; you died like any man.
How shall I age into that state of mind?
I am the ghost of an infamous suicide,
My own blue razor rusting in my throat.
O pardon the one who knocks for pardon at
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Letter to a Purist
That grandiose colossus who
Stood astride
The envious assaults of sea
(Essaying, wave by wave,
Tide by tide,
To undo him, perpetually),
Has nothing on you,
O my love,
O my great idiot, who
With one foot
Caught (as it were) in the muck-trap
Of skin and bone,
Dithers with the other way out
In preposterous provinces of the madcap
Cloud-cuckoo,
Agawp at the impeccable moon.
_____________________
Little Fugue
The yew's black fingers wag:
Cold clouds go over.
So the deaf and dumb
Signal the blind, and are ignored.
I like black statements.
The featurelessness of that cloud, now!
White as an eye all over!
The eye of the blind pianist
At my table on the ship.
He felt for his food.
His fingers had the noses of weasels.
I couldn't stop looking.
He could hear Beethoven:
Black yew, white cloud,
The horrific complications.
Finger-traps--a tumult of keys.
Empty and silly as plates,
So the blind smile.
I envy big noises,
The yew hedge of the Grosse Fuge.
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Autumn Leaves
At 66, just learning how to take care of my body
Wake cheerful 8 a.m. & write in a notebook
rising from my bed side naked leaving a naked boy asleep by the wall
mix miso mushroom leeks & winter squash breakfast,
Check bloodsugar, clean teeth exactly, brush, toothpick, floss, mouthwash
oil my feet, put on white shirt white pants white sox
sit solitary by the sink
a moment before brushing my hair, happy not yet
to be a corpse.
_____________________
The Charnel Ground
Upstairs Jenny crashed her car & became a living corpse, Jake sold grass,
the white-bearded potbelly leprechaun silent climbed their
staircase
Ex-janitor John from Poland averted his eyes, cheeks flushed with
vodka, wine who knew what
as he left his groundfloor flat, refusing to speak to the inhabitant of
Apt. 24
who'd put his boyfriend in Bellevue, calling the police, while the artistic
Buddhist composer
on sixth floor lay spaced out feet swollen with water, dying slowly of
AIDS over a year--The Chinese teacher cleaned & cooked in Apt. 23 for the homosexual
poet who pined for his gymnast
thighs & buttocks--- Downstairs th' old hippie flower girl fell drunk
over the banister, smashed her jaw--her son despite moderate fame cheated rocknroll money, twenty
thousand people in stadiums
cheering his tattooed skinhead murderous Hare Krishna vegetarian
drum lyrics--Mary born in the building rested on her cane, heavy legged with heart
failure on the second landing, no more able
to vacation in Caracas & Dublin--- The Russian landlady's husband
from concentration camp disappeared again---nobody mentioned he'd died--tenants took over her building for hot water, she couldn't add rent & pay
taxes, wore a long coat hot days
alone & thin on the street carrying groceries to her crooked apartment
silent--One poet highschool teacher fell dead mysterious heart dysrhythmia,
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konked over
in his mother's Brooklyn apartment, his first baby girl a year old, wife
stoical a few days--their growling noisy little dog had to go, the baby cried--Meanwhile the upstairs apartment meth head shot cocaine & yowled up
and down
East 12th Street, kicked out of Christine's Eatery till police cornered
him, 'top a hot iron steamhole
near Stuyvesant Town Avenue A telephone booth calling his deaf
mother---sirens speed the way to Bellevue--past whispering grass crack salesmen jittering in circles on East 10th
Street's
southwest corner where art yuppies come out of the overpriced Japanese
Sushi Bar---& they poured salt into potato soup heart failure
vats at KK's Polish restaurant
---Garbage piled up, nonbiodegradable plastic bags emptied by diabetic
sidewalk homeless
looking for returnable bottles recycled dolls radios half-eaten
hamburgers---thrown-away Danish--On 13th Street the notary public sat in his dingy storefront, driver's
lessons & tax returns prepared on old metal desks--Sunnysides crisped in butter, fries & sugary donuts passed over
the luncheonette counter next door--The Hispanic lady yelled at the rude African-American behind the Post
Office window
"I waited all week my welfare check you sent me notice I was here
yesterday
I want to see the supervisor bitch do't insult me refusing to look in---"
Closed eyes of Puerto Rican wino lips cracked skin red stretched out
on the pavement, naphtha backdoor open for the Korean family dry
cleaners at the 14th Street corner--Con Ed workmen drilled all year to bust electric pipes 6 feet deep in
brown dirt
so cars bottlenecked wait minutes to pass the M14 bus stopped midroad, heavy dressed senior citizens step down in red rubble
with Reduced Fare Program cards got from grey city Aging Department
offices downtown up the second flight by elevators don't
work--News comes on the radio, they bombed Baghdad and the Garden of Eden
again?
A million starve in Sudan, mountains of eats stacked on docks, local
gangs & U.N.'s trembling bureaucratic officers sweat near the
equator arguing over
wheat piles shoved by bulldozers---Swedish doctors ran out of
medicine--- The Pakistani taxi driver
says Salman Rushdie must die, insulting the Prophet in fictions--32
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Last time, I was walking in the rain, he said, his hands and lips
Quivering slightly from the medication he takes.
Slip a multivitamin pill in my mouth, grab a dish, fruit stewed two
nites ago--Ring Ring the telephone---the office, Bob Rosenthal, Debbie for Jewel
Heart Benefit,
Ysrael Lubavitcher fairy returned from his Paris year
Edith not home, Aunt Honey leaving for Australia next week
she had stroke & splenectomy 1942, long story--David Rome preparing arts program Halifax during Sawangs Shambhala
Confirmation
---Finally 3 P.M. I get dressed go to office couple hours--Phone Robert Frank? Yup, hes out, call early evening. Im free.
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