Sylvia Plath's 'Cut'

Don Paterson is an award-winning poet, editor and teacher, but for all his technical ability and the recognition that has been paid to his work Paterson is acutely aware of awe and sometimes envy when he looks at the work of other writers. Here he applies his wit and skills of technical analysis to discussing the five poems he wishes he had written. Tonight, Sylvia Plath's poem 'Cut'.Cut For Susan O'Neill RoeWhat a thrill - My thumb instead of an onion. The top quite gone Except for a sort of a hingeOf skin, A flap like a hat, Dead white. Then that red plush.Little pilgrim, The Indian's axed your scalp. Your turkey wattle Carpet rollsStraight 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? 0 my Homunculus, I am ill. I have taken a pill to killThe thin Papery feeling. Saboteur, Kamikaze manThe stain on your Gauze Ku Klux Klan Babushka Darkens and tarnishes and whenThe balled Pulp of your heart Confronts its small Mill of silenceHow you jump - Trepanned veteran, Dirty girl, Thumb stump.