One of the greatest American poets of the 20th century died 45 years ago, today, in London. Her work lives on - despite the urge of some diction-cautioning poets to try to curb and cure her baroque and excessive genius. It isn't the case that a poet's style must mirror a placid mind, or keep a governed tongue - for sometimes the internal is wilder than form itself may allow. Perhaps ironically, today was blessedly warm and sunny in London - the polar opposite of February 11, 1963. If Plath sent such poems to London editors today, what would they say?