Sylvia Plath is a deserved icon of 20th century poetry, so why is it so surprising that a wannabe 21st century icon, albeit of popdom,
Lana del Rey, would pose as her for the October
Australian Vogue? Well, it is a little tasteless, it seems to us at
Eyewear - and oddly counterproductive for a singer-songwriter who claims to have tatooed the names of
Nabokov and
Whitman on her body (two men, notice, with reps as pervs - as well as genius). How much of the del Rey mythos is false was debated - but the doom-mongering seems a courtship with death too far, once she crosses Sylvia's path. Should we call Ms. del Rey rather Slyvia? No honour is done to the memory of the poems, nor is a reckless homage requested or required. This is sheer usury. Will Lana next pose as
Ezry Pound? For now, she is a dross-dresser.
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Lana, Daddy's girl? |
Comments
I love your wit, Todd.