I am reminded of the Fig Tree from ‘The Bell Jar’. The one that branches out and from every branch is a different possibility, a wonderful future that beckoned and winked. The branches reach to every avenue, a different life to lead. As she stands trying to make a decision, a fig withers and plops to the ground, and another until they are rotting into the ground. For Yerma, there is only one reason for her existence, and she is handed a withered, mouldy fig. She yearns to live; she beckons it with every fibre of her being. She processes what she sees through her voice, and (in my version) her dreamscape, just like Plath processing her branches into her poetry.

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I see and hear so much of Plath’s work in this translation. Plath always subverts symbolic meaning and plays around with classic meanings. She always alludes to the meaning between the spaces of her words. The beauty in the surroundings and the cycles of nature. Lorca’s representations of religion and classical notations within mythology and rites are a powerful statement on the polarities that govern our lives. Those that elicit massive changes when contrasting systems are placed in direct and open conflict. 

Both Plath and Yerma show the inherent heroism of the act of liberation, for each woman has freed herself of the oppressor. For both their deeds bring personal anguish and social retribution into their final endings. We all move though life's challenges individually and overcome (or not) the rotten fruit that life hands us. As we delve higher into the canopy, we reach out into the sky and see the extraordinary view. 

The multiple branches of the tree.