You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time—-
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You——
Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.
If I've killed one man, I've killed two—-
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.
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Losing her Father when only 8 years old had a profound effect on Plath. This poem epitomizes the imagery and darker areas of her writing (about death).
I'm unable tyo relate to these emotions portrayed to her Father.
Von -
A round of snaps
From guest Robin (contact)
I do believe this piece brings out great imagery when it comes to show how her father surpressed her and was strict with her, as well as her husband. She doesn't want to be controlled; she wants to be free. However, she is psychotic and even puts into her poetry how she is mentally unstable by saying, "At twenty I tried to die/ And get back, back, back to you./ I thought even the bones would do/ But they pulled me out of the sack/ and they stuck me together with glue." She tried to commit suicide before she married and her life continued to be hell when she married. Well done Sylvia Plath, Well done. -
5 stages of loss
From guest stacey (contact)
Five Stages Of Grief Denial and Isolation. At first, we tend to deny the loss has taken place, and may withdraw from our usual social contacts. This stage may last a few moments, or longer. Anger. The grieving person may then be furious at the person who inflicted the hurt (even if she's dead), or at the world, for letting it happen. He may be angry with himself for letting the event take place, even if, realistically, nothing could have stopped it. Bargaining. Now the grieving person may make bargains with God, asking, "If I do this, will you take away the loss?" Depression. The person feels numb, although anger and sadness may remain underneath. Acceptance. This is when the anger, sadness and mourning have tapered off. The person simply accepts the reality of the loss. Its a chame she only reashed the first couple before attemping suiside. She had so much going for her if only she could see it it would have made sense. -
german tounge and the poshisg town
From guest stacey (contact)
i dont understand about this era or what ever it stand for and means? -
I think i would agree more with what people here have mentioned about the relationship of this poem with her father and her husband. More towards the husband i think with this verse,
"If I've killed one man, I've killed two---
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,"
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sylvia plath is a genius! this is my favorite poem in the world. probably because i can relate to it so well. the way she wrote this is fasinating cause if there is one thing sylvia plath is good at, its imagry. and oh boy is this piece chock full of it!
~sammy -
Then you haven't read into the poem; with poetry like this, you can't take it for face value.
We read this last week in my poetry class; while we read this, we discussed it to great length, and concluded that, while she'd loved her father dearly when he was alive, she'd tried to live in a way that would've made him proud, and it wasn't until about twenty years or so after his death that she realized she had to let go, and this was her way of doing it. Of course, it goes even deeper than that, but that's the jist of the piece. -
I really don't like the last line of this poem. I really think it just deflates the whole thing and makes her seem very whiney.
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YES, WOW....ok, she clearly is pissed off at her father for having gone and died on her. She loves loves loves him dearly, yet hates him, is bitter for him leaving. She makes references to her bad marriage....as though (and I think I have heard that sometimes this happens) she married someone similar to her father to take his place perhaps subconsciously of course...I don't know, this is just what I am getting out of this. Incredibly sombre, yet wickedly angry piece!!!
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My favorite poem. Ever. Ever. Ever. It inspires me every day.
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wow... very intense post, it is very dark and painful.. How she hurt inside... so I made a model.. The vampire who said he was you, and drank my blood for a year, those lines.. chilled me.
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this is my fav. poem by Plath i love it
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The most amazing poem by Plath I've ever read. One of the first too - and it taught me why she's called a 'confessional poet'. Have we ever had a more truly confessional piece?
I've studied this poem by myself - and in most parts it feels like she's torn between whether to love or hate this man who was her father. Love him because he was the father and as father he was lovable. Hate him because probably as a person, his stand in life didn't find approval with her, and also because she accused him of leaving her so early. And a guilt complex too - because she shouldn't hate her father so passionately - and which makes her almost think that she killed him, which she on no account did. (I'm not so well-versed with Plath's life to tell if my assumptions are true, though)
And in the end, the hate wins out. But that uneasy feeling of almost revengeful love is always there. Wouldn't you call that a masterpiece?
- Mandy -
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when she talks about her father "leaving" her, I think she means in the way that he died from diabetes when she was very young, so she lived the majority of her life, and all of her adult life, without a father. I do believe that's what she means by "leaving." I'm not so sure she thinks that she killed him, or played a part in his death, but I do think that maybe she's relating his inability to care of himself to her own inability to take care of herself. I'm not so sure.
I do believe this is a masterpiece though, I mean, any poem that can arise so much intense thought and intense analyzation from SO many people...that's a masterpiece for you. And there's so much emotion! Very raw also.
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"If I've killed one man, I've killed two---"
This line speaks volumes to my spirit. It seems that she denotes hardships with many men, and her father was the initiator of those failed relationships. It takes several reads through this compilation of anger and malcontent to truly appreciate the depth of passion that was unearthed to write this poem. What a phenomenal work! Kudos to Ms. Path for her abiltiy to allow the reader relate so heavily to her written words.
♥
Edited on Feb 22, 6:12 p.m. because ''. -
I LOVE the last two stanzas. (And the first stanza) Most of the rest of the poem doesn't make much sence to me. She is very random. There were bits an pieces I understood, but some of it was, as i said, very random.
Edited on Feb 20, 11:29 because ''. -
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
It is words and phrasing such as this that makes a mere bag of momentary flesh immortal throughout the ages. When you are CERTAIN that not only are you in the presence of genius, but you are also in the grips of such crushing envy and hatred to a God who has denied you this gift of perpetuality. For here, though she paid for it one dark night, is perfection... -
Damn this is an amazing piece...and it keeps getting better every time that I read it.
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........i need some help with this some of the words she uses are a bit hard for me to understand.....could any one help me with a translation......thank you
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I see the connection beteenn her father and her husband . In this poem they bleed in and out of each other. She amazes me.
Edited on Dec 14, 4:00 p.m. because ''. -
I wrote an comparison/opposition piece to this one, and it took many reads through this one to write that one (it's called Mommy!) and the first time I read this I couldn't say I fully grasped the angst in this.
There is hatred and discourse written in the words here. It carries itself away and then brings it back and it just seems more than hatred and discourse but as well solemn sadness and a tearful soul crying.
There is much in enjambments in this piece and if it isn't read in a certain way one would miss them. I feel on their own they carry much weight and bring the piece to the opening and the close.
So much this piece deals with, but I feel it mainly deals with angst and sadness.
An excellent piece written by Plath and if I could applaud this, I would.
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Towers above all, it is just so strong.
Hughes eat your heart out, if you lived ten times as long you'd never be able to compete.
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