Sylvia Plath - Daddy

Daddy

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 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 gipsy 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.


From The Collected Poems by Sylvia Plath, Harper & Row 1981


So this poem has to be one of my favorite poems by Sylvia Plath. I know it seems creepy and almost masochistic, but hidden deep in the dark prose is a little bead of hope. Much of this poem is about the way the speaker's father was abusive, so she created herself "a model of you" and "said I do, I do." In essence, her father was abusive, so she found herself an abusive husband. The little grain of hope comes from the end, with the line "I'm finally through." This point turns the abuse from the present to the past, and makes it seem that she has broken off her relationship with this abusive husband. She also seems happy about it, acknowledging that "Daddy, you can lie back now," indicating that her father no longer controls her life. I think anyone who finds themselves in an abusive relationship can take solace in this poem, realizing that other people have been in the same situation, and perhaps for the same reason. These people were also able to find a way out of these relationships, so it is not a fruitless endeavor to work to better your life. Take heart, ye emburdoned friends, and carry thyselves to new and magnificent heights! (I have no idea why I decided to wax into Olde English, but it somehow fit the mood. I'm also writing this while listening to the Lord of the Rings soundtrack, so that might have something to do with it.)

Anyway, another lesson I like to take from this poem is that even from the darkest things, we can still take something positive. This is an exceptionally dark poem; even so, it has a positive outlook in the end where people are able to better themselves, no matter the situation. I feel like this is a good way of thinking about things, no matter the situation. I hope all of you enjoy the rest of this wonderful Thursday and the rest of Poetry Month!

Signing off ~Sam Zimmerman

Galway Kinnell; After Making Love We Hear Footsteps

After Making Love We Hear Footsteps

For I can snore like a bullhorn 

or play loud music 

or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman

and Fergus will only sink deeper 

into his dreamless sleep, which goes by all in one flash, 

but let there be that heavy breathing 

or a stifled come-cry anywhere in the house 

and he will wrench himself awake 

and make for it on the run—as now, we lie together, 

after making love, quiet, touching along the length of our bodies, 

familiar touch of the long-married, 

and he appears—in his baseball pajamas, it happens, 

the neck opening so small he has to screw them on— 

and flops down between us and hugs us and snuggles himself to sleep, 

his face gleaming with satisfaction at being this very child. 

In the half darkness we look at each other 

and smile 

and touch arms across this little, startlingly muscled body— 

this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making, 

sleeper only the mortal sounds can sing awake, 

this blessing love gives again into our arms

from A New Selected Poems by Galway Kinnell, Houghton Mifflin, 2000

If anyone wants to hear it read aloud by Mr. Kinnell, go here

I just want to start off my saying happy birthday to my mom, and to apologize if I ever did this as a child. I personally love how much is crammed into this little poem, the imagery, and emotion. This poem wasn't written in 2000, it was written in the mid-1970s. Kinnell himself was a strong political and civil rights activist, as well as a globetrotter and appreciator of music. Many of his books, notably The Book of Nightmares (1971), are extremely politically relevant and focus deeply on the problems of the time. This poem holds little of the political nature of his other work. 

The most vivid part of this poem is the imagery. Not only the sexual imagery, but the imagery of the little six year old in the pajamas that are too small for him. I am currently young enough to remember a pair of pajamas that I had to wrestle over my head every time I put them on. But I loved them, so I kept wearing them until they became so threadbare that they were little more than rags of fuzz. That youthful exuberance and naivety tend toward the caring and maternal/paternal nature of the reader, rather than making us feel annoyed or angry (as most people would after being interrupted in this position). 

The other major point in this poem is the humor. It is supposed to be funny, with all the sarcasm and bantering. He qualifies sober with "reasonably," what is reasonable for an irishman? Probably not very sober at all. The sarcasm of "and he will wrench himself awake" resounds cleanly with the reader's sense of humor. Even the title, with its almost scandalous nature, provides some humor after we realize that the footsteps belong to a six year old. I personally thought it was going to be a cuckolded husband or something. Boy was I wrong.

There are a few key spots in the poem that I want to point out. 

First: "familiar touch of the long-married"

This line shows something very deep about this poem. Not only is this couple together and has a child, they have been married a long time, and still love and care for each other deeply. Not only do they not get disgruntled by their 6 year old (yes I looked that up) climbing into bed with them, it only serves to strengthen their relation as husband and wife.

Second: "and smile"

BAM! complete turnaround. The first part of the poem seems annoyed but understanding, with "but let there be... and he will wrench himself awake." This smile radiates the love that these two people share for each other, and it is because of this child and his childish ways that they are able to fell that so strongly at this moment. 

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this poem as much as I did, and I will see all of you again on THURSDAY!

Happy Poetry Month!

Signing off  ~Sam Zimmerman