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 villagersnever liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.
Most absolutely one of my all time favorite poems. She is absolutely amazing here. I cannot help but mention, however, that the word 'you' in the line 'I have always been scared of you' should be italicized - as should 'knew' in the second to last line. These words were underlined in the typed manuscript of Ariel and Other Poems that Sylvia left on her desk (a facilimile copy of which is available in the RESTORED edition of Ariel - published last year) . There are many (myself included) that feel the highlighting of these words is... critical.
Not a poem, but a punch in the gut, a scream of rage; it is perfect in the same way a boxer lands a perfect punch. Or better, the way a doctor without anaestehtic makes a perfect incision: hurtful and hard to watch, but life-affirming if you look through the physical event.
God, this is so grotesque. It's also one of my favorite poems by Plath (though that isn't saying much) . I really like how she uses language and sound and connects different elements to convey a story....but it's so morose I can hardly stand to read it.
I totally agree with the comment of poetess Bharati. Many congratulations for this wonderful poem to have been displayed on the home page as Poem of the Day!
I just can not understand the poem.It expresses extreme hatred of Sylvia towards her father whom she felt as a German killing Jews and herself as one of Jewish root.
Only a true poet can write such an intense poem that makes the heart palpitate, the stomach sore and the reader experience an OBE. No wonder it's POD!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Is it very strange that I can empathize with this poem... in any case, this is one of my favourite poems from one of my favourite poets, so I felt I had to leavea comment. Sylvia had a lot of power when it came to using words.