the disquieting muses

• bir sylvia plath şiiri:
  
  mother, mother, what illbred aunt
  or what disfigured and unsightly
  cousin did you so unwisely keep
  unasked to my christening, that she
  sent these ladies in her stead
  with heads like darning-eggs to nod
  and nod and nod at foot and head
  and at the left side of my crib?
  
  mother, who made to order stories
  of mixie blackshort the heroic bear,
  mother, whose witches always, always,
  got baked into gingerbread, i wonder
  whether you saw them, whether you said
  words to rid me of those three ladies
  nodding by night around my bed,
  mouthless, eyeless, with stitched bald head.
  
  in the hurricane, when father's twelve
  study windows bellied in
  like bubbles about to break, you fed
  my brother and me cookies and ovaltine
  and helped the two of us to choir:
  "thor is angry: boom boom boom!
  thor is angry: we don't care!"
  but those ladies broke the panes.
  
  when on tiptoe the schoolgirls danced,
  blinking flashlights like fireflies
  and singing the glowworm song, i could
  not lift a foot in the twinkle-dress
  but, heavy-footed, stood aside
  in the shadow cast by my dismal-headed
  godmothers, and you cried and cried:
  and the shadow stretched, the lights went out.
  
  mother, you sent me to piano lessons
  and praised my arabesques and trills
  although each teacher found my touch
  oddly wooden in spite of scales
  and the hours of practicing, my ear
  tone-deaf and yes, unteachable.
  i learned, i learned, i learned elsewhere,
  from muses unhired by you, dear mother,
  
  i woke one day to see you, mother,
  floating above me in bluest air
  on a green balloon bright with a million
  flowers and bluebirds that never were
  never, never, found anywhere.
  but the little planet bobbed away
  like a soap-bubble as you called: come here!
  and i faced my traveling companions.
  
  day now, night now, at head, side, feet,
  they stand their vigil in gowns of stone,
  faces blank as the day i was born,
  their shadows long in the setting sun
  that never brightens or goes down.
  and this is the kingdom you bore me to,
  mother, mother. but no frown of mine
  will betray the company i keep.
• (bkz: giorgio de chirico/@ibisile)