daddy

• slyvia plath'ın da bu isimde uzun bir şiiri vardır. her ne kadar çok bilinen çok tanınan çok popüler bir şiiri olduğu gerekçesiyle kimi ortamlarda dışlansa da, baba nefreti üzerine yazılmış en derin şiirlerden biridir, sevgi ve nefreti aynı kelimelerle vermektedir. bir nevi exorcism gibidir, nursery rhyme'lardan pagan törenlerine kadar uzanır.
  gerçi plath'ın babasından nefret etmek için averaj genç kızdan^* çok daha fazla sebebi vardır, babası, zaten çok kısa tanıdığı dönemde plath'ın hafızasında bir alman gulyabanisi misali almıştır yerini. annesinin de çingene asıllı olması daha da büyük yer etmştir plath'ın kalbinde, paradokslar denizinde titanic^*ten kopma bir kapıya tutunurcasına kalmıştır. kapıyı tutup kendisine destek olan, aslında içten içe batarken kendisni de dibe çekmek istediğini düşündüğü aşkı, yani şiirde adı geçen diğer erkek de kocası ted hughes'tur. gerçi onu da anlıyoruz artık, birthday letters'dan sonra, ama plath'ın anlatı gücüne, tinsel karanlıklarına yaklaşabilmiş midir hughes? bakınız.
  
  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 beauitiful 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 think 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 jew.
  
  i have always been scared of you,
  with your luftwaffe^*,your gobbledygoo.
  and your neat moustache^*
  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 facist,
  the brute 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 men 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 is 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.