bugün
- benim burada ne işim var denilen anlar8
- islam düşmanlarının ikiyüzlü olması9
- 4 bin türkiyeli siyonist gazze'ye gitti16
- 10 liralık simiti 500 liraya kakalayan adam8
- uyku problemi çeken yazarlara tavsiyeler11
- sizin köyünüzden 34 insan bombalansaydı8
- okumak istediğiniz kitaplar10
- başı açık erkeklere cehennemde büyük azap var14
- 26 haziran 2024 çek cumhuriyeti türkiye maçı26
- arda güler27
- cenk tosun13
- kasap dükkanına saldıran koyun11
- allah istese enflasyonu sıfırlar11
- barış alper yılmaz17
- galatasaray lobisi15
- manyak olmaya karar verdim9
- ölümden korkanlara bir söz bırak9
- gideon reid morgan jj27
- anın görüntüsü18
- bel çantası kullanan erkek13
- diyanet işleri başkanlığı24
- kazara evlilik teklif etmek9
- türkçe ezan zulmü13
- sözlüğün en hanımefendi yazarı48
- karınızın kapanmak istemesine ne dersiniz31
- etle beslenmenin her zaman ucuz olması19
- kuranda tomurcuk göğüslü kızlar ifadesi geçmiyor14
- butun erkeklerin ayni olmasi22
- özgür özel'in giydiği akp ceketi18
- true yu izmir'e bırakıp kaçmak8
- ismi uğur olanların uğruna inanmak11
- kimseyle konuşmak istememek19
- et yemesinler ot yesinler diyen gurbetçi9
- arkadaşlar sizce bu pantolon nasıl8
- yürürken kollarımızı niçin sallıyoruz8
- astrolojiciler bi bitmediniz amk10
- zengin bir kayınbaba bulup piyasadan çekilmek8
- menemen soğanlı mı yenir soğansız mı14
- sporcu motorcu müzisyen uzun boylu olmayan erkek10
- hacca gitmek çok mu önemli19
- sevgilisi olduğunu belli etmeye çalışan insan15
- rafa silva9
- bik bik ve insan olmaya ceyrek kala dansı16
- bir isme yazılmış en güzel şarkı10
- hangi dizinin başrollerinden olmak isterdiniz8
- onu çok seviyorum ne yapmalıyım14
- cennette ne var15
- en sevdiğin pozisyon8
- whatsapp da engellenen kişi durumu nasıl görür9
- geri dönülmek istenen tarih10
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 grey 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 gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Tarot pack and my Tarot 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.
-- Sylvia Plath--
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 grey 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 gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Tarot pack and my Tarot 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.
-- Sylvia Plath--
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