You do not do, you do not do by Sylvia Plath — Analysis & Translation

Original Poem

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.

Translation (English)

You don't work anymore, black shoe Where I lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and pale, Barely daring to breathe or sneeze. Daddy, I had to kill you. You died before I could. Heavy as marble, a bag full of God, A ghastly statue with one gray toe As big as a seal in San Francisco And a head in the strange Atlantic Where it pours green over blue In the waters off beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to get you back. Oh, you. In the German language, in the Polish town Flattened by wars, wars, wars. But the town's name is common. My Polish friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never knew where you Put your foot, your root. I never could talk to you. My tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barbed wire trap. I, I, I, I, 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 might be a Jew. The snow 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 might be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your air force, your nonsense. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Tank-man, tank-man, Oh You—— Not God but a swastika So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman loves 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 Mein Kampf look And a love of torture. 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 get 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.

About the Poet

Sylvia Plath (20th Century, Confessional Poetry)

Sylvia Plath was an American poet known for her confessional style. She was born in 1932 and died in 1963. Plath is best known for her works 'The Bell Jar' and 'Ariel'. She was awarded the Pulitzer Prize posthumously in 1982.

Historical Context

Literary Form: Confessional Poetry
When Written: 1962
Background: Sylvia Plath wrote 'Daddy' as part of her collection 'Ariel'. The poem reflects her complex relationship with her father, who died when she was eight, and her struggles with identity and oppression. It is often interpreted as an exploration of Plath's feelings of betrayal and anger towards her father and the male figures in her life.

Sources: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48999/daddy-56d22aafa45b2, https://poets.org/poem/daddy, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_Plath

Detailed Explanation

Sylvia Plath's poem 'Daddy' is a powerful and emotional exploration of her complex relationship with her father, who passed away when she was a child. The poem uses vivid imagery and metaphor to convey feelings of anger, betrayal, and a struggle for identity. Plath describes her father as a dominating figure, comparing him to a Nazi and a vampire, which reflects her perception of his oppressive influence even after his death. The poem also touches on themes of historical trauma, as Plath references the Holocaust and her own feelings of being trapped and silenced. Through the use of confessional poetry, Plath expresses her desire to break free from her father's shadow and the pain he represents. The poem's intense emotional depth and raw honesty make it a significant work in Plath's oeuvre, highlighting her skill in transforming personal anguish into universal themes of loss and liberation.

Themes

Literary Devices

Word Dictionary

Word	Meaning	Translation	Transliteration
Achoo	sneeze	the sound of sneezing	ach-oo
Ghastly	horrible	very scary or unpleasant	ghast-lee
Frisco	San Francisco	a casual name for San Francisco	fris-ko
Nauset	a place in Massachusetts	a place in Massachusetts, USA	naw-set
Ach, du	oh, you	an exclamation in German meaning 'oh, you'	akh doo
Polack	Polish person	a term for a Polish person	po-lak
Ich	I	German for 'I'	ikh
Luftwaffe	German air force	Nazi Germany's air force	looft-vah-feh
Panzer-man	tank soldier	a soldier operating a tank	pan-zer-man
Swastika	Nazi symbol	symbol associated with Nazis	swos-ti-ka
Mein Kampf	My Struggle	Hitler's book titled 'My Struggle'	mine kampf
Taroc	Tarot cards	cards for fortune-telling	ta-rok
Aryan	Caucasian	Nazi term for 'racially superior'	air-ee-an
Gobbledygoo	nonsense	silly or confusing talk	gob-ble-dee-goo
Dachau	a concentration camp	Nazi concentration camp	da-khow