30 Nisan 2019 Salı
12 Punto TRT Senaryo Günleri için başvurular başladı!
Kurulduğu günden beri Türk sinemasının gelişimine katkı sağlayan TRT, Türk sinemasına nitelikli senaryolar kazandırmak ve bu senaryoların filme dönüştürülmesini desteklemek amacıyla senaryo günleri düzenliyor.
12 Punto TRT Senaryo Günleri adı altında düzenlenecek etkinlikte her yıl finale kalan 12 proje arasından uluslararası jüri tarafından seçilen 4 projeye ortak yapım ödülü, 4 projeye ön alım ödülü verilecek. Senaryo Günleri çerçevesinde ayrıca senaryo geliştirme atölyeleri, ustalık sınıfları ve paneller düzenlenecek.
Yapım firmalarının katılabileceği yarışmaya başvuru için: trt12punto.com
28 Nisan 2019 Pazar
27 Nisan 2019 Cumartesi
“And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself” ― Anne Sexton
For American Poetry II: This video presents an intro to Anne Sexton's poetry and describes how she began writing, and her writing style.
USA: Poetry Episode Anne Sexton
Many a writer has said they write to save their lives. And many a writer has died by suicide. In few cases has the connection been so direct as in that of the poet Anne Sexton. Encouraged in 1957 by her therapist to write poetry to stave off her suicidal ideation, she eventually joined a group of mid-century “confessional” poets based in Boston—including Robert Lowell and Sylvia Plath—whose personal pathos, family pain, and severe bouts of depression provided much of the material for their work. Despite Sexton’s tremendous career success at what began, more-or-less, as a hobby, she became overwhelmed by her illness and committed suicide in 1974.
for more pls read: http://www.openculture.com/2013/02/anne_sexton_confessional_poet_reads_wanting_to_die_in_ominous_1966_video.html
Many a writer has said they write to save their lives. And many a writer has died by suicide. In few cases has the connection been so direct as in that of the poet Anne Sexton. Encouraged in 1957 by her therapist to write poetry to stave off her suicidal ideation, she eventually joined a group of mid-century “confessional” poets based in Boston—including Robert Lowell and Sylvia Plath—whose personal pathos, family pain, and severe bouts of depression provided much of the material for their work. Despite Sexton’s tremendous career success at what began, more-or-less, as a hobby, she became overwhelmed by her illness and committed suicide in 1974.
for more pls read: http://www.openculture.com/2013/02/anne_sexton_confessional_poet_reads_wanting_to_die_in_ominous_1966_video.html
26 Nisan 2019 Cuma
“The beginning is always today.” ― Mary Wollstonecraft
http://www.zoebuckman.com/feminist-art-embroidery-lingerie/
Mary Wollstonecraft, married name Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, (born April 27, 1759, London, -1797, London), English writer and passionate advocate of educational and social equality for women.
A Vindication of the Rights of Woman is one of the trailblazing works of feminism. Published in 1792, Wollstonecraft’s work argued that the educational system of her time deliberately trained women to be frivolous and incapable. She posited that an educational system that allowed girls the same advantages as boys would result in women who would be not only exceptional wives and mothers but also capable workers in many professions. Other early feminists had made similar pleas for improved education for women, but Wollstonecraft’s work was unique in suggesting that the betterment of women’s status be effected through such political change as the radical reform of national educational systems. Such change, she concluded, would benefit all society.
for more pls read: https://www.britannica.com/biography/Mary-Wollstonecraft#ref9750
here is the full text: https://www.earlymoderntexts.com/assets/pdfs/wollstonecraft1792.pdf
25 Nisan 2019 Perşembe
Homework for Comp Lit II and Seminar Novel 29.04.2019
Dear Students,
- American Poetry II: We do not have class at 1.05.2019.
- Comp Lit II: pls finish reading "Beloved" and "The Long Song"
- Seminar Novel: Pls read the article "A Theory of Literary Realism" Ali Taghizadeh and Butler's "Bloodchild": https://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/style/longterm/books/chap1/bloodchi.htm?noredirect=on
24 Nisan 2019 Çarşamba
"I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am." -Sylvia Plath
Dear Students,
I am so proud of those who attended the class today and were brave enough to write down their confessions. And I am also thankful for your trust.
Please do not worry, they are going to be destroyed today in a decent way.
A wonderful way to connect with Plath's poetry is to hear her reading her own poems. In these video-clips you can hear her read fifteen poems from Ariel, her New England Brahmin vowels inflecting every line, drawing out internal rhymes and assonance, then clipping at caesuras like a well-bred horse’s trotting hooves and her haunting confessions. Please choose yours and enjoy.
for more pls visit: http://www.openculture.com/2013/05/hear_sylvia_plath_read_fifteen_poems_from_her_final_collection_ariel_in_1962_recording.html
23 Nisan 2019 Salı
“People can lose their lives in libraries. They ought to be warned.” ― Saul Bellow
Dear Students,
Wish you a nice World Book Day, https://www.worldbookday.com/
Here you can find 1,000 Free Audio Books: http://www.openculture.com/freeaudiobooks
best gh
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet are of imagination all compact. - Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream,
455th Birth Anniversary of : English poet, playwright and actor William Shakespeare was born on 23 April (1564) and left us with the most dramatic, lovely, clever, romantic and traumatic lines ever. Also known as the "Bard of Avon," Shakespeare's plays and poems are known throughout the world.
Many fans and enthusiasts of William Shakespeare, who was one of England’s greatest poets and dramatists, celebrate National Shakespeare Day, also known as Shakespeare Day, on April 23 each year. April 23 is also St George’s Day and the United Nations’ World Book and Copyright Day, which was a natural choice to pay a worldwide tribute to writers such as Shakespeare.
for more pls read:
https://www.biography.com/writer/william-shakespeare
https://www.timeanddate.com/holidays/uk/shakespeare-day
https://www.thoughtco.com/list-of-shakespeare-plays-2985250
http://shakespeare.mit.edu/Poetry/sonnets.html
Many fans and enthusiasts of William Shakespeare, who was one of England’s greatest poets and dramatists, celebrate National Shakespeare Day, also known as Shakespeare Day, on April 23 each year. April 23 is also St George’s Day and the United Nations’ World Book and Copyright Day, which was a natural choice to pay a worldwide tribute to writers such as Shakespeare.
Shakespeare's Plays in Chronological Order
- "Henry VI Part I" (1589-1590)
- "Henry VI Part II" (1590-1591)
- "Henry VI Part III" (1590-1591)
- "Richard III" (1592-1593)
- "The Comedy of Errors" (1592-1593)
- "Titus Andronicus" (1593-1594)
- "The Taming of the Shrew" (1593-1594)
- "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" (1594-1595)
- "Love’s Labour’s Lost" (1594-1595)
- "Romeo and Juliet" (1594-1595)
- "Richard II" (1595-1596)
- "A Midsummer Night’s Dream" (1595-1596)
- "King John" (1596-1597)
- "The Merchant of Venice" (1596-1597)
- "Henry IV Part I" (1597-1598)
- "Henry IV Part II" (1597-1598)
- "Much Ado About Nothing" (1598-1599)
- "Henry V" (1598-1599)
- "Julius Caesar" (1599-1600)
- "As You Like It" (1599-1600)
- "Twelfth Night" (1599-1600)
- "Hamlet" (1600-1601)
- "The Merry Wives of Windsor" (1600-1601)
- "Troilus and Cressida" (1601-1602)
- "All’s Well That Ends Well" (1602-1603)
- "Measure for Measure" (1604-1605)
- "Othello" (1604-1605)
- "King Lear" (1605-1606)
- "Macbeth" (1605-1606)
- "Antony and Cleopatra" (1606-1607)
- "Coriolanus" (1607-1608)
- "Timon of Athens" (1607-1608)
- "Pericles" (1608-1609)
- "Cymbeline" (1609-1610)
- "The Winter’s Tale" (1610-1611)
- "The Tempest" (1611-1612)
- "Henry VIII" (1612-1613)
- "The Two Noble Kinsmen" (1612-1613)
- Shakespeare's Sonnets
-
- I. FROM fairest creatures we desire increase,
- II. When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,
- III. Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
- IV. Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
- V. Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
- VI. Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
- VII. Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
- VIII. Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
- IX. Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
- X. For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any,
- XI. As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest
- XII. When I do count the clock that tells the time,
- XIII. O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are
- XIV. Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
- XV. When I consider every thing that grows
- XVI. But wherefore do not you a mightier way
- XVII. Who will believe my verse in time to come,
- XVIII. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
- XIX. Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
- XX. A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
- XXI. So is it not with me as with that Muse
- XXII. My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
- XXIII. As an unperfect actor on the stage
- XXIV. Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd
- XXV. Let those who are in favour with their stars
- XXVI. Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
- XXVII. Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
- XXVIII. How can I then return in happy plight,
- XXIX. When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
- XXX. When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
- XXXI. Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
- XXXII. If thou survive my well-contented day,
- XXXIII. Full many a glorious morning have I seen
- XXXIV. Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
- XXXV. No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
- XXXVI. Let me confess that we two must be twain,
- XXXVII. As a decrepit father takes delight
- XXXVIII. How can my Muse want subject to invent,
- XXXIX. O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,
- XL. Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
- XLI. Those petty wrongs that liberty commits,
- XLII. That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,
- XLIII. When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
- XLIV. If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
- XLV. The other two, slight air and purging fire,
- XLVI. Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
- XLVII. Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
- XLVIII. How careful was I, when I took my way,
- XLIX. Against that time, if ever that time come,
- L. How heavy do I journey on the way,
- LI. Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
- LII. So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
- LIII. What is your substance, whereof are you made,
- LIV. O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
- LV. Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
- LVI. Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
- LVII. Being your slave, what should I do but tend
- LVIII. That god forbid that made me first your slave,
- LIX. If there be nothing new, but that which is
- LX. Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
- LXI. Is it thy will thy image should keep open
- LXII. Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
- LXIII. Against my love shall be, as I am now,
- LXIV. When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
- LXV. Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
- LXVI. Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
- LXVII. Ah! wherefore with infection should he live,
- LXVIII. Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
- LXIX. Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
- LXX. That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,
- LXXI. No longer mourn for me when I am dead
- LXXII. O, lest the world should task you to recite
- LXXIII. That time of year thou mayst in me behold
- LXXIV. But be contented: when that fell arrest
- LXXV. So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
- LXXVI. Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
- LXXVII. Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
- LXXVIII. So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse
- LXXIX. Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
- LXXX. O, how I faint when I of you do write,
- LXXXI. Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
- LXXXII. I grant thou wert not married to my Muse
- LXXXIII. I never saw that you did painting need
- LXXXIV. Who is it that says most? which can say more
- LXXXV. My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
- LXXXVI. Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
- LXXXVII. Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
- LXXXVIII. When thou shalt be disposed to set me light,
- LXXXIX. Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
- XC. Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
- XCI. Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
- XCII. But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
- XCIII. So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
- XCIV. They that have power to hurt and will do none,
- XCV. How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
- XCVI. Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
- XCVII. How like a winter hath my absence been
- XCVIII. From you have I been absent in the spring,
- XCIX. The forward violet thus did I chide:
- C. Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
- CI. O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
- CII. My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming;
- CIII. Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
- CIV. To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
- CV. Let not my love be call'd idolatry,
- CVI. When in the chronicle of wasted time
- CVII. Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
- CVIII. What's in the brain that ink may character
- CIX. O, never say that I was false of heart,
- CX. Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there
- CXI. O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
- CXII. Your love and pity doth the impression fill
- CXIII. Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;
- CXIV. Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you,
- CXV. Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
- CXVI. Let me not to the marriage of true minds
- CXVII. Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all
- CXVIII. Like as, to make our appetites more keen,
- CXIX. What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
- CXX. That you were once unkind befriends me now,
- CXXI. 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd,
- CXXII. Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
- CXXIII. No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change:
- CXXIV. If my dear love were but the child of state,
- CXXV. Were 't aught to me I bore the canopy,
- CXXVI. O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
- CXXVII. In the old age black was not counted fair,
- CXXVIII. How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st,
- CXXIX. The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
- CXXX. My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
- CXXXI. Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,
- CXXXII. Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
- CXXXIII. Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
- CXXXIV. So, now I have confess'd that he is thine,
- CXXXV. Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,'
- CXXXVI. If thy soul cheque thee that I come so near,
- CXXXVII. Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,
- CXXXVIII. When my love swears that she is made of truth
- CXXXIX. O, call not me to justify the wrong
- CXL. Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
- CXLI. In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
- CXLII. Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate,
- CXLIII. Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch
- CXLIV. Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
- CXLV. Those lips that Love's own hand did make
- CXLVI. Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
- CXLVII. My love is as a fever, longing still
- CXLVIII. O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head,
- CXLIX. Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
- CL. O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
- CLI. Love is too young to know what conscience is;
- CLII. In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn,
- CLIII. Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep:
- CLIV. The little Love-god lying once asleep
https://www.biography.com/writer/william-shakespeare
https://www.timeanddate.com/holidays/uk/shakespeare-day
https://www.thoughtco.com/list-of-shakespeare-plays-2985250
http://shakespeare.mit.edu/Poetry/sonnets.html
22 Nisan 2019 Pazartesi
“The master said You must write what you see. But what I see does not move me. The master answered Change what you see.” ― Louise Glück, Vita Nova
https://www.sublackwell.co.uk/
End of Winter
BY LOUISE GLÜCK
Over the still world, a bird calls
waking solitary among black boughs.
You wanted to be born; I let you be born.
When has my grief ever gotten
in the way of your pleasure?
Plunging ahead
into the dark and light at the same time
eager for sensation
as though you were some new thing, wanting
to express yourselves
all brilliance, all vivacity
never thinking
this would cost you anything,
never imagining the sound of my voice
as anything but part of you—
you won't hear it in the other world,
not clearly again,
not in birdcall or human cry,
not the clear sound, only
persistent echoing
in all sound that means good-bye, good-bye—
the one continuous line
that binds us to each other.
Happy Birthday to Louise Glück who was born in New York City on April 22, 1943, and grew up on Long Island. She is the author of numerous books of poetry, most recently, Faithful and Virtuous Night (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2014), which won the 2014 National Book Award in Poetry; Poems 1962-2012 (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2012); A Village Life: Poems (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2009); Averno (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2006), a finalist for the 2006 National Book Award in Poetry; The Seven Ages (Ecco Press, 2001); and Vita Nova (Ecco Press, 1999), winner of Boston Book Review’s Bingham Poetry Prize and The New Yorker’s Book Award in Poetry. In 2004, Sarabande Books released her six-part poem “October” as a chapbook.
Selected Bibiography
Poetry
Faithful and Virtuous Night (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2014)
Poems: 1962-2012 (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2013)
A Village Life (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2009)
Averno (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2006)
The Seven Ages (Ecco Press, 2001)
Vita Nova (Ecco Press, 1999)
Meadowlands (Ecco Press, 1996)
The First Four Books of Poems (Ecco Press, 1995)
The Wild Iris (Ecco Press, 1992)
Ararat (Ecco Press, 1990)
The Triumph of Achilles (Ecco Press, 1985)
Descending Figure (Ecco Press, 1980)
The Garden (Antaeus, 1976)
The House on Marshland (Ecco Press, 1975)
Firstborn (New American Library, 1968)
for more pls visit: https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/louise-gl%C3%BCck
21 Nisan 2019 Pazar
“His mind was indeed my library, and whenever it was opened to me, I entered bliss.” ― Charlotte Brontë
“No sight so sad as that of a naughty child," he began, "especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?"
"They go to hell," was my ready and orthodox answer.
"And what is hell? Can you tell me that?"
"A pit full of fire."
"And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?"
"No, sir."
"What must you do to avoid it?"
I deliberated a moment: my answer, when it did come was objectionable: "I must keep in good health and not die.”
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
Jane Eyre - Official Trailer 2011
Today is the 203rd Birthday of Charlotte Brontë, one of the Bronte sisters, and who is an English novelist noted for Jane Eyre (1847), a strong narrative of a woman in conflict with her natural desires and social condition. The novel gave new truthfulness to Victorian fiction. She later wrote Shirley (1849) and Villette (1853).
for more pls read: https://www.britannica.com/biography/Charlotte-Bronte
19 Nisan 2019 Cuma
“Then what is magic for?" Prince Lír demanded wildly. "What use is wizardry if it cannot save a unicorn?" He gripped the magician's shoulder hard, to keep from falling. Schmedrick did not turn his head. With a touch of sad mockery in his voice, he said, "That's what heroes are for.” ― Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn
Motohiko Odani, http://www.phantom-limb.com/
Happy Birthday to Peter Soyer Beagle (born April 20, 1939) who is an American fantasist and author of novels, nonfiction, and screenplays. He is also a talented guitarist and folk singer. He wrote his first novel, A Fine and Private Place , when he was only 19 years old. Today he is best known as the author of The Last Unicorn, which routinely polls as one of the top ten fantasy novels of all time, and at least two of his other books (A Fine and Private Place and I See By My Outfit) are considered modern classics.
source: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1067608.Peter_S_Beagle
ATTENTION: Those students who are listed should e-mail me ASAP
Dear Students,
thank for e-mailing me.
pls follow the uni-system and the rules regarding your absences.
best
gh
thank for e-mailing me.
pls follow the uni-system and the rules regarding your absences.
best
gh
17 Nisan 2019 Çarşamba
Homework American Poetry ACL 306: 24.04.2019
November (2017), Rainer Sarnet, Ana Gavilá
Please bring you music and your earphones for next class.
Please read and print the following poems for class:
Please bring you music and your earphones for next class.
Please read and print the following poems for class:
Lady Lazarus
BY SYLVIA PLATH
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it——
A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot
A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.
Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?——
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.
Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand and foot——
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies
These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.
The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut
As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I’ve a call.
It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
It’s the theatrical
Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:
‘A miracle!’
That knocks me out.
There is a charge
For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart——
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
Ash, ash—
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
Daddy
BY 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 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.
Cut
by Sylvia Plath
For Susan O'Neill Roe
What a thrill ---
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of a hinge
Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.
Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls
Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz.
A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.
Whose side are they on?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill
The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man ---
The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux Klan
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence
How you jump ---
Trepanned veteran,
Dirty girl,
Thumb stump.
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