Sylvia Plath

Knjigom u glavu
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elma
Posts: 3104
Joined: 02 Feb 2013, 01:33

18 Jun 2012, 19:03

Čula sam u nekom filmu ili seriji referencu na nju pa me zainteresiralo. Navodno je dio američke srednjoškolske lektire ako je vjerovati referenci. :ne zna:
Čitao netko? Preporuke? "Tamo" baš nema previše informacija, a i ove koje jesu su većinom negativni dojmovi. Čudno :misli:


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Leteća
babin nakurnjak
Posts: 2552
Joined: 26 Sep 2011, 13:25
Location: Welt am Draht

19 Jun 2012, 17:01

Prvi put sam se s njom susrela dok sam bila duboko depresivna tinejdžerica koja je čitala Nietzschea i bila u aseksualnoj vezi s još depresivnijim tinejdžerom koji me je fascinirao svojom hrabrošću da se redovno samoozljeđuje.

A upravo je to bilo idealno stanje uma za uživanje u djelima Sylvie Plath. Obožavala sam je. Sad mi puno manje leži, ali povremeno se ipak vratim njezinoj poeziji. Prilično je teška i (jesam li već spomenula) depresivna.

Najpoznatiji stihovi (citiran iz glave): "umiranje je umjetnost kao i sve ostalo / ja to činim izuzetno dobro/činim to tako da nalikuje paklu/ činim to tako da je zbiljski doživljeno." Česti motivi su joj obiteljska otuđenost, nacistički ratni zločini i sl. Samoubila se je iz nekog trećeg pokušaja, mislim da je gurnula glavu u plinsku pećnicu.

Nešto lakše štivo je njezin autobiografski roman "Stakleno zvono" u kojem opisuje svoju mladost i pokušaj samoubojstva. Valjda je to ta lektira koju spominješ. Knjiga je prevedena kod nas i mogu ti je preporučiti ako se želiš kvalitetno izdeprimirati ili steći uvid u psihu depresivaca.
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Leteća
babin nakurnjak
Posts: 2552
Joined: 26 Sep 2011, 13:25
Location: Welt am Draht

19 Jun 2012, 17:03

To je to od mene za danas. Idem se samoubit. :cerek:
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Emericzy
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Joined: 20 Sep 2011, 19:00

20 Jun 2012, 06:24

Mislim da su ju prvo roditelji jebali u zdrav mozak, a poslije njih joj je to činio muž. Ostatak je obavila sama.
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Leteća
babin nakurnjak
Posts: 2552
Joined: 26 Sep 2011, 13:25
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09 Jul 2012, 17:07

Emericzy » wrote:Mislim da su ju prvo roditelji jebali u zdrav mozak, a poslije njih joj je to činio muž. Ostatak je obavila sama.
Čituckala baš nešto ovih dana i skužila koliko sam zanemarila taj psihobiografski element. Možda zato što ovoga nije bilo u izboru Višnje Sepčić. Ona je ipak fina dama. :)

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.
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Leteća
babin nakurnjak
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Joined: 26 Sep 2011, 13:25
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09 Jul 2012, 17:33

Aupičku, nisam to trebala učiniti. .facepalm:

Sad će Emer iz ovog izvaditi pickup line. Jadne žene. :rofl:
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Emericzy
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Joined: 20 Sep 2011, 19:00

09 Jul 2012, 20:41

Leteća » wrote:Aupičku, nisam to trebala učiniti. .facepalm:

Sad će Emer iz ovog izvaditi pickup line. Jadne žene. :rofl:
Meni ne treba pickup line. Za mene možda treba. Image
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