'Daddy'
Symbolism and Imagery, Theme of War, Plath as a Modern Narrator, A Historian
Sylvia Plath (1932- 1963) was a great,
prominent and eminent poetess of Modern era. Her pen name was Victoria Lucas.
She was born in the United States but lived and died at the age of thirty in
the UK. She was alive during the World War II (1939-1945) when Nazi Germany opened
a succession of invasions from Poland in 1939 and conquered the whole Europe
within six years. Their primary motive was the genocide of the European Jews
whom Adolf Hitler and his Nazi Party (Gestapo) had declared vampires.
Her poem ‘Daddy’ is a record of the Europeans’
impression on the supremacy of Hitler, his act of butchering the Whites in
general and the holocaust of Jews in special. She appears to be a spokesperson
of the whole Europe and describes their fear, anxiety, chaos, disintegration
and destruction that resulted in the wake of war. But her style is very unique.
She makes use of symbolism and imagery to convey her heartfelt feelings, deep
emotions and current indignation under the guise of symbolic implications.
The very title of the poem ‘Daddy’ is
suggestive of someone authoritative. In the US, ‘The Supreme Example’ is used
as a slang for father. Hence, Plath had these connotations in her mind when she
was choosing a suitable title for her widely appreciated poem ‘Daddy’. There
will be no fear of contradiction if we say that the word ‘Daddy’ is a symbolic
representation of Adolf Hitler who is the finest exemplar of all dictators.
Sylvia, in her famous poem ‘Daddy’, appears to
be a narrator of a true and factual warfare which the history cannot forget
ever. She deals with the minutest aspects of this heart trembling warful story.
“….… , In the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.”
History reveals that after gaining full
control over all countries in neighbourhood, Hitler decided to extend his
dominion beyond the Europe and reached Asia to fight against Russia. The
Russian army thrusted him back and enforced his forces to retreat. On his
return to capital, Adolf Hitler smelt the rat that the Allies had entered Berlin
to defeat him. He could not stand failure; therefore, he preferred to commit
suicide and died from a self-inflicted gunshot.
The narrator, in a very skillful manner,
presents a queer mixture of prevalent fears, direful destruction and terrific
disaster; and the sentiments of celebration, pageantry and gaiety. The whole of
Europe celebrated Hitler’s death who had claimed the death of almost six
million Jewish men, women and children within a short span of time.
“The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year
Seven years, if you want to know.”
It was a sparking news for the people who had
become psycho patients and anxiety stricken. Hence, his death gave birth to
hope, integrity and sense of security which the Europeans had been missing for
the last half decade. Sylvia feels the same ray of hope and records her
impression in the very opening lines;
“You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe.”
Where ‘Do’ means do exist. These lines speak
of Silvia’s (mouthpiece of whole Europe) reaction on the news of Hitler’s death and she at once
says in a very detestable tone that he does exist no more. The use of
phrase ‘Black Shoe’ (symbolizes dark period but here Plath used it for Hitler) adds scoffing meaning to its preceding line.
As a modern poetess, Plath has wielded symbolism
and imagery as her weapons to give utterance to her soul’s voice. She
successfully produces the image of black shoe in the minds of the readers which
is suggestive of Hitler’s strict and strangling rules imposed on all whites. In
fact, she wants to say that they had as less liberty left with them, in their
spheres of life, as a foot is liberal in a befitting hob nailed shoe. The
European inhabitants were too fettered fast to live a life. Such ideas find
expression when Plath writes;
“In which I had lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white.”
She reminds us of the metaphysical poetry of
John Donne when she makes rare comparisons. Her simile of foot is as matchless
and unique as her metaphor of black shoe is. In fact, she wants to say that
every European was suppressed and persecuted though innocent by the virtue of being
white ( =symbolic representation of purity and innocence).
The Europeans had no other alternate than to
pray for God’ Mercy in such miserable conditions. They, the whites, kept
praying and he, the black shoe, continued his brutality.
“I used to pray to recover you
Ach, du.”
By ‘Recover’ Plath means ‘to deviate’ (=from
monarchy) and ‘Ach, du’ being German phrase, which is used to call out ‘Oh man’
to show disappointment on one’s bad acts, symbolizes here an offensive German
man ‘Hitler’.
She could not dare speak or write against the
brutality and suppression of the time; therefore, her works were published
later after her death.
“The tongue stuck in my jaw
It stuck in a barb wire snare
Ich, ich, ich
I could hardly speak.”
The Europeans and the Jews were equally afraid
of the very sight of Hitler. Plath makes
use of the situation and passes ironic statements soaked with satire and calls
him a truck ( =Tank here) driver.
“And your neat moustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue
Panzer man, Panzer man, O You.”
Hitler’s policies enforced the Europeans
either to emigrate or to live in remote villages. It is said that the narrator
herself lived in a camp in an unknown place. Plath’s choice of word ‘Villagers’
is matchless. It represents the Europeans and their miserable conditions
simultaneously.
“And the villagers never liked you
They always knew it was you
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I am through.”
To conclude, we may say that Sylvia Plath has
left no stone unturned in revealing the true picture of Adolf Hitler and his
warlike policies, the genocide of the Jews and the miserable conditions of the
whole Europe. Plath has recorded her impression and wreaked her vengeance very
systematically by making use of such literary devices as irony, satire,
symbolism and imagery. She has described the facts like a historian and the
readers cannot help appreciating her diction and plethora of images.
Poem: ‘Daddy’
(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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