Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Plath & Celan.

I'm not sure if the comparison has ever been made, but Plath's Daddy is strikingly similar to Paul Celan's Todesfugue. Celan (bio) is one if Europe's, if not the world's, greatest post-war lyric poets. If you can read German, you owe it to yourself to read his poems, especially from the collection Attemwende. If you can't read German, you still owe it to yourself, because it's still awesome in translation. Todesfugue, published in 1952, is not his best work, but is certainly his most famous.

Deathfugue (trans. John Felstiner)

    Black milk of daybreak we drink it at evening
    we drink it at midday and morning we drink it at night
    we drink and we drink
    we shovel a grave in the air where you won't lie too cramped
    A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
    he writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair Margareta
    he writes it and steps out of doors and the stars are all sparkling he whistles his hounds to stay close
    he whistles his Jews into rows has them shovel a grave in the ground
    he commands us play up for the dance

    Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
    we drink you at morning and midday we drink you at evening
    we drink and we drink
    A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
    he writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair Margareta
    Your ashen hair Shulamith we shovel a grave in the air where you won't live too cramped

    He shouts dig this earth deeper you lot there you others sing up and play
    he grabs for the rod in his belt he swings it his eyes are so blue
    stick your spades deeper you lot there you others play on for the dancing

    Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
    we drink you at midday and morning we drink you at evening
    we drink and we drink
    a man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margareta
    your aschenes Haar Shulamith he plays with his vipers
    . . .

    He shouts play death more sweetly this Death is a master from Deutschland
    he shouts scrape your strings darker you'll rise up as smoke to the sky
    you'll then have a grave in the clouds where you won't lie too cramped

    Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
    we drink you at midday Death is a master aus Deutschland
    we drink you at evening and morning we drink and we drink
    this Death is ein Meister aus Deutschland his eye it is blue
    he shoots you with shot made of lead shoots you level and true
    a man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margarete
    he looses his hounds on us grants us a grave in the air
    he plays with his vipers and daydreams der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland

    dein goldenes Haar Margarete
    dein aschenes Haar Sulamith

    Original text:

    Todesfugue

      Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken sie abends
      wir trinken sie mittags und morgens wir trinken sie nachts
      wir trinken und trinken
      wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng
      Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
      der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
      er schreibt es und tritt vor das Haus und es blitzen die Sterne er pfeift seine Rüden herbei
      er pfeift seine Juden hervor läßt schaufeln ein Grab in der Erde
      er befiehlt uns spielt auf nun zum Tanz

      Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
      wir trinken dich morgens und mittags wir trinken dich abends
      wir trinken und trinken
      Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
      der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
      Dein aschenes Haar Sulamith wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng

      Er ruft stecht tiefer ins Erdreich ihr einen ihr andern singet und spielt
      er greift nach dem Eisen im Gurt er schwingts seine Augen sind blau
      stecht tiefer die Spaten ihr einen ihr andern spielt weiter zum Tanz auf

      Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
      wir trinken dich mittags und morgens wir trinken dich abends
      wir trinken und trinken
      ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
      dein aschenes Haar Sulamith er spielt mit den Schlangen
      Er ruft spielt süßer den Tod der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
      er ruft streicht dunkler die Geigen dann steigt ihr als Rauch in die Luft
      dann habt ihr ein Grab in den Wolken da liegt man nicht eng

      Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
      wir trinken dich mittags der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
      wir trinken dich abends und morgens wir trinken und trinken
      der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland sein Auge ist blau
      er trifft dich mit bleierner Kugel er trifft dich genau
      ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
      er hetzt seine Rüden auf uns er schenkt uns ein Grab in der Luft
      er spielt mit den Schlangen und träumet der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland

      dein goldenes Haar Margarete
      dein aschenes Haar Sulamith

    If you are super keen, you may have noticed that Celan misspeaks in the third stanza, saying "spielt weiter zum tanz auf" instead of "singet und spielt." In his analysis, John Felstiner links this mistake to Celan's hypersensitivity to the pain of the German language (he wrote exclusively German, the language his oppressors, those who killed his parents and put him in the camps).
    Plath also knew of this pain. Consider the line "Ich, ich, ich, ich:" In English, "I" is a whole sound, a round sound that rolls on the glottis; in German, however, it is a choking sound: the "I" is suddenly interrupted by the glottal stop of "ch." Thus, "Ich" is a broken sound, a broken identity. Celan deals with this physical and emotional pain of German extensively, most notably in Die Silbe Schmerz (The Syllable Pain) and Frankfurt, September.

5 comments:

  1. Winn--

    I was talking to our mutual friend AJ today about German, and seeing as I have a little (only a little) experience with the language, it'd be good to bring that conversation here. I think the most relatable-to-this-class subject we talked about was the gendering of nouns. In a language such as German, to what extent are nouns "genderized?" Perhaps you can elaborate further, as I have no real experience with the language. It seems to me, though, that these gender articles are placed somewhat arbitrarily. So, how do we interpret the der, die and the das of a text? Is it, again, arbitrary, or can we read further into a noun based on it's appropriated article? Food for thought.

    Thanks for your post about Celan, and especially for posting the original text.

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  2. I too have little experience. From talking with AJ and my other friend Collin (in Deutschland jetzt), my impression is that there are three genders: Male, Female, and Neuter. (der, die, das), and these genders are somewhat arbitrarily dispersed, making them notoriously hard to predict. Germanophones just seem to have an implicit concept of categories into which nouns fall. There are some vague rules about gender as follows: abstract nouns are always female, things in nature are often male, diminutives are always neuter. perhaps there are more that i'm not aware of.
    It's interesting, however, that it is only the word that is gendered, not the referent. For instance, you could call the ocean die see, der ozean, or das meer.

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  4. Perhaps it's a sociological notion that such things should embody their identifying gender (?). Is the English so set in it's binaries that we try to read those binaries into other languages when such distinctions do not exist. It brings into question the definition of the word "Gender." Perhaps calling a word masculine or feminine does not imply any human distinction, as the traditional definitions suggest.

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  5. it at least hints at the arbitrariness of these anthropomorphisms. in many gendered languages (esp. latinate ones), the sun is male and the moon female, but it's the opposite in german.

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