Is tango macho ?
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.
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.
"Daddy" - Sylvia Plath Poems
Sylvia - The Movie
Director: Christine Jeffs
Cast: Gwyneth Paltrow, Daniel Craig, Jared Harris, Blythe Danner, Amira Casar, Lucy Davenport, Michael Gambon, Eliza Wade
"Dying is an art," are the first words uttered in Christine Jeffs’ biopic Sylvia, but it’s tough to say that the film agrees. At least to the degree that Jeffs finds art in Sylvia Plath’s death, she finds tragedy and waste. The film strikes an even-handed tone that, while still respecting the legend that Plath (Gwyneth Paltrow) would posthumously become, refuses to glorify the author’s suffering. After all, to glorify her as a Nietschen artist that needed to suffer to create, it would need to let us get closer to than it ever does. Everything in this sometimes inscrutable movie resists pigeonholing. Even the opening credits, which place white titles a classy font on a black background, slowly and subtly pull away from us as we read them. When the camera finally moves back toward the action, and slowly zooms closer to Sylvia, we see her reading a poem by her future husband, Ted Hughes (Daniel Craig). This makes sense, since for the first half of Sylvia, at least, it’s Hughes observation of his wife that helps us get closer to her.
Hughes and Plath share a tumultuous romance that begins predictably, if in a manner more highbrow than usual. During their brief courtship, these literary minds prattle off poetry at a rapid pace and voraciously quote Chaucer and Romeo and Juliet (the death scene, of course) at one another. It’s not long, however, before cracks in their relationship begin to show. Sylvia becomes increasingly suspicious of her womanising husband. More troubling still, is Ted’s rising awareness of his wife’s mental instability.
The film details the dynamics of both their attraction to and repulsion from one another with an unusual degree of sensitivity. Never does it feel like Plath’s condition is being exploited to create headier drama. There’s a well-staged scene where Plath’s mother (played by Paltrow’s real life mother Blythe Danner) tells Hughes to "Be good to her, always". That statement sounds like nothing less than a warning, yet the film thankfully doesn’t posit that Hughes’ poor treatment of his wife is the main catalyst in her self-destruction.
Still much is unknown about the Universe. Dark matter and dark energy compose about 95% of it, shining stars and planets are only a little part of the the atmosphere. The relationship between dark and luminous is a clustering one. Clustering of luminous matters like galaxies, corresponds to dark matter clustering. Clothing in tango is mostly black, combined with serious faces and the sad organ-like sound of the bandoneon does make the atmosphere mystic. Black evokes dignity, power and even threat. Black is the symbol of authority and its severity is often used in a persuasion strategy to portray a seriousness. Dark clothing has the practical benefit that transpiration marks are less visible. The darkness of the black dressed tanguero illuminates the woman's movements. It shines even more if she is in red. As the blood of every living thing is red, it's symbolism is bounded to it.