I am not a poet. I have great admiration for those who can weave so much meaning into so few words, perfectly composed, lyrical like music. I had a teacher who used to have us write cover poems, which was easier for me than creating my own - starting with a famous poem and rewriting it to be more personal. This is a cover poem of Sylvia Plath’s “Daddy.” The first and last stanzas are almost the same as the original.
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. Mama, I have had to kill you, Before the cancer was through. Your marble-heavy heart Thrash thrash thrashing to get lose Fat and smiling, it was always you On my head in the freakish Atlantic Where bean green pours into saline blue Even with my last breath I used to pray to recover you Yes mama, it’s true. Your tongue, forked like the Pacolet Lashed and formed me like a scar I have no fear of war, war, war. Your touch, my tattoo My raven friend Says there are a dozen of you So I never could tell when or who Teacher, Christian, Mother I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw It stuck on a hickory bush Mama, it was me or you. I could hardly breathe I thought every poisoned plant was you, Whether bitter taste or pallid hue Your arms held me, Mama Cradled me like a pall I bent, jackknifed, a crooked creek And emptied out like you I fear I may be like you. In Cherokee County The tales are not so pure or true Whether hung, or drowned, or chopped in two Or pulled down from a laughing sky Eriopis had a mother like you I have always been scared of you, In your sweater sets, playing peek-a-boo My rabbit heart emptying out on you Stone-skin mama, my shirt pale blue. The Weeping Woman, Spearfinger, O You—— Mother - your nature is a storm So big no sky squeaks through Every good student craves a teacher The boot in the face, a gentle embrace - - Cronus heart in a crone like you. You stand at the blackboard, mama In a memory I have of you Those children, they loved you No less a witch for that, not you The same woman who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was six when I first drowned you By twenty I wanted to die To get back, back, back at you. I thought even the bones would do. You cut up the words inside my head And stuck them together with glue. And then! I knew what to do. I made models of you, Sweet-tongued serpents with hearts of blue And a love of the rack and the screw. Do unto others, as you’d have them do unto you So mama, I’m finally through. The black telephone’s off at the root, Your voices just can’t worm through. If I’ve killed one mare, I’ve killed a few—— The vampire who said his intent was true And drank my blood for a year or two... Three, if I’m honest Mama, I know it was you. You can lie back now, mama. Adieu, adieu. 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. Mama, mama, you vicious witch, I’m through.
Read the original, Sylvia Plath’s “Daddy”
As you know, I can totally relate and this spoke to me in so many ways. Wish I could express it so beautifully.
That's a lot of pain---I'm sorry for the fire you have been through and celebrate your emergence on the other side.