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  • Sylvia Plath

    Lady Lazarus

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Originaltext

Lady Lazarus Liedtext

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it,
A sort of walking miracle,
My skin, bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot
A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.
 
Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?
Yes, yes, herr professor, it is I.
Can you deny the nose, the eye pits,
The full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.
 
Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
 
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand and foot,
The big strip tease.
 
Gentlemen, ladies,
These are my hands,
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,
I may be Japanese,
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
 
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.
The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut to the seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
 
Dying is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I’ve a call.
 
It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
It’s the theatrical comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:
‘A miracle!’ That knocks me out.
 
There is a charge for the eyeing of my scars,
There is a charge for the hearing of my heart,
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
 
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
 
Ash, ash,
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
 
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
 

 

Übersetzungen von „Lady Lazarus“
Russisch #1, #2
Sylvia Plath: Top 3
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