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Sylvia Plath: Morning Song
D'liab håd di'n d'gäng gsetzt wiar a fette goidne uhr
D'hebam schlågt da'f 'd fuaßsoin und dei rescha schroa
suacht sein plåtz unta de Element.
Unsane Stimmen: 's Echo, vaherrlichn dei Aunkunft. Neiche statjue.
in am zugig'n museum
stöllst du, nåckat
unsa sichaheit in schåttn.
Mia stengan uma - blaunk wia de wänd.
i bin ned mehr dei muata
wia d'woikn, de in ihrm sölb-zognan spüagi,
zuaschaugt, ihrm eigna vablåssn,
wiar's da wind waht.
durch d'nåcht ziadat dei mottn-åtm
unta de flåchn, oid-rosan rosn. I wåch auf, dira zua-z'hearn
a ferns meer findt si mei ohr
Oa schroa, und mi wandlts vom bett; kuah-schwaa und blöamelig
in meim oidmuattrign nåchtgwaund
dei goschal tuast sauba auf wiara katzl. - d'Fenstascheibm
wird liacht und vaschluckt d'vablichan stern und jiazt übst
dei händ-voi notn:
de kloaren vokale steign wiar d'ballon.
SYLVIA PLATH: MORNING SONG
Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.
Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.
I'm no more your mother
Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind's hand.
All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.
One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square
Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.
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