Art of Literature Final
Browning, "Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister" (737-38)
Gr-r-r--there go, my heart's abhorrence! Water your damned flower-pots, do! If hate killed men, Brother Lawrence, God's blood, would not mine kill you! What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming? Oh, that rose has prior claims-- Needs its leaden vase filled brimming? Hell dry you up with its flames! At the meal we sit together; Salve tibi! I must hear Wise talk of the kind of weather, Sort of season, time of year: Not a plenteous cork crop: scarcely Dare we hope oak-galls, I doubt; What's the Latin name for "parsley"? What's the Greek name for "swine's snout"? Whew! We'll have our platter burnished, Laid with care on our own shelf! With a fire-new spoon we're furnished, And a goblet for ourself, Rinsed like something sacrificial Ere 'tis fit to touch our chaps-- Marked with L. for our initial! (He-he! There his lily snaps!) Saint, forsooth! While Brown Dolores Squats outside the Convent bank With Sanchicha, telling stories, Steeping tresses in the tank, Blue-black, lustrous, thick like horsehairs, --Can't I see his dead eye glow, Bright as 'twere a Barbary corsair's? (That is, if he'd let it show!) When he finishes refection, Knife and fork he never lays Cross-wise, to my recollection, As do I, in Jesu's praise. I the Trinity illustrate, Drinking watered orange pulp-- In three sips the Arian frustrate; While he drains his at one gulp! Oh, those melons! if he's able We're to have a feast; so nice! One goes to the Abbot's table, All of us get each a slice. How go on your flowers? None double? Not one fruit-sort can you spy? Strange!--And I, too, at such trouble, Keep them close-nipped on the sly! There's a great text in Galatians, Once you trip on it, entails Twenty-nine distinct damnations, One sure, if another fails; If I trip him just a-dying, Sure of heaven as sure can be, Spin him round and send him flying Off to hell, a Manichee? Or, my scrofulous French novel On grey paper with blunt type! Simply glance at it, you grovel Hand and foot in Belial's gripe; If I double down its pages At the woeful sixteenth print, When he gathers his greengages, Ope a sieve and slip it in't? Or, there's Satan!--one might venture Pledge one's soul to him, yet leave Such a flaw in the indenture As he'd miss till, past retrieve, Blasted lay that rose-acacia We're so proud of! Hy, Zy, Hine... 'St, there's Vespers! Plena gratia Ave, Virgo! Gr-r-r--you swine!
Blake, "London" (801-02)
I wander thro' each charter'd street, Near where the charter'd Thames does flow. And mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every Man, In every Infants cry of fear, In every voice: in every ban, The mind-forg'd manacles I hear How the Chimney-sweepers cry Every blackning Church appalls, And the hapless Soldiers sigh Runs in blood down Palace walls But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlots curse Blasts the new-born Infants tear And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse
Wordsworth, "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" Analysis
The speaker was walking around through the hills and valleys, but he felt all lonely and mopey. Suddenly, as he passed a lake, he noticed a big group of yellow daffodils waving in the breeze. This wasn't just some scattered patch of daffodils. We're talking thousands and thousands around this particular bay. And all these flowers were dancing. Yes, the daffodils danced, and so did the waves of the lake. But the daffodils danced better. The speaker's loneliness was replaced by joy, but he didn't even realize what a gift he has received until later. Now, whenever he's feeling kind of blah, he just thinks of the daffodils, and his heart is happily dancing.
Alexander, "Ars Poetica #100: I Believe" Analysis
By using an abundance of figurative language, the poem lightly and mawkishly conveys the loss and gain of happiness. This poem reverently expressed the importance of a poem's simple existence rather than its strict meaning. Using a dark yet passionate tone, this poem dramatizes the conflict between what a poem is and what a poem should be. Through a nostalgic tone, this poem dramatizes the conflict between loneliness and happy memories by alluding to the fact that even while the speaker is alone and sad, he can still feel the same joy he felt years before. This poem dramatizes the conflict between loneliness and happiness through a hopeful tone. This poem whimsically and gleefully demonstrates how happy memories can bring back happy thoughts. The poem abstractly and meditatively conveys the theme that loving something can suppress the feeling of loneliness.
Mos Def, "Hip Hop" (893-95)
You say one for the trebble two for the time Come on y'all let's rock this! You say one for the trebble two for the time Come on! Speech is my hammer bang the world into shape Now let it fall... (Hungh!!) My restlessness is my nemesis It's hard to really chill and sit still Committed to page I write rhymes Sometimes won't finish for days Scrutinize my literature from the large to the miniature I mathematically add-minister Subtract the wack Selector, wheel it back, I'm feeling that (Ha ha ha) From the core to the perimeter black, You know the motto Stay fluid even in staccato (Mos Def) Full blooded, full throttle Breathe deep inside the trunk hollow There's the hum, young man where you from Brooklyn number one Native son, speaking in the native tongue I got my eyes on tomorrow (there it is) While you still try to follow where it is I'm on the Ave where it lives and dies Violently, silently Shine so vibrantly that eyes squint to catch a glimpse Embrace the bass with my dark ink fingertips Used to speak the king's English But caught a rash on my lips So now my chat just like dis Long range from the base-line (switch) Move like an apparition Float to the ground with ammuntion (chi-chi-chi-POW) Move from the gate, voice cued on your tape Putting food on your plate Many crews can relate Who choosing your fate (yo) We went from picking cotton To chain gang line chopping To Be-Bopping To Hip-Hopping Blues people got the blue chip stock option Invisible man, got the whole world watching I'm high, low, east, west, All over your map I'm getting big props, with this thing called hip hop Where you can either get paid or get shot When your product in stock The fair-weather friends flock When your chart position drop Then the phone calls.... Chill for a minute Let's see whoelse tops Snatch your shelf spot Don't gas yourself ock The industry just a better built cell block A long way from the shell tops And the bells that L rocked (rock, rock, rock, rock...) Hip Hop is prosecution evidence The out of court settlement Ad space for liquor Sick without benefits (hungh!) Luxury tenements choking the skyline It's low life getting tree-top high Here there's a back water remedy Bitter intent to memory A class E felony Facing the death penalty (hungh!) Stimulant and sedative, original repetitive Violently competitive, a school unacredited The break beats you get broken with on time and inappropriate Hip Hop went from selling crack to smoking it Medicine for loneliness Remind me of Thelonius and Dizzy Propers to be -Boys getting busy The war-time snap shot The working man's jack-pot A two dollar snack box Sold beneath the crack spot Olympic sponsor of the black glock Gold medalist in the back shot From the sovereign state of the have-nots Where farmers have trouble with cash crops (woooo) It's all city like phase two Hip Hop will simply amaze you Craze you, pay you Do whatever you say do But black, it can't save you
Blake, "London" Analysis
London was a bad place back in the 1790s. Just ask the speaker of this poem, who takes a walk around an area near the Thames. He can hear all kinds of cries, from adults and kids alike. He sees people who look just awful, a church that's getting blacker all the time, and a palace that appears to have blood on its walls. Eesh. While walking at midnight, he hears something really bad: a harlot (prostitute) cursing her infant for crying. All in all? Bad times, y'all.
Arnold, "Dover Beach" Analysis
"Dover Beach" opens with a quiet scene. A couple looks out on the moonlit water of the English Channel, and listens to the sound of the waves. Then, all of a sudden it zooms out. And we mean way out. See, the sound of the waves makes the speaker think first of ancient Greece. Yep, Greece. Then he turns the sound of the surf into a metaphor for human history, and the gradual, steady loss of faith that his culture has experienced. The poem ends on a gorgeous, heartbreaking note, with the couple clinging to their love in a world of violence and fear and pain.
Marvell, "To His Coy Mistress" Analysis
"To His Coy Mistress" is divided into three stanzas or poetic paragraphs. It's spoken by a nameless man, who doesn't reveal any physical or biographical details about himself, to a nameless woman, who is also biography-less. During the first stanza, the speaker tells the mistress that if they had more time and space, her "coyness" (see our discussion on the word "coy" in "What's Up With the Title?") wouldn't be a "crime." He extends this discussion by describing how much he would compliment her and admire her, if only there was time. He would focus on "each part" of her body until he got to the heart (and "heart," here, is both a metaphor for sex, and a metaphor for love). In the second stanza he says, "BUT," we don't have the time, we are about to die! He tells her that life is short, but death is forever. In a shocking moment, he warns her that, when she's in the coffin, worms will try to take her "virginity" if she doesn't have sex with him before they die. If she refuses to have sex with him, there will be repercussions for him, too. All his sexual desire will burn up, "ashes" for all time. In the third stanza he says, "NOW," I've told you what will happen when you die, so let's have sex while we're still young. Hey, look at those "birds of prey" mating. That's how we should do it - but, before that, let's have us a little wine and time (cheese is for sissies). Then, he wants to play a game - the turn ourselves into a "ball" game. (Hmmm.) He suggests, furthermore, that they release all their pent up frustrations into the sex act, and, in this way, be free. In the final couplet, he calms down a little. He says that having sex can't make the "sun" stop moving. In Marvell's time, the movement of the sun around the earth (we now know the earth rotates around the sun) was thought to create time. Anyway, he says, we can't make time stop, but we can change places with it. Whenever we have sex, we pursue time, instead of time pursuing us. This fellow has some confusing ideas about sex and time. Come to think of it, we probably do, too. "To His Coy Mistress" offers us a chance to explore some of those confusing thoughts.
Hecht, "The Dover Bitch" (775-76)
A Criticism of Life: for Andrews Wanning So there stood Matthew Arnold and this girl With the cliffs of England crumbling away behind them, And he said to her, 'Try to be true to me, And I'll do the same for you, for things are bad All over, etc., etc.' Well now, I knew this girl. It's true she had read Sophocles in a fairly good translation And caught that bitter allusion to the sea, But all the time he was talking she had in mind The notion of what his whiskers would feel like On the back of her neck. She told me later on That after a while she got to looking out At the lights across the channel, and really felt sad, Thinking of all the wine and enormous beds And blandishments in French and the perfumes. And then she got really angry. To have been brought All the way down from London, and then be addressed As a sort of mournful cosmic last resort Is really tough on a girl, and she was pretty. Anyway, she watched him pace the room And finger his watch-chain and seem to sweat a bit, And then she said one or two unprintable things. But you mustn't judge her by that. What I mean to say is, She's really all right. I still see her once in a while And she always treats me right. We have a drink And I give her a good time, and perhaps it's a year Before I see her again, but there she is, Running to fat, but dependable as they come. And sometimes I bring her a bottle of Nuit d' Amour.
Dickinson, "Because I could not stop for death" (839)
Because I could not stop for Death - He kindly stopped for me - The Carriage held but just Ourselves - And Immortality. We slowly drove - He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility - We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess - in the Ring - We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain - We passed the Setting Sun - Or rather - He passed us - The Dews drew quivering and chill - For only Gossamer, my Gown - My Tippet - only Tulle - We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground - The Roof was scarcely visible - The Cornice - in the Ground - Since then - 'tis Centuries - and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses' Heads Were toward Eternity -
Owen, "Dulce et Decorum Est" (878-79)
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs, And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of gas-shells dropping softly behind. Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time, But someone still was yelling out and stumbling And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.— Dim through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. In all my dreams before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,— My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.
Dickinson, "Because I could not stop for death" Analysis
Death, in the form of a gentleman suitor, stops to pick up the speaker and take her on a ride in his horse-drawn carriage. They move along at a pretty relaxed pace and the speaker seems completely at ease with the gentleman. As they pass through the town, she sees children at play, fields of grain, and the setting sun. Pretty peaceful, right? As dusk sets in our speaker gets a little chilly, as she is completely under-dressed - only wearing a thin silk shawl for a coat. She was unprepared for her impromptu date with Death when she got dressed that morning. They stop at what will be her burial ground, marked with a small headstone. In the final stanza, we find out the speaker's ride with Death took place centuries ago (so she's been dead for a long time). But it seems like just yesterday when she first got the feeling that horse heads (like those of the horses that drew the "death carriage") pointed toward "Eternity"; or, in other words, signaled the passage from life to death to an afterlife.
Hopkins, "Pied Beauty" (828-29)
Glory be to God for dappled things - For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings; Landscape plotted and pieced - fold, fallow, and plough; And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise Him.
Marvell, "To His Coy Mistress" (764-66)
Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, Lady, were no crime We would sit down and think which way To walk and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow; An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, Lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song: then worms shall try That long preserved virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust: The grave 's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapt power. Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life: Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Olds, "Sex without Love" (827)
How do they do it, the ones who make love without love? Beautiful as dancers, gliding over each other like ice-skaters over the ice, fingers hooked inside each other's bodies, faces red as steak, wine, wet as the children at birth whose mothers are going to give them away. How do they come to the come to the come to the God come to the still waters, and not love the one who came there with them, light rising slowly as steam off their joined skin? These are the true religious, the purists, the pros, the ones who will not accept a false Messiah, love the priest instead of the God. They do not mistake the lover for their own pleasure, they are like great runners: they know they are alone with the road surface, the cold, the wind, the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio- vascular health--just factors, like the partner in the bed, and not the truth, which is the single body alone in the universe against its own best time.
Whitman, "I celebrate myself, and sing myself" (743-44)
I Celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death. Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten, I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy.
Collins, "Introduction to Poetry" (733)
I ask them to take a poem and hold it up to the light like a color slide or press an ear against its hive. I say drop a mouse into a poem and watch him probe his way out, or walk inside the poem's room and feel the walls for a light switch. I want them to waterski across the surface of a poem waving at the author's name on the shore. But all they want to do is tie the poem to a chair with rope and torture a confession out of it. They begin beating it with a hose to find out what it really means.
Olds, "Sex without Love" Analysis
I think that the main message of this poem is that meaningless sex without love is not love or pleasure, rather a cold and lonely act. I think the poet, Sharon Olds, effectively uses the imagery/theme/metaphor of coldness to portray to the readers this message. In the beginning of the poem, I first thought that the poet perhaps was not criticizing sex without love, rather, commending those who do it. I assumed this because the tone that she uses in the beginning is not condescending or criticizing but makes it sound beautiful. The images she uses are those of "beautiful dancers" and "ice skater" who "glide". Those words are not derogatory nor are they bashing the action of sex without love. Towards the middle of the poem is where I became confused. The poet transitions from the imagery of beautiful dancers and ice skaters to images of redness, and mothers who give their children away. Then the poem takes a hiatus and starts talking about God, which at first confused me, then concludes the poem again with theme of coldness. Furthermore, I was confused because Olds says that the people who have loveless sex are the religious ones, who "will not accept the false messiah, [the ones who] love the priest not God." On the contrary, the more religious one is the less likely hood they are having random sex because religion views sexual activity holy but usually within marriage. The first part of the poem, the poet introduces the idea that even if there is no love, the act itself contains the beautiful imagery of dancers and ice skaters. However, quickly she ditches the idea that it may be beautiful, and instead the image of beauty turns into coldness and redness. The wine and steak and newborn bloody child indicates perhaps this sexual act is sin; red often symbolizing sins in religion. The second part of the poem morphs into the religious aspect of this loveless act; the repercussion is that sex is a holy act yet they don't love the partner in the holy act. These people describe the cliche' "don't be holier than thou", meaning trying to be too holy or too perfect will result in the loss of vision of what's important, it''s the people who serve the priest or the rabbi and not God. They forget they are only the messengers and liaisons. This is the red described in part one. The poet concludes by saying these people are not stupid; they are aware that they are alone because the sex does not mean anything. This is finished with the imagery of a runner, who is running against himself, everything else the road, the wind, the cold, the shoes, the cardio (pun intended from sexual activity which produces high heart rate) are unimportant to the runner, when in fact those factors are what will determine a great run or not. The poet says that the runner who ignores the important aspects of running, like a person who ignores the partner in his/her bed, are missing the truth of what they are doing.
Wordsworth, "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" (705-06)
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.
Young, "Ode to Pork" (881-82)
I wouldn't be here without you. Without you I'd be umpteen pounds lighter & a lot less alive. You stuck round my ribs even when I treated you like a dog dirty, I dare not eat. I know you're the blues because loving you may kill me—but still you rock me down slow as hamhocks on the stove. Anyway you come fried, cued, burnt to within one inch of your life I love. Babe, I revere your every nickname—bacon, chitlin cracklin, sin. Some call you murder, shame's stepsister— then dress you up & declare you white & healthy, but you always come back, sauced, to me. Adam himself gave up a rib to see yours piled pink beside him. Your heaven is the only one worth wanting— you keep me all night cursing your four— letter name, the next begging for you again.
Hecht, "The Dover Bitch" Analysis
In Hecht's version, the speaker, using sloppy late-twentieth-century colloquial diction—itself a mockery of the fastidious stylings of Arnold's poetry—reveals that he "knew" the lady in question (6), and tells the story of the sea-side rendezvous from her perspective, that of a well-read but trivial-minded cocotte, who had come to the sea for pleasure and "blandishments in French" (15) yet received neither, and who had voiced her anger and disappointment in the experience of being brought down to the eponymous shore only to be addressed as a "sort of mournful cosmic last resort" (19). (It should be pointed out here that this woman may be the biggest weakness in the Hecht poem, as it is hard to imagine the honorable Matthew Arnold taking vacation with such a demi-rep). He reflects the hedonistic attitudes and values of the middle twentieth-century, and he seems able to understand the physical needs of the woman Arnold's speaker seems so blind to. But on second consideration, we see that Hecht has slyly undercut his speaker's position as judge of Matthew Arnold. The Hecht speaker has no moral concerns at all and, far from taking the world too earnestly, lives without any ethical considerations other than the desire to get whatever pleasure he can. The sub-title of "The Dover Bitch," is "A Criticism of Life," a phrase taken from Arnold's essay "The Study of Poetry" (Matthew Arnold: Selected Prose, Penguin, 1987, 340-66). And the poem works as a criticism not so much of Arnold's world, but of the developing American slacker "cool" outlook of the twentieth century, much like what Matthew Arnold refers to in the same essay as "charlatanism," an approach to life that does not concern itself with making "distinctions between excellent and inferior" (341), or right and wrong for that matter.
Mos Def, "Hip Hop" Analysis
In the poem, he proclaims his devotion to the culture and process of hip hop music. Using a song as his medium, the ultimate point Mos Def makes explains the dichotomy of hip hop music's power and resilience, with its ties to the black community. Utilizing strategic poetic form in addition to content, Mos Def aptly represents hip hop music as an art form embodied by strength, tenacity, and deep cultural roots. And with that basis, he ultimately aligns those qualities of hip hop with the strength he sees in the black body. When Mos Def writes, "I mathematically add-minister, subtract the wack" (10), he employs a double-entendre to describe his meticulous word placement throughout the poem. Firstly, he means "I mathematically administer", referring to control of each individual word's purpose. This approach is evident from lines where Mos Def draws out each syllable for an identical amount of time, like "Break beats you get broken with on time and inappropriate / Hip hop went from selling crack to smoking it" (53-54). Near-rhymes here also assist in a hammering, hard-hitting delivery. Secondly, Mos Def says "I mathematically add-minister", meaning he employs form to convey in his work. He utters particular words in deliberate ways, "Used to speak the King's English, but caught a rash on my lips / Now my chat just like this" (23-24). When Mos Def raps the poem, he says "English" like "En-g-lish" - satirically annunciating each syllable to mock "King's English", a supposedly proper way of speaking employed primarily by 19th century white people. Later, he pronounces "this" like "dis" when he mentions his new way of speaking (the "native tongue" that the poem praises). By manipulating speech to function like a hard hitting hammer of language, Mos Def sets the scene (by explaining the power that hip hop holds) to deliver his thesis: that hip hop music functions as a powerful tool that mirrors the power of the black community. This theme manifests itself through Mos Def's continual allusions to African American culture and the black experience. Mos Def leaves the reader with affirmation of hip hop's ability to provoke change and astound listeners - like his hammer metaphor. Furthermore, the black community also can strike the world like a hammer and make positive change. By writing a powerful and hard-hitting poem, Mos Def can portray hip hop and the black community in the same way.
Owen, "Dulce et Decorum Est" analysis
It's just another day on the battlefields of World War I . As our speaker lets us know right away, however, "normal" isn't a word that has any meaning for the soldiers anymore. They're all mentally and physically ravaged by the exertions of battle. And then it gets worse. Just as the men are heading home for the night, gas shells drop beside them. The soldiers scramble for their gas masks in a frantic attempt to save their own lives. Unfortunately, they don't all get to their masks in time. Our speaker watches as a member of his crew chokes and staggers in the toxic fumes, unable to save him from an excruciating certain death. Now fast-forward. It's some time after the battle, but our speaker just can't get the sight of his dying comrade out of his head. The soldier's image is everywhere: in the speaker's thoughts, in his dreams, in his poetry. Worst of all, our speaker can't do anything to help the dying soldier. Bitterly, the speaker finally addresses the people at home who rally around the youth of England, and urge them to fight for personal glory and national honor. He wonders how they can continue to call for war. If they could only witness the physical agony war creates - or even experience the emotional trauma that the speaker's going through now - the speaker thinks they might change their views. In the speaker's mind, there's noting glorious or honorable about death. Or, for that matter, war itself.
Hughes, "Ballad of the Landlord" (744)
Landlord, landlord, My roof has sprung a leak. Don't you 'member I told you about it Way last week? Landlord, landlord, These steps is broken down. When you come up yourself It's a wonder you don't fall down. Ten Bucks you say I owe you? Ten Bucks you say is due? Well, that's Ten Bucks more'n I'll pay you Till you fix this house up new. What? You gonna get eviction orders? You gonna cut off my heat? You gonna take my furniture and Throw it in the street? Um-huh! You talking high and mighty. Talk on ⎯ till you get through. You ain't gonna be able to say a word If I land my fist on you. Police! Police! Come and get this man! He's trying to ruin the government And overturn the land! Copper's whistle! Patrol bell! Arrest. Precinct Station. Iron cell. Headlines in press: MAN THREATENS LANDLORD TENANT HELD NO BAIL JUDGE GIVES NEGRO 90 DAYS IN COUNTY JAIL.
Williams, "The Red Wheelbarrow" Analysis
Line 1-2: The word "depends" makes us think that this is one special wheelbarrow, and we almost feel like the wheelbarrow is being personified at this moment. Line 3-4: Our speaker uses enjambment to split the word "wheel" from the word "barrow." This makes us think about wheelbarrows more carefully. We realize that, just like the word "wheelbarrow," a wheelbarrow is composed primarily of two parts: a wheel and a barrow (the part you put stuff into). Line 3-4: That image of the red wheelbarrow is pretty darn powerful. We see it very clearly in our minds, and all our speaker has to do to paint the image for us is to tell that it is a "red wheelbarrow." If that isn't magic, we don't know what is. Line 6: The assonance of "beside" and "white" gives this line momentum and movement. Line 7: Our speaker uses enjambment to break apart "white chickens." By placing "chickens" on its own, we feel like these must be some important chickens.
Alvarez, "'Poetry Makes Nothing Happen'?" (732-33)
Listening to a poem on the radio, Mike Holmquist stayed awake on his drive home from Laramie on Interstate 80, tapping his hand to the beat of some lines by Longfellow; while overcome by grief one lonesome night when the bathroom cabinet still held her husband's meds, May Quinn reached out for a book by Yeats instead and fell asleep cradling "When You Are Old," not the poet's best, but still... poetry made nothing happen, which was good, given what May had in mind. Writing a paper on a Bishop poem, Jenny Klein missed her ride but arrived home to the cancer news in a better frame of mind. While troops dropped down into Afghanistan in the living room, Naomi Stella clapped to the nursery rhyme her father had turned on, All the king's horses and all the king's men... If only poetry had made nothing happen! If only the president had listened to Auden! Faith Chaney, Lulú Pérez, Sunghee Chen-- there's a list as long as an epic poem of folks who'll swear a poem has never done a thing for them...except... perhaps adjust the sunset view one cloudy afternoon, which made them see themselves or see the world in a different light - degrees of change so small only a poem registers them at all. That's why they can be trusted, why poems might still save us from what happens in the world.
Brehm, "Sea of Faith" (846)
Once when I was teaching "Dover Beach" to a class of freshmen, a young woman raised her hand and said, "I'm confused about this 'Sea of Faith.' " "Well," I said, "let's talk about it. We probably need to talk a bit about figurative language. What confuses you about it?" "I mean, is it a real sea?" she asked. "You mean, is it a real body of water that you could point to on a map or visit on a vacation?" "Yes," she said. "Is it a real sea?" Oh Christ, I thought, is this where we are? Next year I'll be teaching them the alphabet and how to sound words out. I'll have to teach them geography, apparently, before we can move on to poetry. I'll have to teach them history, too- a few weeks on the Dark Ages might be instructive. "Yes," I wanted to say, "it is. It is a real sea. In fact it flows right into the Sea of Ignorance IN WHICH YOU ARE DROWNING. Let me throw you a Rope of Salvation before the Sharks of Desire gobble you up. Let me hoist you back up onto this Ship of Fools so that we might continue our search for the Fountain of Youth. Here, take a drink of this. It's fresh from the River of Forgetfulness." But of course I didn't say any of that. I tried to explain in such a way as to protect her from humiliation, tried to explain that poets often speak of things that don't exist. It was only much later that I wished I could have answered differently, only after I'd betrayed myself and been betrayed that I wished it was true, wished there really was a Sea of Faith that you could wade out into, dive under its blue and magic waters, hold your breath, swim like a fish down to the bottom, and then emerge again able to believe in everything, faithful and unafraid to ask even the simplest of questions, happy to have them simply answered.
Alexander, "Ars Poetica #100: I Believe" (730-31)
Poetry, I tell my students, is idiosyncratic. Poetry is where we are ourselves (though Sterling Brown said "Every 'I' is a dramatic 'I'"), digging in the clam flats for the shell that snaps, emptying the proverbial pocketbook. Poetry is what you find in the dirt in the corner, overhear on the bus, God in the details, the only way to get from here to there. Poetry (and now my voice is rising) is not all love, love, love, and I'm sorry the dog died. Poetry (here I hear myself loudest) is the human voice, and are we not of interest to each other?
Collins, "Introduction to Poetry" Analysis
Right from the get-go this poem has a scholastic feel. We start with a title that is basically straight out of a course catalog. Add to that the fact that the speaker of the poem is a teacher (albeit an unusual one), and we're all set for school. In the poem, the speaker (a teacher) describes how he tries to get "them" (the students) to approach a poem. But try as he might, the teacher can't get the students to appreciate the poem (or poetry) at all—any of this sound familiar? The teacher wants the students to really listen to the sounds in the poem, to look at it, to truly experience it for what it is. And that's a piece of art. But the students just want to figure out what the darn thing is about, and they are willing to use any means necessary to get at the truth (warning: things take a violent turn in stanza six). There is a lesson being taught in this poem, but it is not presented to us in a traditional, academic way. On the bright side, the poem is, as poems go, pretty straightforward.
Auden, "Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone" (802-03)
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead, Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Arnold, "Dover Beach" (766-67)
The sea is calm tonight. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land, Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery; we Find also in the sound a thought, Hearing it by this distant northern sea. The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Hopkins, "Pied Beauty" Analysis
The speaker says we should glorify God because he has given us dappled, spotted, freckled, checkered, speckled, things. (This poem says "dappled" in a lot of different ways.) The speaker goes on to give examples. We should praise God because of the skies with two colors, like a two-colored cow. And the little reddish dots on the side of trout. And the way fallen chestnuts look like red coals in a fire. And the blended colors of the wings of a finch (a kind of bird). And landscapes divided up by humans into plots for farming. And for all the different jobs that humans do. In short, the speaker thinks we should praise God for everything that looks a bit odd or unique, everything that looks like it doesn't quite fit in with the rest. All these beautiful, mixed-up, ever-changing things were created or "fathered" by a God who never changes. The speaker sums up what he believes should be our attitude in a brief, final line: "Praise Him."
Browning, "Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister" Analysis
The unnamed speaker of the poem opens by sputtering and growling as he watches Brother Lawrence pass by. The title of the poem, plus the name "Brother Lawrence," tip us off that the setting is a monastery. The speaker is Brother Lawrence's fellow monk. The speaker goes through his day - working in the monastery gardens, eating his meal, and reading - while grumbling about how immoral and despicable Brother Lawrence is. But after a short time, it becomes clear that the speaker doesn't really have much to complain about. Brother Lawrence seems like an OK guy; the speaker just... hates him. A lot. Enough that he'd be willing to sell his soul to Satan to get rid of his rival. Yikes. That's a lot of hatred in a supposedly righteous, religious man!
Hughes, "Ballad of the Landlord" Analysis
This poem describes a confrontation between a black tenant, living probably in the ghetto of a big-city, USA, and his landlord. The tenant reminds the landlord of his maintenance problems, a leaky roof and broken steps. The landlord ignores the tenant's problems and tells him his ten-dollar rent is due. This response angers the tenant, so he refuses to pay until the landlord fixes the house. Immediately, the landlord threatens to evict him, turn off the heat, and throw all his furniture into the street, if he doesn't pay the rent. Feeling that one threat deserves another, the tenant also threatens the landlord with a punch to the lips to shut him up. The landlord calls the police because of the tenant's threat. The media distorts this incident and portrays the poor tenant (and not the landlord) as the aggressor. The tenant is arrested and thrown to jail, without bail, for 90 days.
Alvarez, "'Poetry Makes Nothing Happen'?" Analysis
Well, poetry can inspire, cheer you up, encourage you, help you grieve, give you hope, and maybe even give you a better outlook on life. Several characters in this poem use poetry to help them. Mike Holmquist is listening to poetry on the radio and it helped him stay awake on his drive. The poem he was listening to may have helped him feel less lonely. May Quinn was reading poetry that may have given her some comfort as she was thinking of her husband (who may be deceased?). The poem she read was about growing older. Jenny Klein was writing a paper on a poem and it helped her find some hope about the cancer she has to deal with. Naomi Stella was clapping to the rhythm of a nursery rhyme while her father listens to the news. Her father had turned on the rhyme for her (maybe to distract her from the noise of the fighting). The poetry itself is not literally doing anything to these characters. It is not affecting the events surrounding their lives. However, it is affecting them personally and emotionally. Poetry can make them feel hope or make them feel better. The last few people mentioned in the poem say that poetry has done nothing for them. Poetry can "adjust the sunset view one cloudy afternoon, which made them see themselves or see the world in a different light - degrees of change so small only a poem registers them at all." If they would think about the poem in a different way, they would realize that it did affect them, just not in the literal sense. According to the poet, Julia Alvarez, poetry makes nothing happen, but can "save us from what happens in the world." I think she is saying we can trust poetry to change us.
Whitman, "I celebrate myself, and sing myself" Analysis
Whitman states what he's going to do in the poem: celebrate himself. This practice might seem a little arrogant, but we'll just go with it. (It turns out, that he's celebrating not only himself, but all of humanity.) He lays out some of his ground rules: we're going to believe ("assume") whatever he believes. At another level, we're going to "take on" whatever roles or personalities the speaker takes on. (This is another definition of the word "assume.") Whitman must have learned to share as a tyke in the sandbox: he offers up the atoms of his body as our own. He introduces another character: his "soul." In this poem, the speaker and his soul are two slightly different things. (Just a note: we normally don't call the speaker of the poem by the poet's name, but in this poem, it just makes things simpler, especially since the speaker tells us that his name is Walt Whitman.) So, Whitman hangs out with his soul, and they look at a blade of summer grass. (The title of the poetry collection to which this poem belongs is Leaves of Grass.) Whitman describes the air as perfume and says he could get drunk on it, but he won't let himself. He wants to get naked and go to the riverbank. He is in love with the air. If you think these images sound kind of erotic, just you wait. There's a reason why Whitman was considered scandalous in his day.
Young, "Ode to Pork" Analysis
by- Kevin Young; tone= celebratory; poem is suggestive and erotic; theme= morality/food/love; "loving you may kill me- but still you rock me down slow- as hammocks on the stove"= even when the pork cause the speaker discomfort, he nonetheless proclaims underlying devotion to it "your heaven is the only one worth wanting"
Auden, "Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone" Analysis
conveys the meaning of overwhelming grief, tragic loss, and an unrelenting pessimism best exemplified in the last lines, "For nothing now can ever come to any good." The tone of the poem is that of a melancholy sadness The title and first line of the poem demonstrate the author's inconsolable grief by commanding the audience to do something which is not possible, "Stop all the clocks." This reference to time could also be an allusion to the death and brevity of life which cause the author such agony. The verbs of the first three lines of the first stanza represent how the author wants to eliminate the distractions of the day - clocks ticking, telephones ringing, dogs barking, pianos playing - in order that everyone may mourn this death. These imperative verbs are all forbidding something and not until the mention of the coffin in line 4 do the verbs begin to be more allowing; "Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come." The next stanza continues to develop the idea of public mourning. The author has been so deeply touched by such a personal loss that he feels the entire world should share in his grief. The subjects of this stanza; the aeroplane, the sky, the white necks of the public doves, and the traffic policemen, are not typically associated with death. However, by incorporating these things into an elaborate funeral procession, the author emphasizes the need for public mourning. Lines 5 and 6 illustrate the importance of the death to the author, for he wants news of it spread across the sky where everyone on earth can see it. Also emphasizing the relationship between the two is the capitalization of the phrase "He Is Dead" from line 6, in which the author tries to deify the deceased. The funeral procession described in lines 7 and 8 serves to further represent both the importance of the deceased and the grief caused by this death. The third stanza, particularly lines 9, 10, and 11, again conveys the intimacy of the relationship between the author and the deceased. The author shows reverence for this man by using exaggerated metaphors to imply his importance to the author. Line 9, "He was my North, my South, my East and West," demonstrates the relationship between the two men and combined with the next line, "My working week and my Sunday rest," implies this relationship to be of a very intimate nature. This is echoed in line 12, "I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong." This can be interpreted to represent the speaker's ignorance toward an inevitable death. The author's love for this man is so all encompassing he describes him as the points of the globe. This love is so strong that the speaker believes it will last forever, not until the death of his companion was the realization made that love, like everything else, will come to an end. The last stanza and in particular line 16 affirms the hopelessness of the poem. The motif of commanding verbs concludes in this stanza where the author serves to convey a purposeless life without the deceased. The readers are instructed to again perform extraordinary tasks in order that the author may mourn. Lines 13 and 14, "The stars are not wanted now: Put out every one: Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;" express the despair of the author. A world without the sun and moon would be void of everything, including life. This sentiment is echoed in the following line, "Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;" Both these hyperbolic metaphors are again intended to symbolize the aimless feelings of the author and the void left by the death of this man. By commanding the audience to dispel of the oceans and remove the forests of the world, the speaker shows both how meaningless life is without his lover and how the world would be able to equate with such a loss. The pessimism of the poem is captured best in line 16, "For nothing now can ever come to any good." The death of this man has devastated the speaker in such a way that he feels both without purpose and unable to see any good in the world. This line concludes the poem and emphasizes the melancholy tone evident throughout. Like the death of his lover, the last line emphasizes the finality of life and an end void of purpose.
Williams, "The Red Wheelbarrow" (829)
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens
Brehm, "Sea of Faith" Analysis
the student is still allowed to keep her innocence and purity while he has to portray this professor and not allowed to sip from the cup of youth
