Everyone has his or her own personal plan when attacking poetry. Over the past couple of blogs, many of us have experimented with these different methods in hopes to fully understand the poem. While these sites might be useful to most, the universal way is TPCASTT. In hopes the phrase “practice makes perfect”, another reiteration of this method will ensure a 5 on the AP Exam. Below is a link that will direct you to a site where you will find for what TPCASTT stands.
http://hs.houstonisd.org/ReaganHS/Academies/Resources/TPCASTT.htm
Analyze a poem from one of these talented modern poets using the TPCASTT method. These are poets from the poetry project; if your poet is on the list please pick a new poet.
Sherman Alexie
Yehuda Amichai
Margaret Atwood
Jimmy Santiago Baca
Seamus Heany
Li-Young Lee
Czeslaw Milosz
Naoimi Shihab Nye
Octavio Paz
Wistawa Szymborska
As well as analyzing one poem from a chosen poet above, take it a step further and write a poem in the style of the author as well. This will give a better feel for the style and rhetorical devices that particular poet uses and why he uses them.
**Use the poem you have read to mimic the style.**
Posted by Ray, Sarah, and Jessica.
Using the TPCASST i analyzed the poem "Early in the Morning" by Li-Young Lee.
ReplyDelete"While the long grain is softening
in the water, gurgling
over a low stove flame, before
the salted Winter Vegetable is sliced
for breakfast, before the birds,
my mother glides an ivory comb
through her hair, heavy
and black as calligrapher’s ink.
She sits at the foot of the bed.
My father watches, listens for
the music of comb
against hair.
My mother combs,
pulls her hair back
tight, rolls it
around two fingers, pins it
in a bun to the back of her head.
For half a hundred years she has done this.
My father likes to see it like this.
He says it is kempt.
But I know
it is because of the way
my mother’s hair falls
when he pulls the pins out.
Easily, like the curtains
when they untie them in the evening."
"Early in the Morning" refers to the actions and events of a morning of a family household. It is the description of how the family rises in the morning and the way the mother prepares herself for the day and how this affects the father. The poem gives the image of a busy kitchen preparing breakfast again, while the mother diligently gets ready and how the father admires the way she does her hair. Lee uses the present tense in the poem to give a feel of ongoing actions like the "long grain softening" and the "water, gurgling" while the mother "glides an ivory comb" through her hair. Lee uses no rhyme scheme. This gives the poem a carefree and simplistic feel to the daily lives of the family. Lee uses similies to further describe the importance of the mother's hair. He writes it is "black as calligrapher's ink" to give the image of its lush darkness. The father likes to undo her hair because it is "like the curtains when they [ the parents] untie them in the evening" The father relates undoing her hair to the comforting feel of their household. Lee, with his simplistic diction, creates a soft and contented mood of the family in the poem. Lee writes with a relaxed and cherished attitude toward the daily life of his household. The attitude of consistency shows that he expects the same routine of each morning. Lee shifts from describing the scene of the house to a proud confirmation of his knowledge of his parent's daily lifestyles and their intimate actions toward each other. "Early in the Morning" describes the awakening of this household and the knowledge that each day presents the same routine and structure as the morning before. The theme in Lee's poem is that while change is inivetable and needed in our lives, humans like the comfort that comes with consistency. We are relaxed by the security that each day we hope will bring the same routine as the previous one.
I wrote the poem "Late in the Evening" to attempt the style of Li-Young Lee.
Late in the Evening
"The grass begins to settle
murmers ceasing
coming to a still.
Lights starting to flicker out
while the stove cools
bellies fulll with a grumble.
As the sounds of the day decresendo
I sit pressed against the window
my thoughts quieting.
With each inhale
comes a sense of drowsyness
The comfort brings me
a soft smile.
A day is finished
but who knows what
expectations may lie within tomorrow."
P.S.- i wrote a better blog but it got lost to cyperspace.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteBlackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney
ReplyDeleteLate August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not
I would like to start off by saying that Jimmy Santiago Baca is the best poet on the list and I'm very sad I can't use him because he was my poet. So, I chose the poem "Blackberry-Picking" by Seamus Heany. The title of the poem gives an obvious indication as to what the topic of the poem is. The instant image of young children trekking through fields covered in sticky black berry juice and buckets bursting at the seems brings the reader back to their childhood and all the memories. The journey to reach the black gold took the children "Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills" in the hopes of filling their "milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots" sets the happy carefree tone of the first half of the poem into great perspective. Half way through the poem, the tone shifts to a gloomy sad nature when the children realize that their labor has resulted in dismay and decomposition. The berries rot every time they are picked but to a child this natural re-occurring process seems like the end of the world. A sense of gloom and empathy is felt and the image of hard work washed down the drain like the sticky residue on the child's fingers leaves the end of the poem sad yet happy because the memory of picking the berries will last forever. This gloomy end to a happy poem ties back with the struggles that Heany had to endure living in a politically and religiously split Ireland.
In reading this poem, I am called back to the days when my friends and I would trek through the fields behind my house to pick blackberries.
Blackberry-Picking 2.0
An overly cautious leap to avoid a familiar 'zap' from the fence.
This fence only a small hurdle compared to the massive brown lumps laying and walking about the fields.
Avoiding these constantly feeding and noisy lumps makes the path crooked.
Our eyes on the black gold that lay the large two fields away.
But, we cannot forget to watch out step or we collide with not so sweet brown pies hidden within the grass.
Our plastic buckets radiate blue and red as we trek ahead.
The first bite so sweet as our teeth penetrate the multiple spheres of the black gold.
So warm, so juicy.
A sudden prick and a lot of buzzing send us running as our buckets pull our arms toward the grass.
We present our prizes to mom and find that we are not hungry for the lunch she prepared for us.
We do not mind because the satisfaction of conquering the rolling hills and massive brown mountains will hold us until dinner.
@Lindsay, very good analysis of the poem you encompassed TPCAST grandly! also I loved how you created a continuation from Lee's Poem "Early in the Morning" and finished the day with "Late in the Evening", very clever.
ReplyDelete@Haley, also very good at analyzing the poem. Nostalgia is very present, and the happiness of summer and berry picking are intertwined. Way to relate his shift in tone with his background!! Cute poem, be careful with flow and wording in some places, but overall good job!
Keep up the good work guys!!! These are great, lets continue to be diverse and analytical!
Window by Czeslaw Milosz
ReplyDeleteI looked out the window at dawn and saw a young apple tree
translucent in brightness.
And when I looked out at dawn once again, an apple tree laden with
fruit stood there.
Many years had probably gone by but I remember nothing of what
happened in my sleep.
From initially reading that the poem is titled "Window," I almost immediately thought of looking through a window and discovering something new, which could lead to an enlightenment on one's part. After reading the poem, I was able to gather that Milosz is describing a view from a window, but shows an elapse in time from the beginning of the poem to the end of it, revealing the attention to detail that many people overlook, along with the beauty of nature and human life that is missed by the blink of an eye. Milosz keeps his words brief yet manages to pick distinct words that bring the represent the neglect of time, like describing "a young apple tree" as being "translucent in brightness," meaning it almost seemed invisible. Once the tree has grown and blossomed in the blink of an eye, Milosz describes the tree as being "laden with fruit," making it sound as though the fruit has been there so long unnoticed that it has become almost of a burden on the tree. Milosz keeps the poem in first person, to make the reader put his- or herself in the shoes of the speaker and really ponder on the little things in life that often go unnoticed. This poem could also considered to be full of symbols, as the tree could represent a human's time on Earth that goes by like the blink of an eye with "sleep" representing all of the events in one's life that seem to be insignificant compared to life and death. Milosz takes a scrutinizing viewpoint towards the human race for being so ignorant towards life in general. There is definitely a shift in the poem, as it begins discussing the innocence in a young tree and ends with the ignorance and oblivious views that humans take as we watch our lives flash before our eyes. In revisiting the title, the idea of a window could also represent humans looking back on their own lives through this window, lives that pass so quickly. Milosz's overall theme deals with the fact that life is so short and should never be taken for granted, something that Milosz attempts to put into perspective with a relate-able idea in society, nature.
My attempt to imitate Czeslaw Milosz and his themes regarding the human experience:
Whispering Wind
A gentle breeze wisps off the sea,
and whispers in my ear.
It softly tells and hopes and dreams, but answer I shall not.
Crashing waves and soothing sand return me to a time,
A time of peace, of love, of play, the depths of youth gone by.
Wrinkles and aches now restrain the boy, the boy who was once me.
If only time went back, not forth, no trouble would there be.
A frail old man who lived so long, no time to sit and cry.
A well lived life; Regret, not I.
For this assignment I chose Margaret Atwood, a famous Canadian writer. She has not only written poetry but also novels and essays. Her collection of poems tend to focus on death, grief, and loss.
ReplyDeleteI lay my moisturized and cleansed face
down on the white fluffy sheet (with the help of the nurse) and close my
eyes, as my mind begins to wander. Thinking
of the days events and praying for… Life.
With a struggle I turn over and my face sinks into the damp pillow-
Damp from my wet, frayed and gray hair, which
My daughter combs each morning as she visits
And we reminisce of the past, grateful for the present, and
Hopeful of the future
But I have this feeing, this sick sense
That today is my last and
I weep, weep for yesterday, for today,
For the tomorrow that will never come.
Weep for old friends, new friends, and those I never met
And for the Life that is replacing me.
The poem by Maragaret Atwood that I chose is called February. Throughout the poem she ties the coldness of Febraury “winter. Time to eat fat/and watch hockey” as well as its theme of love, “Februaury, the month of despair,/ with a skewed heart in the centre”. Its form is like that of a story except a little choppy with the way she breaks the sentences. Because its form resembles a story, the poem is free verse, containing no rhyme scheme. She does not try to use fancy words but she is good at painting a vivid image, especially when she speaks about her cat “He settles/ on my chest, breathing his breath/ of burped-up meat and musty sofas/ purring like a washboard”.
I used TPCASTT to analyze Margaret Atwood's "Siren Song".
ReplyDeleteSiren Song
by Margaret Atwood
Margaret Atwood
This is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is irresistible:
the song that forces men
to leap overboard in squadrons
even though they see the beached skulls
the song nobody knows
because anyone who has heard it
is dead, and the others can't remember.
Shall I tell you the secret
and if I do, will you get me
out of this bird suit?
I don't enjoy it here
squatting on this island
looking picturesque and mythical
with these two feathery maniacs,
I don't enjoy singing
this trio, fatal and valuable.
I will tell the secret to you,
to you, only to you.
Come closer. This song
is a cry for help: Help me!
Only you, only you can,
you are unique
at last. Alas
it is a boring song
but it works every time.
"Siren Song" refers to the ancient mythical beauties that would lead men to their deaths on the sea by singing their song. Upon reading the poem I was able to ascertain that my initial thoughts were correct. Atwood however conveyed her message of nothing is as it appears through her diction and imagery as well as shifts in the tone. the "feathery maniacs" creates a sense that the narrator is stuck in a bad situation and causes the reader to feel sympathetic. Yet, describing the trio as "fatal and valuable" the narrator lets slip her facade to hint at her true purpose, which is to lure the reader in and then "kill"him or her. The tone of a sweet but deadly maiden that pervades the beginning of the poem, changes at the line " I will tell the secret to you.....works every time" the diction within these last stanzas add to the fatal allure of the siren's song.
"The Town Monster"
The entire town wants to make it an outcast- this poor soul, that people love
to hate.
Kids willingly antagonize the form
trying to provoke a response.
The being retreats but where to?
The anwser is most shocking I assure you.
You see the the beast is seen throughout the week, yet mostly on Sundays upon a soapbox.
The name of this hated thing that terrorizes the town in which we live?
A simple greeting will give it,
"Good morning Reverend."
Just a heads up, the original poem, its analysis, and my poem were too long to post together. So I have to link you to the original poem, and then make two posts.
ReplyDeleteYou can read Sherman Alexie's "How to Write the Great American Indian Novel" here: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/how-to-write-the-great-american-indian-novel/
Sherman Alexie's poem, "How to Write the Great American Indian Novel," centers around the role of Native Americans in literature. While the "T" in TPCASTT stands for "Title without reference to the text of the poem," it is hard to remove the title from the poem. The poem is basically a step by step guide to writing a novel with Native American characters, and the title accurately reflects this. Alexie explains to his readers that there are many conditions when writing about Native Americans. For instance, it must be about an indigenous woman who loves a white man, or at the very least, a caucasian/Native American mix. The Native American woman must be beautiful, and the white man must be very fair. The novel also features prim and proper white women who secretly desire the untamed Native American man, a suicide, and car chases. One of the Native Americans in the book must have drug-induced visions. Of course, at the end of the novel, a young Native American and caucasian will innocently realize their love for each other and put an end to all of the strife around them. The diction is informal and relaxed. It is written in a dry, sarcastic manner. The poem is so literal that there is no symbolism. However, with Alexie's descriptive language, finding imagery is easy. He writes of "brown hills, mountains, fertile valleys, dewy grass, wind, and clear water." Native American men are written to smell "wild and gamey." The mood lies in the gray area between "humorous" and "depressing." While Alexie writes in a funny way, he is - unfortunately - writing in an honest way. There are many fallacies about Native Americans and indigenous people in literature. His tone is sarcastic. He writes as if the whole concept of writing Native American literature is obvious; clearly all Native Americans smoke peace pipes, have visions, and rape white women. The poem relates to the treatment of minorities, not only in literature, but in real life. Just as Native Americans are stereotyped in literature, they face prejudices in real life as well. A Native American himself, Sherman Alexie understands the pain that comes with fallacies such as the ones mentioned in his poem, and he hopes to use sarcasm to overcome them.
OK, now for my poem!
ReplyDeleteI got the feeling that Alexie writes a lot of poems about current events and the minority experience. So I wrote my poem about the uprising in Libya:
1969
He took their land, their resources, their national pride. Most disturbingly he took their spirit and their joy. He made them think they were worthless.
September 1, 1969.
A coup.
Muammar Gaddafi became Colonel Gaddafi. A bedouin born in a tent, the power appealed to him. The best education at service academies in Greece, in England. They gave him a sense of power. Most disturbingly, his own country's military academy educated him to use brute force.
He'd soon use this brute force against them.
It was there he began his plans.
1979. 1989. 1999. He's been ruling for over forty years.
He wages wars and kills.
And he thinks his PR team can fix it.
@Dan, great job with the textual incorporation and analysis! Your poem does a great job encompassing the themes of nature!
ReplyDelete@Allison, another good analysis, and way to tie in her common themes! Not sure were your poem went.....
@Jessie, good utilization of TPCAST and incorporation of literary techniques, maybe a little more textual evidence would help strengthen your analysis. Your poem definitely resembles the author good job!
@Erin, great job. The analysis was great, but try to avoid summary in some parts. Great use of textual evidence and catching the tone! I enjoyed your poem, very good way to tie in with your author!
Keep up the good work, and try not to use poets that others have used directly in front of you, just trying to have some variety.
Who Understands Me but Me
ReplyDeleteBy Jimmy Santiago Baca
They turn the water off, so I live without water,
they build walls higher, so I live without treetops,
they paint the windows black, so I live without sunshine,
they lock my cage, so I live without going anywhere,
they take each last tear I have, so I live without tears,
they take my heart and rip it open, so I live without a heart,
they take my life and crush it, so I live without a future,
they say I am beastly and fiendish, so I have no friends,
they stop up each hope, so I have no passage out of hell,
they give me pain, so I live with pain,
they give me hate, so I live with my hate,
they have changed me, and I am not the same man,
they give me no shower, so I live with my smell,
they separate me from my brother, so I live without brothers,
who understands me when I say this is beautiful?
who understands me when I say I have found other freedoms?
I cannot fly or make something appear in my hand,
I cannot make the heavens open or the earth tremble,
I can live with myself, and I am amazed at myself, my love,
my beauty,
I am taken by my failures, astounded by my fears,
I am stubborn and childish,
in the midst of this wreckage of life they incurred,
I practice being myself,
and I have found parts of myself never dreamed of by me,
they were goaded out from under the rocks in my heart
when the walls were built higher,
when the water was turned off and the windows painted black.
I followed these signs
like an old tracker and followed the blood-spotted path,
deeper into dangerous regions, and found so many parts of myself,
who taught me water is not everything,
and gave me new eyes to see through walls,
and when they spoke, sunlight came out of their mouths,
and I was laughing at me with them,
we laughed like children and made pacts to always be loyal,
who understands me when I say this is beautiful?
I would like to begin this blog post with a response to Haley's comments that Jimmy Santiago Baca is the best poet on the list. While Jimmy Santiago baca is an incredible poet, I would argue that my poet, Seamus Heaney, is clearly the best poet on the list. I would also like to say that I am very disappointed that I cannot analyze his poetry! In order to better understand why Haley believes that Jimmy Santiago Baca is the best poet, I have decided to analyze one of his poems. Who Knows Me but Me, a free verse poem written by Jimmy Santiago Baca, is a deeply personal exploration of finding one's inner beauty and self in the midst of turmoil. In the beginning of the poem, he uses the repetition of the words they and I, in order to emphasize the separation between himself and society. "They" refers to society as an unstoppable force of oppression. "They" are the ones who put him in jail. "They" are the ones who continue to take everything from him. While "They" are a force and a combined group, he is isolated, and he must make the best of his situation. This constant juxtaposition of they and I continues to emphasize the separation between the man and his oppressors. In the first half, he also puts emphasis on everything that has been taken from him; everything he has been forced to live without. He then proceeds to state that despite having all of these things taken from him, he is now free from burden and is able to explore himself and all of the his most instinctually human qualities: "love", "fears", "beauty", "childish and stubborn" behavior. Everything that was stripped away led to more exploration and led to a deeper discovery. With this discoveries and a new sense of self, he was able to persevere and make it through one of the worst times of his life. He ends by pointing out the beauty in life and self discovery, and the beauty in turning a turmoil-ridden experience into a new life.
Here's my poem:
ReplyDeleteHere before me
Ripping me open inside
Taking from me
Every last bit
Everything smooth and perfect
Everything jagged and rough
My dreams, my hopes, my fears
My love, my heartache, my pain
Every last smile, every laugh
Every flutter of the heart
Each tear that drowned me
Each moment of glory
Leaving nothing
Nothing but a rotting carcass
But from that I have grown
Risen from the ashes
A phoenix bursting into flame
The physical embodiment of my soul
Raw and true
Relentless in its purity
Untarnished and unscathed
Where is the beauty?
Dangerous Astronomy
ReplyDeleteby Sherman Alexie
I wanted to walk outside and praise the stars,
But David, my baby son, coughed and coughed.
His comfort was more important than the stars
So I comforted and kissed him in his dark
Bedroom, but my comfort was not enough.
His mother was more important than the stars
So he cried for her breast and milk. It's hard
For fathers to compete with mothers' love.
In the dark, mothers illuminate like the stars!
Dull and jealous, I was the smallest part
Of the whole. I know this is stupid stuff
But I felt less important than the farthest star
As my wife fed my son in the hungry dark.
How can a father resent his son and his son's love?
Was my comfort more important than the stars?
A selfish father, I wanted to pull apart
My comfortable wife and son. Forgive me, Rough
God, because I walked outside and praised the stars,
And thought I was more important than the stars.
I have read The Absolutely True Life of a Part Time Indian by Sherman Alexie, and I really enjoyed it because of his humor and straightforward perception of his world. When I saw this poem under his name, I picked it because the title seemed very deep and peculiar. How could astronomy be dangerous? The title does make sense once the poem is read through because the poem is about a new father who is struggling with balancing his new responsibility with his lack of free time. The poem, which is in the voice of this father, wants to enjoy the night sky, but he is prevented by the cries of his newborn son. The “danger” that comes from the stars is the father’s original belief that is happiness is more important than “the stars”, or is son. As far as connotation, Alexie writes in free verse, showing the father’s train of thought. His diction is simple but effective. He repeats the word star at the end of each stanza, along with the person or object that he is comparing to them: “His comfort was more important than the stars”. There are few evident literary devices and techniques used within this poem, and one is a simile: “mothers illuminate like the stars”. Here he expresses how he cannot tend to his son like his wife can. Some interesting diction Alexie uses is “the hungry dark”, which is probably refers to his son being hungry and not yet being able to feed himself. Alexie also uses the phrase “Rough God”, to whom he is asking forgiveness for putting his needs before his son’s needs. The poem itself is gradual thinking that leads to the climax within the last stanza of the poem: the father’s realization of his responsibilities for his son. The tone throughout the poem is contradicting and uncertain until the shift within the last stanza. Sherman Alexie’s “Dangerous Astronomy” gives insight and highlights how human beings often put more emphasis on themselves than should be done.
My poem in the style of Sherman Alexie:
Shadowlands
Dark
is the day
Swallowed by uncertainty
Until Dawn breaks Night
Light
held captive
By unfertile promises
Until Apollo burns the Night
Dim
is the path
To travel in peace
Until Love conquers the Night
Bright
The stars will burn
In cloudless skies
Until the Voice summons the Night
Now
Fly away
endless Nights
For the dawning breaks
To end sleepless dreams
forevermore
“Pillow” by Li-Young Lee:
ReplyDeleteThere's nothing I can't find under there.
Voices in the trees, the missing pages
of the sea.
Everything but sleep.
And night is a river bridging
the speaking and the listening banks,
a fortress, undefended and inviolate.
There's nothing that won't fit under it:
fountains clogged with mud and leaves,
the houses of my childhood.
And night begins when my mother's fingers
let go of the thread
they've been tying and untying
to touch toward our fraying story's hem.
Night is the shadow of my father's hands
setting the clock for resurrection.
Or is it the clock unraveled, the numbers flown?
There's nothing that hasn't found home there:
discarded wings, lost shoes, a broken alphabet.
Everything but sleep. And night begins
with the first beheading
of the jasmine, its captive fragrance
rid at last of burial clothes.
The first thing that jumps out about this poem is the title, which you’ll notice is not mentioned throughout the poem. Li-Young Lee gives away what he is referring to in the text of the poem immediately. This makes the poem much more interesting because the reader knows exactly what Lee is referring to in each line of the poem from the beginning. The points Lee makes throughout the poem are very interesting. He immediately grabs attention by indicating that everything can be found under the pillow… except for sleep. He continues and basically indicates everything that runs through the speakers head when he is attempting to get some sleep. Everything from “the houses of my childhood” to “discarded wings, lost shoes, a broken alphabet” is included in the speaker’s thoughts. It seems to me that the speaker is very distressed and seems like he is disappointed with his life, especially based on the inclusion of “broken wings.” I really can see this as a metaphor for dreams that went unmet.
Now for my attempt at Lee’s style:
“Television”
Everything on from sports and games,
To sitcoms and reality shows,
Fun and intensity at every turn.
Everything but entertainment.
Images of guns and war
Death, and the cruelty of those trenches
And everything was disappointment
Even cheers and smiles
Were a cold reminder
The entertainment nowhere to be found
Nothing to do but sit around
And stare blankly at the sights and sounds.
a circus without the clowns
a fight without the punches
on like its being watched
but only stared at
blankly.
-Brooks
Mid-Term Break by Seamus Heaney
ReplyDeleteI sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home.
In the porch I met my father crying--
He had always taken funerals in his stride--
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.
The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand
And tell me they were "sorry for my trouble,"
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand
In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.
Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,
Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.
A four foot box, a foot for every year.
Heaney relates this poem to his own life. He was the eldest of nine children and went to boarding schools beginning at age twelve. Heaney’s very straightforward word choice and language brings to life the tragedy of the poem. Without wavering, Heaney uses a very detached description of the incident, as if he is in shock that his little brother is dead. There is no emotion behind his descriptions; everything is dry and factual. Heaney uses times throughout the poem; specific times are used as he is returning home from school “2o’clock”and “10 o’clock”. This shows the shocked state he is in where everything has to be planned out, structured and rigid for him. But by the time he reaches his brother, he realizes that he is really dead and he can let down his defense mechanisms and grieve. This is shown through the times becoming more general: “six weeks” and “the next morning.” He speaks as if his brother is not emotionally important to him, as if he is observing a painting, studying it and observing the “poppy bruise” he is “wearing.”
Here is my attempt at imitating his tone…
It was a hot day for the autumn
And I rode the train for several hours
To return to my childhood home.
I crunched down the path littered with leaves
Recollecting my memories made here
And thinking of the memories of another
That were meant to be made, and never were.
The house was stuffy and filled with wet faces.
The air was stagnant with sweat and tears
And I sat down heavily with a sigh.
As old men gruffly pounded my shoulder
With their knotted crags
they stumbled over their condolences
and blinked back torrents.
I erected myself, a pillar of youth among the hunched and agѐd
And mounted the stair thinking that I would give up
my health, my youth, my breath
for this little soul so that he may
live as I have
and see as I have.
The door groaned open and the floorboards squeaked under foot
Floating, as if underwater, I approached him.
He slept soundly, in good health, no diseases consuming him
He was healthy, as i wished him to be
His skin was cold and placid
And his white lips, which were as dry and thin as pine straw
Had not opened for air since yesterday, when I was called.
The Street
ReplyDeleteHere is a long and silent street.
I walk in blackness and I stumble and fall
and rise, and I walk blind, my feet
trampling the silent stones and the dry leaves.
Someone behind me also tramples, stones, leaves:
if I slow down, he slows;
if I run, he runs I turn : nobody.
Everything dark and doorless,
only my steps aware of me,
I turning and turning among these corners
which lead forever to the street
where nobody waits for, nobody follows me,
where I pursue a man who stumbles
and rises and says when he sees me : nobody.
This poem by Octavio Paz is entitled The Street. Simply the title, The Street brings forth different visions to one's mind whether it be a bustling scene filled with buzzing cards and rushed people, however, it can also bring forth images of a desolate ghost town, where one is found isolated on a long stretch of open lanes. The diction found within the poem of "silent stones and the dry leaves" puts the reader in a mind set of isolation, and they are able to feel as if they are in the setting of the poem with such vivid imagery. The mood of the poem is that of isolation, as well as self-reflection. The shift in the poem goes from a man dazed, delirious, and confused as he frantically searches for himself with the lingering feeling of being watched, however it shifts at the end of the poem when he is approached by another “stumbl[ing]” man who confronts him with his reality of his life position as a “nobody.”
And here is my attempt at Octavio Paz's style...
ReplyDeleteThe River
Here is a winding and quiet river.
I row in blindness and I splash and wobble
And I continue in the darkness, the bow
Barreling over the soggy logs and floating weeds
Someone in the distance follows ever so closely
So close if I slow, I can feel the motion of descending rowing
But yet I see nothing
I am suffocating in the stillness and the silence
I row faster, turn new bends
Yet nothing but the sight of open water
I am alone, no one looks for me
I seek a companion
But yet I am confronted with nothing
Touch
ReplyDeleteBy Octovio Paz
My hands
Open the curtains of your being
Clothe you in a further nudity
Uncover the bodies of your body
My hands
Invent another body for your body
The title, Touch, represents the meaning of the poem and infers what is happening rather coming out and saying that the author is talking about sex.The diction that Paz uses infers meaning but does not directly state what is happening making the poem more sensual. Paz does not use a specific form to keep the poem free flowing. Paz uses "body" as a symbol for each individuals being, such as his or her spirit, so that the poem is given a deeper meaning. Paz also uses figurative language as he says "invent another body for your body", meaning to procreate, however he only infers this using figurative language. The theme of "Touch", is the sensual both physical and emotional love that people experience.
My poem in the style of Octovio Paz:
Your scent
lingering on me long after you're gone,
your scent
in my clothes and on my pillow,
I could identify it at any given moment,
I know you,
I know your scent.
@Margaret- Great poetry analysis, very thorough. Also I really liked how you caught the true stlye of the poet. I agree that Jimmy Baca is an amazing poet.
ReplyDelete@Christiana- Great use of textual evidence in your analysis, and I really enjoyed your poem in the style of the poet.
@Brooks- Good analysis but maybe a little more textual evidence. Also I liked your poem, and the structure in comparison to the poets was done nicely.
@Virginia- Really good analysis, but a little more textual evidence would have made it even better. Also, I thought you did a great job on your poem.
@Ciara- Analysis could have used a bit more textual evidence but I really liked your attention to details on mood, tone, and shift. Also, nice attempt on your poem, I enjoyed it.
@Alex- Good analysis, but maybe a bit more specific next time. However, I loved your poem in the style of your poet, very nice job in your similarities.