Arnold Dino

So this was from last week but I promised I make a picture of it, since being the smart-ass has become my job. Sorry Krys ;)

AAAAAARRRRHHHHH!

Oh my god guys! I made the most amazing discovery! Well, not really, but the coolest one in a long time. Wait for it: THERE IS A FREE ONLINE BOOKSTORE CALLED BARTLEBY.COM!!!!!!!!!!!!! http://www.bartleby.com/sv/welcome.html

The Learned

In Dante's Inferno, the first circle of Hell is an uneasy state of Limbo, for the "Virtuous Pagans" (Ciardi 25). The sinners there are not so much punished as they are continuing. They remain in the same state of uncertainty and incompleteness as when they were living: forever longing for the truth and never able to experience it. This absence of punishment suits their crime: absence of faith. They lived well and did not blaspheme against God (they are not called "virtuous" for no reason), but nor did they have faith, so they are unfulfilled. Dante writes, and Ciardi translates:

"and so they did not worship God's Trinity/in fullest duty. I am one of these./For such defects are we lost, though spared the fire/and suffering Hell in one affliction only:/ that without hope we live on in desire" (Ciardi, 28).

Basically, it is the circle of the philosophers and ancient Greek poets. Homer is there, and Virgil (who is the speaker of the above passage), and last but not least, the subject of Dante's man-crush, Aristotle. All of those wise men who spent their lives in thought and never believed in anything greater than what they could prove.

Eden Phillpotts makes a similar point in his (much smaller) poem, "The Learned." His succinct poem of eight lines draws for us the picture of wise, old men-- "grey beards wag, the bald heads nod" (Phillpotts 1058)-- lounging about discussing science and philosophy-- "To talk electrons, gases, God." These men obviously think much of themselves (note how they "nod" so reassuringly at their own talk). However, the turn that comes in the last two lines of the poem dismantles their image as oh-so-wise and learned, and draws them into the world of Dante's: specifically, into the first circle. Each 'learned' man:

" Holds up his little crumb of crust/ And cries, 'Behold the loaf!'"

Each man sees his bit of knowledge and thinks that what he holds is the answer, but man's knowledge can only take him so far. The rest of the loaf is out there, unknowable, and when we limit ourselves to our own understanding and refuse to acknowledge what is unknowable, we will reside in a state of eternal longing for what our crumb came from.
      

Casabianca (Both of them)

            May I just say that I am very glad that no one has written a blog on either of these poems because I believe there is a perfect comparison that needs to be made. The first poem with the title of Casabianca by Felicia Dorothea Hemans is a beautiful retelling of how a young boy’s life came to a tragic end on the Orient as it was consumed with flames. I did a little research about the ship and the incident. It turns out that the Orient was French navel fleets flagship, responsible for leading the navy into Egypt. Quickly it become obvious that the Orient was the British army’s main target and was promptly attacked as soon as it hit the Nile. Most of the men aboard abandoned ship “The boy stood on the burning deck whence all but he had fled” (line 1-2); but the boy stayed on the deck with his father, Luc-Julien-Joseph Casabianca, the captain. The poem potrays the boy asking if he can leave but is unaware that his father is unconscious or possible dead, we of course have no way of knowing this. In the end, all hope is lost as are the two saliors. My favorite lines from this poem would have to be “They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, They caught the flag on high, And stream’d about the gallant child, Like banners in the sky” (lines 29-32). The imagery is beautiful as is the use of simalies and metaphors.

            Now let’s move on to the next Casabianca poem by Elisabeth Bishop written more than a hundred years later. I loved this poem; for me it came across as more of a peom. Unlike Hemans’ poem, this one had more of a creative license and flowed more smoothly. It wasn’t a retelling of a story as much but a piece about love and loyalty. In this poem, the boy does not leave the ship because of respect for the ship or his father (though his father is not mentioned in this one, on historical context, I’m going with it) instead of simply being unsure of what to do. I enjoyed this poem more than the first one, but both were great. My favorite lines from this piece would have to be “Love’s the obstinate boy, the ship, even the swimming sailors, who would like a schoolroom platform, too, or an excuse to say on deck. And love’s the burning boy” (lines 6-10). I liked that there were two poems on the same topic... it made for a good read. Oh and here's a link to a picture of the incident: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Aboukir.jpg

Oh look, another blog.

I stumbled upon another poetry blog earlier, though I'm not sure if it was the one we were talking about a few weeks ago. It fits the description though. Kinda. It's really unorganized and confusing.

http://papadopuluapenglish.blogspot.com/

Ours is so much better. :I

*slinks back to doing homework*

Epitaph on Elizabeth, L.H. Ben Johnson

I liked this poem even though it was a little depressing. What I got out of this poem was that someone (the poet?) is asking the reader to stay and hear this sad story in mind. A story of a woman named Elizabeth who had died. There isn't any indication as to how she died, but it should be an obvious assumption after the line, " Underneath this stone doth lie..." because the poet or some man or even woman is simply saying here lies so and so pretty much. So basically, here lies a beautiful woman named Elizabeth who i'm assuming didn't have any faults? That maybe she was a very respected woman who was kind? Then again I wasn't too sure because it says, " If at all she had a fault, leave it buried in this vault." Which also brings me to the conclusion that maybe she had herself a  good share of mistakes and that all was forgiven and buried in her coffin along with her. I really wish I knew exactly who this Elizabeth was because at first I thought this poem was about the death of someone important like Elizabeth Taylor. Then I looked at the date that this poem was written and realized it that that would be impossible. After that I thought maybe Queen Elizabeth was who he was talking about. I was curious so I looked up what year Queen Elizabeth died and it said she died in the year of 1603. So maybe this was a farewell to the queen? I was never truly sure. I liked the language of this poem, and as I read on I pictured this person standing beside a grave that was fantastic (assuming dead important person) with intricate carvings and detail; saying a heart felt goodbye maybe at a funeral, maybe not. That is what it seemed like, though. I've got a little bit of a knack for enjoying sad poetry, so that's probably why I like this one so much. But it wasn't just the sadness that made me like it, but the imagery and overall language, too. I thought it went together nicely even though there was rhyming involved.                

On being brought from Africa to America

                This is an entirely new perspective. This view, of being brought to America as being merciful and good, had never crossed my mind. Not that I thought everyone that was brought to America didn’t want to come, but I never thought they would have viewed it as good in any way. The poem was written in 1773 and the slave trade, which was a horrible thing, wasn’t over and slavery wasn’t over either. So it just surprised me that it wasn’t written about how it was horrible or how they would have to fight to survive and gain rights or the grotesque images of the times. It was just very calm, and almost even concerned for themselves in a way. The way Phillis puts it as, “Remember, Christians, Negroes,” and it came off as if a mother were reminding their child. It was odd. It’s not even angry when it briefly mentions the insults and abuse, “Their colour is a diabolic die.” Then, the poem almost agrees with that statement when it says “black as Cain, May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train.” I don’t think that Phillis agrees that they are of a diabolic die, but that they are really ignorant about God. Spirituallity was one of the most important things back then. It is so weird to think that something that was so wrong could have a good outcome to someone else. Whenever I think of like American ministers that would try to civilize those from other countries, I always just assumed it was annoying to those they tried to civilize because it was like they were taking away the only thing they had left, their culture. I would have never thought that some were glad they came to America. Overall, it was just a completely new thought and took me by surprise.

"Frederick Douglass" by Robert hayden

What got my attention about this poem the most is it was published in 1966, and in that time black people were no slaves anymore and in fact have all the same rights as a white person did. But this poem is about Frederick Douglass, (line 7 pg 1069) “this man, Douglass, this former slave, this Negro” now how can a former slave be in 1966, but down at the bottom of my page it reads, “Frederick Douglass (1817-1895), an escaped slave, was involved in the Underground Railroad and became publisher of the famous abolitionist newspaper the North Star, in Rochester, New York.” After I read that I wasn’t so confused about the time line differences. But it made me think, why the North Star would want to publish a very old poem about a slave, who took up the courage and do what, was right for his people. Is it because he did what others wouldn’t have dreamed of back then, to escape, then to help the others who had escaped just like him, to assist their aid to the North. Possibly knowing that there was a great chance of being caught and whipped or worse hanged for it? You also must think about what it means to be free. Today in 2012, I think we have too much freedom growing up in America, we don’t know what it is like to have to fight for that what is right. To know how many lives would be lost for this one thing. The one thing that lets you have opportunities and dreams. Freedom. This man to me Frederick, he was a hero and inspired many that your dreams can happen, you just got to make them happen. You can’t sit and wait for someone else to free you from your chains. Sometimes you got to do it yourself.

[Because I could not stop for death] - Emily Dickinson

I don't usually like Dickinson. I'm a little ashamed to say that there isn't really much of a logical reason, save for the fact that something about the way she writes bothers me. Like how most of the time her poems always have really long names that are taken from the first stanza, or how a lot that I've read are broken up awkwardly, or the fact that they rhyme and it's blatantly obvious that it does. However, this one caught my eye. 

It's--quite obviously--about death, and if you couldn't have figured that out then you probably shouldn't be in this class. Or should at least be fully awake and coherent while reading it. The fact that it's about death is the reason why I chose this, because poems about death fascinate me. There's always so much emotion in them; always a story to be told. 

In this particular poem, the narrator--whom I assume is female--is describing her journey to the afterlife with Death. In the first stanza, she states that she "could not stop for Death/He kindly stopped for me". That bit should be self explanatory, with Death taking her life and what not. However, Dickinson uses the word 'kindly', which leads me to think that Death in this poem isn't horrifying or intimidating, but rather something more gentle and welcoming. 

The next stanza goes on to say that as the narrator's journey continues, she's come to terms with what she's leaving behind: "And I had to put away/My labor and my leisure too". Death doesn't rush the journey either: "We slowly drove--He knew no haste". 

The next two stanzas are what's happening outside the "carriage", basically. They pass children playing in a field and "passed the setting sun/Or rather--He passed Us". In other words, the narrator has no place in the living world, and things are still moving on around her. 

Then she gets a glimpse of her new "home". Or rather a grave-site. "We paused before a House that seemed/A Swelling of the Ground/The Roof was scarecly visible/The Cornice--in the Ground". And then at the very end we get a glimpse immortality, "'tis Centuries-- and yet/Feels shorter than the Day", and this ties everything back to the beginning of the poem, where Immortality was mentioned to be riding in the carriage with them.

So in the end, the dead are immortal. Time is nothing to them--a few hundred years passes by like a day does for us. And Death is depicted as a kinder being than what most of us believe. It's a slightly depressing poem on the outside, but the way it's written and how the narrator tells the story makes everything a little lighter. Besides, death is a natural part of life, so it's our choice whether or not we view it as something beautiful or something upsetting. 

 

"My Last Duchess" By Robert Browing :)

I enjoyed this poem, I found it very interesting because of the way the speaker felt about his last duchess. The title of "My Last Duchess” and the first few lines of the poem give  us a bit of information of what the poem is pretty much going to be about. A duchess is like a wife or a lady so given the title “My Last Duchess”, even before I read the poem I got the impression that it was going to be about a lady. The very first line of the poem “That’s my last duchess painted on the wall” (Line 1) made me think that the speaker of the poem, who I inferred is Duke Ferrara because of the side notes on the bottom, is grieving the absence of his possibly first duchess. Also with the phrase “painted on the wall” I definitely thought that the speaker was looking at a portrait of his duchess or maybe a painting that she really liked.  Although the side notes did say that it was his first duchess, given the time period that the poem was written (1842) it made me think about how in the old times many men did have more than one wife. With this theory of mine I inferred that it was possible that there were more duchesses before her, but given the title “My Last Duchess”, I thought that Duke Ferrara felt that there will never be another duchess like her. The tone of the poem overall was grieving. I got this impression because of the lines “This grew; I gave commands; then all smiles stopped together. There she stands as if alive. Will’t please you rise?” (Lines 45 to 47). He’s kind of wishing that his duchess came back; I think that he still couldn’t believe she wouldn’t come back anymore and was in denial.

Thinking about Bill, Dead of AIDS

I absolutely love this poem because I know the feeling the narrator is going through, someone so close to him/her is dying and the only way that they can react is to put on fake optimism but also being scared to come in contact with the carrier of a deadly disease. “The body rescinding all its normal orders/ to all the defenders of flesh, betraying the head, / pulling its guards back from all its borders” (lines 4-6) it’s so depressing how much truth there is in these lines, when we need our immune system the most it just lets us down. The comparison of our blood cells being the guards just breaks my heart because everyone in Bill’s family are watching him die because his body “gave up”. The last line has to be my very favorite “we didn’t know what look would hurt you least” because it acknowledges that Bill might just want the truth, he could want everyone to cry and deal with the pain now so it doesn’t accumulate later in life. Even the first three lines of the poem lets you know the true confusion you get when you’re faced with death, “We did not know the first thing about / how blood surrenders to even the smallest threat / when old allergies turn inside out”.

Those three beginning lines even go with the perception of AIDS in the late 80’s, no one knew what to expect because all you could really believe was the completely false rumors. The poem itself reminds me of a beginning of a story, I want to know so much more about the narrator and Bill’s relationship because there’s obviously so much more to them. The narrator was close enough to visit Bill on his deathbed and to me that’s such an intimate and personal experience. The narrator didn't seem like they’d be a mother or father though because of their scared smiles, I feel that if the narrator was Bill’s parent it’d be more heart wrenching. “If we had more, we would have given you more” (line 13) this line is extremely noteworthy because to me it’s the whole premise of the poem, everyone in Bill’s family wants to give him more sympathy or hope but how can you when you know in the end he is going to die?

Marriage Proposal

This is the video Mariah was talking about today. :) Thought you all might enjoy it. I think it's cute.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Su1YLAjty-U

[The Brain-is wider than the Sky-]

[The Brain-is wider than the Sky-]

 

This poem is a short and explicit yet enjoyable way of saying the brain is of more than the sky, it is a simple and understanding way of the two. The simplest of words yet so empowering and meaningful. The brain's limit does not even compare to the sky's. The brain is complex, and of many things and the sky is just one thing. Though the sky surrounds the earth which have people and many things, the sky is still just a sky. It may contain an Earth with many things and people but the sky is the sky. Where as the brain does many things, and can learn many things from anything that surrounds it. The brain absorbs and consumes anything and everything around it, "for-put them side by side-the one the other will contain." The brain contains of many things from the world, including the sky. The brain feeds on everything, it is knowing of many things, "the one the other will absorb-as sponges-buckets-do." The brain is the sponge and the sky is the water, anything the sky contains the brain will pick up on it and take it in. The brain has more expansion than the sky, the brain can go off of one thing to many other things and the sky just circles the globe, the world. The brain and the sky are connected, if there is a sky there is a brain, if there is a brain there is a sky. Where there is one there is the other, "as syllable from sound." A syllable has a sound just as the brain to the sky. They do not part, there can't be the sky without the brain or the brain without the sky. They are as one, even though they are two different things, they are united.

"Delay" Elizabeth Jennings

        This poem grabbed my attention because I deciphered it as being with a person you love even if they aren't really there. I feel like lines 1-4 talk about a love that couldn't happen because of a distance conflict. Lines 5-8 seem to say that the time she feels strongly for that one love when she sees the star, it reminds her of him. "The radiance of that star that leans on me was shining years ago" lines 1-2. This star has meant or symbolized something special for awhile. After all this time, it is still meaningful. They feel like they were together if they both looked at the star. Line 5-6, ''Love that loves may not reach me until its first desire is spent. The star's impulse..." Line 8, "And love arrived may find us somewhere else". These lovers aren't together physically. They want to be together physically but they can't for some unfortunate reason involving long-distance, so this star symbolizes the love they have for each other. No matter what part of the world they are in, if they are near or far, they are both able to view that star. "And so the time lag teases me" line 4, says she has a difficult time being without him for so long. The title being "Delay" must mean that their love has been delayed. There is still hope for them being together but with time. The star makes them strong and they could feel the emotional connection through it.
            This poem may not even be about lovers or a couple. Maybe it's about mother and a daughter/son. For some reason they were seperated with the star they reunite. "Was shining years ago", line 2, could mean that those years ago is when she had him/her. But now her kid probably an adult now has made their own life. She doesn't know when she will see him/her again. The star symbolizes a strong bond, which seems to only take effect when it is noticed by the two people it is speaking of, whether it be lovers or mother and child.

[I stepped from Plank to Plank]- Emily Dickinson

Can I just say I love Emily Dickinson? She has to be one of my favorite poets! Out of all the ones in this book, I honestly think this one was my by far favorite. The way she writes is always just so beautiful, but the morals are usually so dark and dreadful. I have always loved her style of writing.

The message I got from this poem was we never know when our "final inch" on the plank will be. So we need to make everyday worth living for. Life is too short to stop and worry about the small things, I know I say this a lot, but I can't emphasize how true it is. I have had a hard life, and I might wish sometimes that the things that have happened to me could not have. But it has given me the experience and made me into the person I am today. I someday want to be able to look back on my life and say that I have accomplished something. That I changed someone's life for the good. So I make it my goal everyday to try and smile at someone and make someone that's having a bad day a little happier. I think everyone should walk the "plank" per se and make everyday worth living for.

I am always drawn to the poems that are dark, but I always try and find something happy in them. I absolutely loved the last stanza: "I knew not but the next

                          would be my final inch-

                         This gave me that precarious Gait

                         Some call Experience"

I especially like the way she capitalizes some words, and some she doesn't. It just makes the words stick out more. I also really liked how the way you read it was in a sort of cautious slow way.

Emmet Till's poem :(

  So you guys wouldn't understand this poem and even the theme behind the words if you don't know the actual story of Emmet Till. This takes us back to the fall of 1955. Emmet Till was a fourteen year old, black boy that was visiting some cousins in Mississippi. One day he and a couple boys went into a grocer to buy some candy, that was being watched by a white lady at that time. Emmet was telling the boys about the integrated school he was going to and the other boys wanted him to talk to the white store owner.
   No one really knows what happened or what words where said, but the lady freaked and ran out of the store to grab a gun. The boys fled and the lady's husband did everything to figure out who and where the young boy was. Basically, he and a few other men hunted down and found Emmet, dragged him from his cousins home, where he was then beaten (including an eye being gouged out) and shot. The men disposed of Emmet by tying a cotton gin fan around his neck with barbed wire and throughing him into a river.
   When they finally found the body three days later, Emmets mother called for a public funeral ceremony so that the world could see the cruelty shown by fellow men. The body in that coffin barely looked human from the grusome beatings, which terrified and angered thousands. This was a murder that is considered a catylist to the civil rights movements.
   It's indescribably heart wrentching and sick to think that a fourteen year old boy was maliciously abused like that because of the deep hatred and descrimination of our country.
   So for me, reading this I felt the emotion of Emmet Till's death, and the oppression of the black race as a whole.
   When reading this poem ("Emmet Till" by James A. Emanuel) I took it as Emmet Till representing or personifying the blacks' desire and movement towards equality. In 1968, when this poem was written, there were still bitter feelings and harsh battles for equality: "Little Emmet/ Won't be still." The people kept fighting and little reminders and flickers of wrath from lynchings such as that of Emmet,  unjust laws and other actions kept the fire of equality blazing. This battle, as the poem pledges, will "swim forever" until the people are satisfied.
   For being such a disturbing and agressive topic the diction used in this poem create an interesting, almost calm mood. I read this more like a lullaby than in a harsh attitute that the story behind the name calls for. Emanuel uses words like "whistle" instead of  shreik, "floating" instead of drowning, "bedtime story" instead of ghost story, or "fairy" instead of crying spirit. It's a different way of presenting this kind of a topic, that I found kind of weird. I loved this poem because it was short, interestingly written and makes you think about humanity (past and present). I love it, but now I am angry... :(

Harlem - Langston Hughes

This poem, especially at this moment, really hits home for me. Something about it just struck my soul, drew me in, and sliced my heart to pieces with the reality the words held. I’ve been through a lot like this lately, pushing dreams aside for something else, and reading these just sort of blew all of that into reality. I could name so many dreams I used to have, but… What do they do when you push them aside?

Harlem really left me thinking, and my mind is still trying to wrap around that idea, then the last line just… It was like a harsh slap back into reality. Every feeling that I’ve had in the past few years, every dream that I’ve lost, everything just sort of fell into place again, and I really had to sit down and think about it.

What happens to a dream deffered?

[D]oes it just explode?

Well, try and answer it. What do you guys think?  Because I still can’t, even after thinking about it and just staring at my textbook for nearly two hours, I’m still unsure. Langston Hughes has a way with words, one that I wish I could understand and possess myself. The similes thrown about help greatly with the imagery Hughes is providing, the images of the raisin in the sun, the festering sore, rotten meat… All of it pulls together a depressing image.

All I know for sure is that Harlem is a beautiful poem worded wonderfully and thoughtfully, leaving the mind open to many interpretations through the comparisons and contrasts of the rotten meat, the syrupy sweet, the final crushing blows of the heavy load and the line that ties it all together or does it just explode? All of it pulls together to work on a beautifully heart-wrenching piece of literature.

Thank you, Langston Hughes. 

Modern Poetry (for you!)

So I am a fan of KR Online (the Kenyon Review Online), and I was reading through the Winter issue when I realized that the selected poems were three serialized sonnets. No wonder I liked them so well. Anywho, I thought, y'all might be interested in reading some real modern day sonnets, if you are not too tired of them. All rights go to the Kenyon Review Online and their author, Bruce Bond (whose name is an awesome combination of Bruce Wayne and James Bond. I am jealous.).

Ginsberg

Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows.

Pity the man who spits on the mirror
to make it shine. I am talking to you,
world, the face I gave you a monster,
my shame a little circle I plunged into.
I say this the way daybreak says be tall
to the shadows. Be deep to the grave.
Day’s fly sizzles at your windowsill.
Once, I feared desire would not leave
me alone, or worse, in time, it must.
I am talking to you, battered bell
by the warehouse, drunkard of the mast,
gulls that cry like a great sad wheel.
The day my mother died, I walked for miles.
Mother death, there’s madness in you still.

Schopenhauer

If, late in the journey, we see in brief
pleasure the hollow nothing of relief,
the momentary removal of some affliction
of want we cannot want, being human.
If, as we hunger, we ache like a lantern
from one long night to another, while wine,
to be enjoyed, must be poured, swallowed,
down the hatch, shadow after shadow.
If we sharpen our pencils in the grind,
do not say that misery is the ground
we walk, but rather a cloud that lifts now
and then, to illuminate the difference
between pleasure’s needle and happiness,
a book we relish as the sun goes down.

Whitman

The arguments for the existence of God
do not exist. Any god will tell you.
We give allegiance to the same blood
that floods the iris when it closes. True,
a bird might call you in the lost tongue
of your birth, pour its grief clean through
the hole that is its memory, its song.
It knows the heart that has no heart to argue.
It sings, if it sings, in the cardinal key
of the garden. Or in the dark whisper
of the soldier who lies still, his body
warm with morphine as you kneel to hear
him breathe, to take down his final story.

Dear God, if you are there, believe in me.

Cobwebs by Christina Rosetti?

I really really liked this poem! This poet did an absolutely great job with describing everything and as I read it, I read it again and once more just to fully absorb what I was reading. In Cobwebs, I could see everything that seemed to be described as nothing (if that makes any sense at all). I mean yes, this poem is describing land, but when I was reading, I couldn't see any land. At first I thought of a normal peice of land with trees that was a little dim but not too light; completely silent, still and peaceful since there is no wind, rain, or cold. Then I continued and started subtracting everything that wasn't supposed to be there, then though of a completely flat desert with no waves of sand; just flat, dry land that was very plain yet still peaceful. But! Again there continued to be subtractions from the image in my head and eventually I saw nothing. A complete abyss that has never been known to anyone or thing. I guess this poem could have had more meaning to it to someone else who has read it, but I personally would not understand how exactly. Only because this poet did a perfectly good job at describing something that could be very difficult describe. Nothing. Now that I think about it, it is pretty amazing how someone can write something like this. I mean what would you say if somone asked you, "How would you describe nothing?" or, "How would you describe an abyss?" Typically someone would probably say that it's complete nothingness. I'm not sure if everyone would respond that way, but when I think about it, most people who don't want to look at it from a different perspective would say that. Reading this opened my eyes to a new and creative way to actually describe something that is nothing. This whole poem in my opinion, was just creative all together and I loved it. I am not quite sure what my favorite line is...honestly I liked all of it but I think my favorite would probably be line 11. " No pulse of life thro' all the loveless life: And loveless sea; no trace of days before..." I thought it was a beautiful line. But yes, I really liked this poem a lot.     ヽ(*⌒∇⌒*)ﾉ

(Come sleep! Oh sleep) by Sir Philp Sidney

So let me begin by saying that I have really enjoyed the sonnet section of the poetry. This "sleep" poem is the best in my opinion. So Come sleep! Oh sleep! Since this poem was written in 1591 this "sleep" is death, "the prisoners release" you can use this support to show that this is also death. “the poor mans wealth", sleep, the wealth is his relief of poverty. The wealth is death for the poor man. “A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light" this right there seems like a burial chamber to me. So since there is a burial chamber wouldn't that mean a wealthier person? Sleep is the place where wit comes to stay and woe come to end. I can see how this could be a simple story of a very tired poem, but if it didn't have this deep meaning like I see, then we would be talking about it 491 years later.  This sleep is the smoothest pillows and has the softest of beds; this sleep is the end all for everyone. This indifferent judge? Who? Is this more of a religious thing, because there is the line of "between high and low" am I the only one who instantly thought of heaven and hell? The civil wars in him? Is this man sick and dying? Is he wishing for death to come faster? “I will good tribute pay. If thou do so" so doesn't this mean I beg of you to end it for me? You will receive your reward if you do? So is this man really asking another person to kill him? Shield me from the darts of despair? So he really is asking someone to end his anguish for him. Is Sir Philip Sidney the afflicted person? Or is this just wondrous writing?

I Now Present the NEW Arnlord ;)

[My lady's presence makes the rose red] by Henry Constable

“My lady’s presence makes the roses red”. This poem begins with a lovesick speaker claiming the beauty that his lady processes is far greater than any product of Mother Nature’s. However he never speaks of the love they share or the memories of them together. Half way through the piece the truth is revealed:  there is no relationship but rather a yearning speaker that is never to be satisfied. I perceived that this poem was not about a couple that had fallen apart but rather one that would never be, because the lady simply does not notice him (or her, but to make my life easier I’m going to say him). But he notices her in everything he sees, smells, feels and even hears. “From her sweet breath their sweet smells do proceed”; he is so consumed by her that even the flowers remind him of her. Not to mention “The rain, wherewith she watereth the flowers, Falls from mine eyes, which she dissolves in showers” proves that though he sheds tears for this lady, she does nothing more than ignore them. She just mixes his salt water drops with the rest of the rain, making them nothing special, and uses them to her benefit (in this case watering the “flowers” or her own self-esteem).  

I really enjoyed this poem because of the fact that is followed an 8-6 pattern. The first eight lines present the piece as one of happy feelings, love and beauty. These lines were then followed by six more lines that completely switch the mental image to one of pain and suffering. As I read in the book, these two parts are called an octave and a sestet. The fact that Constable split the story in two, in an almost an ironic way, was more realistic to me and more enjoyable to read. It was like that twist at the end of a really good book. Constable’s poem followed the Petrarchan form with a rhyme scheme of abbaabba cdecde. However it did vary just slightly from the original rhyme scheme, following a patter like this: abbaabba cdcdee, but it was close enough in my opinion to be called a Petrarchan sonnet. And one last thing that really made an impression on me was the language. This poem was full of metaphors, personification, assonance and consonance (“all flowers from her their virtue take”). I was pleasantly surprised by this poem, but it does make me wonder: why do I enjoy poems about suffering so much?

[When I consider how my light is spent] - Milton

  This poems external form is a perfect example of a Petrarchan sonnet following the rhyme scheme of abbaabba cdecde. The injambment of the poem kind of through the flow off, especially towards the end, in my opinion it also took me a few times reading it to fully understand the whole meaning behind this poem but I ended up enjoying it.
  I read the first line and it caught me, it was a perfect hook personally: "When I consider how my light is spent," I thought of this as translating into: "When I think about what I spend my time on," then I especially wanted to read on.
  This first line was a connection to my life in the way that I like to look back on every day and assess what I did. Sometimes I used every minute wisely where I then fall asleep that night feeling successful and happy. But more than likely I find something everyday that I wasted my time on.
  Starting on the third line the Bible was alluded to, specifically the parable of the talents. Basically what happens in this parable is that there are three men and they are each given a certain amount of talents. The men go throughout their lives and share their unique talents and even gain more, except for one man who buried the one talent he was given instead of sharing it with others. The men that went out sharing and gaining pleased God while the one man that hid his talent didn't.
  We're taught from this story to serve others, perform our talents and grow even more talents. The next half of the poem goes on with this belief and says, "God doth not need either man's work or his own gift" and proceeds to explain that God is pleased with those that keep his commandments, share his gospel and serve him and those "who only stand and wait."
  This poem is paralleling the words of another piece of literature (the Bible) to emphasize the points Milton enjoys and believes in; which is basically that we need to live our lives sharing the talents unique to each of us, we need to come out conqueror in all our trials and serving those around us.

[I shall forget you presently, my dear]

This amazing poem is a Shakespearean sonnet, but the rhyming is a bit rocky on places to me. Lines 1 and 3 are simple rhymes, dear / year, but when the writer rhymes lived / contrived (lines 9 & 11) it sounds so forced and out of place. Those two words may have the ‘ived’ at the end but the ‘i’ in lived is so short but the way contrived is pronounced is with the long ‘i’ sound. In line two and three the writer uses repetition with the word little. It’s very pleasing for me to hear the use of the word little this way because it emphasizes the importance of those lines. It’s the whole foundation of the love the narrator is sharing with someone else because they state that the lovers have to make the most of what they have at that moment. This poem fits the definition of a sonnet and doesn’t stray out of the guidelines, it’s exactly fourteen lines long and even though the rhyming is a bit wonky in some places I could only feel it when I read the poem a couple of times.

The story in the poem is also pretty awesome, it’s so simple and about how the idea of love can just blow away like anything else in nature. In the first five lines the narrator tells their lover that they will forget them by either leaving them behind or dying. The narrator tells their love that they should make the best of the time they have (line 1-3) and they can lie to the narrator, who in return will “protest you with [their] favorite lie” which I presume is the phrase “I love you”. Lines ten through fourteen support my idea better because it touches the subject that love isn't normal in nature, humans are only looking for biological love (line 14) because that’s what we need to procreate!

Range-Finding

This poem to me portrays death or bad luck. There is a flower hanging half dead, a human was shot at or stabbed, birds protect thier babies, and a spider goes hungry. I think this poem metophorically uses animals, insects, and plants to get across what people go through everyday. "The stricken flower bent double and so hung".( lines 3-4) There are many sicknesses and dieseases that most people deal with, so now are incapable of fully being themselves and hang on to life in any way they can."A butterfly its fall had dispossessed"(line 6), stands for those who just lived their life to the maximum and died. Unlike the flower who only bent in half, the butterfly fell completely "A moment sought in air his flower of rest"(line 7). Also, there is poverty in this world, "The indwelling spider ran to greet the fly, but finding nothing, sullenly withdrew"(lines 13-14). Many of us work, money goes away like nothing sometimes there just isn't enough, not much for food. And for those of those who don't even have a job try to make ends meet, but food is really scarce. There are many eating disorders not only anorexia and billimia, but also small things like ammenia, low/high blood pressure, and diabetes which could eventually get worse within time and without treatment. I see the cobweb as death or the sickness. If a fly gets caught in a web it most certainly will try to fight for its life to get free, if it defeats the web its life will not be the same. That web most likely left some damage on that fly, perhaps took a wing or a leg maybe even left it tramatized. If the web defeats the fly obviously it dies. So what I am trying to say is that what we want to stay away from is the web (by web i mean death/sickness) but some of us get tangled in it.

First Fight. Then Fiddle.

In First Fight. Then Fiddle. the author describes making beautiful music, like magic, and then talks about the bloody wars. The music on the fiddle comes first in the poem, while the fighting comes first in the title, it is ordered that way because Gwendolyn Brooks uses the music to describe how the fighting overpowers the beauty of music, and only after, when there is harmony, is the music heard; you have to establish war to find peace.

In line 2-3, she says "muzzle the note / with hurting love," what I understood from this line is that they are restraining the note with damaged, painful, love. Something has gone wrong and it isn’t the same. When you are making music, especially on the violin, you don’t want to suppress a note. You want it to ring out and fill the empty space. If you muzzle it, it sounds scratchy and ugly. The line before (lines 1-2) it says, “Ply the slipping string / With feathery sorcery.” The word ply makes it sound forceful, especially if the string is slipping because when you are playing and the string slips out from under your bow it’s a very rough sound, but “With feathery sorcery,” makes it seem light and magical, as if under some sort of playful charm. The two lines clash together, and the rough sound will always overpower the softer. Without one, would you really be able to understand the beauty of the other?

“Devote / The bow to silks and honey. Be remote / A while from malice and from murdering.” (Lines 9-9) Again, “Be remote / A while..” suggests that they had this malice and murdering before they could enjoy the sweet sounds they made by the fiddle. If they hadn’t experience such a tragedy as war, would it have the same effect? Does there really need war for the lovely sounds to be heard and enjoyed? The poem would agree. It says “Carry hate / In front of you and harmony behind. / Be deaf to music and to beauty blind. / Win war. Rise bloody, maybe not too late / For having first to civilize a space / Wherein to play your violin with grace.” (Lines 9-14) The very last two lines agree that they have to first win war, and have a place to play. A place conquered with blood, that finally has peace.

[My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun]

I see that this poem is about a love that has been lost. A man writes of his mistress’ that he was infatuated with, but death had came over her too soon. But what was love like back in 1609, was it an agreement to the marriage or was it to gain social status, or was it what was good for you and your family.  

In 1609, women didn’t have a lot of power or say in much of anything and the “Suffrage” hadn’t happen until 1920’s. That’s when women first started to come out of being just the lovely house wife and into working environment. But back to the way things were in 1609, almost a three-hundred and eleven years before women started to fight for their rights, just in the U.S alone. In 1609, women couldn’t even get jobs really, all women were house wives, but those that did work worked, with their husbands, for wealthier family as a maid or cook sometimes both. Some could also have jobs as seamstress. Women couldn’t own property or a business unless in her husband’s will, she was put down as the successor, which would mean unless one of your husband’s sons wasn’t old enough to inherit the property/ business, the bank or whatever would make you move out until the kid was old enough to take control. So a lot of women were forced into marriage because they needed someone to take over the business and to take care of her and her children. Also women were pushed into marring a man that they didn’t love because of family. Who his family was, what his social status was, what job he had, how much money he made, and a lot a mother would push her daughter on to a man like that. Because she knew that, the girl would be taken care of and wouldn’t have to worry about being on the streets, or having a poor life, she would have a better life.

A lot of things decided who you could love back in 1609, men had more of a choice to love then women, and they weren’t as pressured as the women because they had more freedom.  

"Sonnet" Billy Collins

I found that “Sonnet” is more of a free-verse, it’s very light-hearted. I thought this poem is an example of a more modern sonnet form. There is even a sort of a half rhyme with "beans" in line 4 and the last 2 syllables of "Elizabethan” in line 5. I noticed there is sort of an allusion in the line "launch a little ship on love's storm-tossed seas” (line 3). Also there is another slant rhyme of "end" and "pen” on lines 11 and 12. I also noticed that the author kind of mocks the form and content while pretty much staying true the entire time. However, I really found the last line of the poem the most interesting. "Blow out the lights, and at last come to bed" (line 14). Collins uses iambic pentameter (which is a rhythm that the words in that specific line have) after mocking it as "iambic bongos" earlier. I also really enjoyed the irony of the poem; Collins was really able to show the readers what a sonnet is supposed to be while being sarcastic about it the entire time. He is writing a poem about something related to English, but he is being ironic about it. English is also known as Shakespearean sonnet. English/ Shakespearean sonnet normally has rhyme scheme reflects and it reflects the structure of the poem. I think this style of writing draws readers to it. This "Sonnet" is not like most of the other sonnets because it doesn’t really have a big story behind it and normally it’s a love story which I really thought was neat. Most of the other sonnets in our reading homework had some type of love story behind it, but I thought that “Sonnet” was more about mocking what a sonnet is than really writing a sonnet.

The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus

This poem, out of all of them was really able to hit me, it used figurative language very well to help let you see what the poet was seeing. It had the most beautiful imagery, I knew it was talking about the statue of liberty without even reading the footnotes.  The way it said "A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame is the imprisoned lightening.", rather than just saying this is The Statue Of Liberty. It also used the "ee" sound a lot! For example in line 10-11 "With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses of yearning to breathe free.." I just loved this line, when I said tired, poor, yearning, free out loud, I couldn't help but say it with power and defiance like the patriots would have done. It also used the "oh" sound a lot. The place I noticed it most was in line 14 when it said "golden door"

                I also really enjoyed the rhyme scheme, it followed the Petrarchan format perfectly with a abbaabbacdcdcd scheme. I really liked that break, if it would have been line after line of rhyming, it would have become forced and those kind of poems are never fun. This poem uses a lot of consonance to help the poem flow. My favorite of all the lines containing consonance was line 3 where it says "sea washed, sunset gates shall stand" That whole phrase just rolls off the tongue.

                Now to the message of this poem, from this poem I got a sense of freedom and acceptance. I've read a lot of stories where a new immigrant coming to the United States sees the statue of liberty and instantly know that all their hard work to get here was worth it. The United States of America is so accepting of everyone, which is what I like about this poem. It gives the picture of the Statue of Liberty telling everyone that no matter what your class, looks, or religion may be, you are always accepted here.

Sweep Me

What is so attractive about the sonnet is the language it uses. Typically, it makes heavy use of imagery, and the sonnet is so limited (only fourteen lines) that the poets who write them tend to use unusual and powerful diction, in order to create interest.

The sonnet seems driven by sounds, even though that was the title of the last chapter and our current one is supposed to focus on external form. The classic sonnet was written in iambic pentameter, and then there is the inevitable and fluid rhyme scheme.

Take, for example, Diane Ackerman's Sweep Me through Your Many-Chambered Heart. It does not follow any particular metrical pattern (no iambs), nor does it follow suit to either the Shakespearean or Petrarchan forms of the sonnet. Instead it forms a hybrid variation of the two, borrowing the basic rhyme pattern of the Petrarchan sonnet (abba abba cdecde) and combining it with the variation and the paired, two line, stand-alone rhyme of the Shakespearean (abab cdcd efef gg). The hybrid rhyme scheme looks like this: abba cddc ee fgfg.

It is well-known that I am no fan of rhyme, but the form of the sonnet is inoffensive to me. It is subtle and full of grace, clever rather than forced or grating. I found the sounds of Sweep Me so pleasing that I re-read that sonnet several times, which is unusual for me. The language was so interesting and formed around such hard consonants and bright vowels. Look at the first two lines, and the assonance achieved by the repetitive, bright "e" vowel:

Sweep me through your many-chambered heart
if you like, or leave me here, flushed

Or how about the consonance and alliteration of the middle lines (and the continued assonance generated by use of the recurring "e")?

...Weeks
later, till I felt your arms around 
me like a shackle, heard all the sundown
wizardries the body speaks.  

Also, I'm a fan of enjambment (if no one could tell). It makes the movement of the sonnet more fluid and--appropriately--sweeping. It fosters a sense of urgency and excitement in the language, so that your heart is beating rapidly by the time you get to that delightful and peculiar turn of phrase that concludes the sonnet:

thinking I'd heard your footfall on the stair,
 I listened, heartwise, for the knock.   

I thought you'd appreciate this :D

Okay, this is something I thought you guys would appreciate. So as you know, I left class Friday so that I could get some community service hours in. I went with a volunteer group from HP that my dad is a part of and we realized when we got to the place that my shirt was the same color as their volunteer shirts, so at least I fit in a little bit right? Well, if someone was paying close attention when we stood next to each other this is what it would have looked like...



Hopefully this picture is working... in any case it made us all laugh pretty hard. :D