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You might become sentimental over that starry atmosphere

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No title-rupi kaur                    Stephanie Scruggs 

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No title-rupi kaur                    Stephanie Scruggs 

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did you think I was a city

big enough for a weekend getaway

I am the town surrounding it

the one you’ve never heard of

but always pass through

for I make bridges tremble

I am not street meat I am homemade jam

thick enough to cut the sweetest

thing your lips will touch

I am not police sirens

I am the crackle of a fireplace

I’d burn you and you still

couldn’t take your eyes off me

cause I’d look so beautiful doing it

you’d blush

I am not a hotel room I am home

I am not the whiskey you want

I am the water you need

don’t come here with expectations

and try to makes vacation out of me

ANALYSIS

This poem is meant to empower and to show self-worth. This poet constantly defends how she isn’t just anyone to emphasize her value over herself. She isn’t just going around with everyone she has morals and is the real deal. the literary elements I found in this poem were conceit, metaphor, and diction. Pieces like “I am not street meat I am homemade jam” show how there are metaphors. “Did you think I was a city” is one of the many quotes I could’ve used as the use of the city is an extended metaphor or conceit in the poem. “I am the water you need don’t come here with expectations and try to make a vacation out of me” shows her diction. I found the tone of this poem over all being very empowering and uplifting. “I am the water you need” is very uplifting as many people don’t have that power to say that. “I’d burn you and you still couldn’t take your eyes off me” shows her empowering words and how she gives off that feeling of empowerment. “I’d look so beautiful doing it you’d blush” she is so assertive giving that positive energy to her readers to make sure they feel that way after they read her poem. The shift in this poem was from I am not to I am. “ I am not the whiskey you want I am the water you need. The ideas I found were self-worth, power, identity,and  importance. Through the use of diction,conceit, and metaphor rupi kaur in this poem depicts how knowing the importance of your self-worth gives you power in knowing your identity.

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Symphony In Yellow by Oscar Wilde

An omnibus across the bridge
Crawls like a yellow butterfly,
And, here and there, a passer-by
Shows like a little restless midge.

Big barges full of yellow hay
Are moored against the shadowy wharf,
And, like a yellow silken scarf,
The thick fog hangs along the quay.

The yellow leaves begin to fade
And flutter from the Temple elms,
And at my feet the pale green Thames
Lies like a rod of rippled jade.

.........................
This poem awakens the inner hipster in me, that drinks caramel lattes and takes pictures of flowers for instagram. Oscar Wilde’s mission with “Symphony In Yellow” is to show visual imagery in the beauty nature, and the world has to offer. This poem creates a painting of what Oscar Wilde views instead of showing action, he describes the world around him.

In the first stanza the poet describes a bus that “crawls” like a yellow butterfly . The use of “crawls” in this simile, gives the poem a very calm and soothing tone. It almost slows down the fast moving world around us. The bus isn't going at a fast pace instead the bus is crawling gently like a butterfly . In this case a yellow butterfly, yellow is one of those colors that ignites many feelings and ideas. When i think of the color yellow I can't help but to think of the warm sun and beautiful sunflowers that spring brings. All very happy connotations that I associate with yellow.

The second stanza carries the same feeling evoked by the color yellow. “Big barges full of yellow hay / Are moored against the shadowy wharf” once again Wilde uses action words such as “moored” to show the simplicity and natural state of the water the hay is crossing. Further Along Wilde evokes feeling of security, and protection when he says “like a yellow silken scarf,/The thick fog hangs along the quay.” This fog is not the fog we’re used to, this fog is not used to describe something negative, instead Wilde compares it to a yellow silken scarf . The use of the words “silken” and “hangs” continues to enrich the description of the scenery.

The third and final stanza brings us to the exact place the writer is standing. It bring everything together, we finally realize the writer is standing in front of the Thames River, which he describes as “a pale green” who “lies like a rod of rippled jade”. The final stanza shows the big picture compared to the tiny details we saw in the first, two stanzas.

Oscar Wilde’s subjectivity of detail allows for a journey of bright yellow and fresh air, the larger picture however is refreshing and ignites creativity in the reader. Or atleast me .

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Mental Hospital Graveyard by Michelle Boisseau

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Mental Hospital Graveyard by Michelle Boisseau

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You might become sentimental over that starry atmosphere

that comes to so little. As you might over apples

Shaded out by maples, or over the failure

of a brother who had such promise.

The rest of the farm was long ago to subdivided,

but few living there know the orchid. In spring

the boughs hang like thousands of shredded shirts

left on a line through winter. In fall

there's hardly a bushel of apples to pick

Where wisteria blooms across barbed wire,

the grounds begin. you've got to remember: gargoyles

and gardens clipped into clubs and hearts,

in architecture for people who think madness

a Rosetti romance. I was cutting through

when I ran across them. They're neat as Arlington graves-

you'd have noticed once-

but only numbers up to twenty. Then down the rows

the numbers start over. The woman who took a razor

to her clothes after the Millfied mine

collapsed like a rotten floor, her husband inside,

could be mistaken for the soupy-eyed son

of Ruthie McAllister, raped by her uncle, or confused

with any number of those brought in from seven countries.

There's no use pitying  those under unmarked stones-

the retarded were rarely named anyway and the insane died

Into other selves. And why blame the families?

who would want to drive all the way from Gallipolis

or Letart Falls to see the brother

who couldn't know you? The dying farm’s enough worry.

The final poem I chose was titled “Mental Hospital Graveyard”. Just by reading the title, I felt that the poem was going to include ideas of mental issues, death, sickness, health, mistreatment, and society. Particularly, how all of this relates back to mental illnesses.

Some literary elements I picked up on were similes and metaphors. As is stated in the text, “In spring the boughs hang like thousands of shredded shirts left on a line through winter.” This simile works to set the tone of the poem and to provide a description of the farm. The tone comes off as dark, depressing, and reflective. Its focus on ideas of abandonment which give off a very melancholy feeling. The poem states that, “You might become sentimental over that starry atmosphere that comes to so little. As you might over apples shaded out by maples, or over the failure of a brother who had such promise.” This metaphor expresses the emotions of those who have loved ones who are suffering from mental illnesses. It compares apples being shaded out by maples to the failure of a brother. The metaphor gives off the feeling of ‘what could have been’. It develops ideas of regret and hope. I felt that the emotions being expressed in the poem also mirror society's perception on mental illnesses. Society tends to cast a shadow on issues like this. I think the last stanza does a good job at  detailing these  ideas. The author encourages/ forces the audience to question their own  thoughts on mental illness. She closes up with ideas of abandonment and importance.

I chose this poem mainly because of the title. Mental health is a controversial topic that I find to be very interesting. The use of the word ‘graveyard’ only worked to further grab my interest. This brought up ideas of death, particularly death in / from mental hospitals. This conclusion led me to think about mistreatment in mental hospitals and by those who simply don’t understand the struggles mentally ill people go through.

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 Phenomenal WomanBY MAYA ANGELOUPretty women wonder where my secret lies.I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size   But when I start to tell them,They think I’m telling lies.I say,It’s in the reach of my arms,The span of my hips,   The stride of my step,   The curl of my lips.   I’m a womanPhenomenally.Phenomenal woman,   That’s me.I walk into a roomJust as cool as you please,   And to a man,The fellows stand orFall down on their knees.   Then they swarm around me,A hive of honey bees.   I say,It’s the fire in my eyes,   And the flash of my teeth,   The swing in my waist,   And the joy in my feet.   I’m a womanPhenomenally.Phenomenal woman,That’s me.Men themselves have wondered   What they see in me.They try so muchBut they can’t touchMy inner mystery.When I try to show them,   They say they still can’t see.   I say,It’s in the arch of my back,   The sun of my smile,The ride of my breasts,The grace of my style.I’m a womanPhenomenally.Phenomenal woman,That’s me.Now you understandJust why my head’s not bowed.   I don’t shout or jump aboutOr have to talk real loud.   When you see me passing,It ought to make you proud.I say,It’s in the click of my heels,   The bend of my hair,   the palm of my hand,   The need for my care.   ’Cause I’m a womanPhenomenally.Phenomenal woman,That’s me.

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 Phenomenal WomanBY MAYA ANGELOUPretty women wonder where my secret lies.I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size   But when I start to tell them,They think I’m telling lies.I say,It’s in the reach of my arms,The span of my hips,   The stride of my step,   The curl of my lips.   I’m a womanPhenomenally.Phenomenal woman,   That’s me.I walk into a roomJust as cool as you please,   And to a man,The fellows stand orFall down on their knees.   Then they swarm around me,A hive of honey bees.   I say,It’s the fire in my eyes,   And the flash of my teeth,   The swing in my waist,   And the joy in my feet.   I’m a womanPhenomenally.Phenomenal woman,That’s me.Men themselves have wondered   What they see in me.They try so muchBut they can’t touchMy inner mystery.When I try to show them,   They say they still can’t see.   I say,It’s in the arch of my back,   The sun of my smile,The ride of my breasts,The grace of my style.I’m a womanPhenomenally.Phenomenal woman,That’s me.Now you understandJust why my head’s not bowed.   I don’t shout or jump aboutOr have to talk real loud.   When you see me passing,It ought to make you proud.I say,It’s in the click of my heels,   The bend of my hair,   the palm of my hand,   The need for my care.   ’Cause I’m a womanPhenomenally.Phenomenal woman,That’s me.

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- Phenomenal Woman is a lyrical poem that sends out an important message to the world of convention and stereotype: empowerment comes from being confident in your own female skin, no matter if you are not seen as cute or fashionable by the masses.Phenomenal Woman is a direct and passionate poem no doubt, you can feel the speaker's need to lay things out just as they are, yet it also contains the seed of self-knowing, of self-confidence. And it does convey the idea that no matter the pressures of society to conform and be who others want you to be, inner self-belief is the phenomenal bit. Once this is accepted, you will be a happier and more complete person, a phenomenon.

Woman Work

I've got the children to tend
The clothes to mend
The floor to mop
The food to shop
Then the chicken to fry
The baby to dry
I got company to feed
The garden to weed
I've got shirts to press
The tots to dress
The can to be cut
I gotta clean up this hut
Then see about the sick
And the cotton to pick.

Shine on me, sunshine
Rain on me, rain
Fall softly, dewdrops
And cool my brow again.

Storm, blow me from here
With your fiercest wind
Let me float across the sky
'Til I can rest again.

Fall gently, snowflakes
Cover me with white
Cold icy kisses and
Let me rest tonight.

Sun, rain, curving sky
Mountain, oceans, leaf and stone
Star shine, moon glow
You're all that I can call my own.
-The rhyme scheme throughout ‘Woman Work’ is not constant. The first stanza consists of seven pairs of rhymed lines in the pattern AABB and so on. Since these lines are short and quick in nature, they create an impression of breathlessness in the reader’s mind, as if the woman has no time to pause between her various household chores if she is to complete them within the required space of a single day. The next more stanzas are written in free verse, and create a more calming effect.The primary concept of “Woman Work” is the idea of that the social and cultural responsibilities of being a woman might have to be balanced with the construction of space that could be a “room of one’s own.” The Woolf reference is quite deliberate as she sought to create a “space” where women could construct and live in a realm that was separate and distinct from male patriarchal society.

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Jonathan's Padlet post #2 The Waste Land                     by T.S. Eliot

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Jonathan's Padlet post #2 The Waste Land                     by T.S. Eliot

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Through the use of metaphor, symbolism, and imagery T.S Eliot in The Waste Land depicts how suffrage and isolation can lead to abandonment. In the poem, he delves into themes of war, trauma, disillusionment, and death, illuminating the devastating aftereffects of World War I. The poem calls for peace with the repetition of "shantih" which is the Sanskrit word for "peace". In the openings there is the famous line, "April is the cruelest month." The narrator is Marie, a young woman who bears witness to the physical and emotional devastation caused by the war. Next she describes the inside of a wealthy woman's bedroom and the garbage-filled waters of the Thames. Eliot uses symbolism to describe nature and the environments impact on humanity. In the final part of the poem, the narrator shows the symbolism of the thunderclaps cracking over an Indian jungle. The poem ends with the repetition of the Sanskrit word for peace: "Shantih shantih shantih." The poem doesn’t hide the culture it tries to correlate into poem, and this helps sway the perspective of the audience in many ways.

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I. The Burial of the Dead

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

A little life with dried tubers.

Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee

With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,

And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,

And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.

Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,

My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,

And I was frightened. He said, Marie,

Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.

In the mountains, there you feel free.

I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow

Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,

You cannot say, or guess, for you know only

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,

And the dry stone no sound of water. Only

There is shadow under this red rock,

(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),

And I will show you something different from either

Your shadow at morning striding behind you

Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;

'They called me the hyacinth girl.'

-Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,

Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not

Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither

Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,

Looking into the heart of light, the silence.

Oed' und leer das Meer.

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,

Had a bad cold, nevertheless

Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,

With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,

Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,

(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)

Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,

The lady of situations.

Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,

And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,

Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,

Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find

The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.

I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.

Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,

Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:

One must be so careful these days.

Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,

A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,

I had not thought death had undone so many.

Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,

And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.

Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,

To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours

With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.

There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: 'Stetson!

'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!

'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,

'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?

'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?

'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,

'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!

'You! hypocrite lecteur!-mon semblable,-mon frère!"

The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,

Glowed on the marble, where the glass

Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines

From which a golden Cupidon peeped out

(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)

Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra

Reflecting light upon the table as

The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,

From satin cases poured in rich profusion;

In vials of ivory and coloured glass

Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,

Unguent, powdered, or liquid-troubled, confused

And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air

That freshened from the window, these ascended

In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,

Flung their smoke into the laquearia,

Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.

Huge sea-wood fed with copper

Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,

In which sad light a carvéd dolphin swam.

Above the antique mantel was displayed

As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene

The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king

So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale

Filled all the desert with inviolable voice

And still she cried, and still the world pursues,

'Jug Jug' to dirty ears.

And other withered stumps of time

Were told upon the walls; staring forms

Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.

Footsteps shuffled on the stair.

Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair

Spread out in fiery points

Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.

'My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me.

Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.

What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?

I never know what you are thinking. Think.'

I think we are in rats' alley

Where the dead men lost their bones.

The wind under the door.

'What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?'

'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember

Those are pearls that were his eyes.

'Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?'

O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag-

'What shall I do now? What shall I do?'

'I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street

'With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow?

The hot water at ten.

And if it rains, a closed car at four.

And we shall play a game of chess,

Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said-

I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself,

Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart.

He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you

To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.

You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,

He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you.

And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert,

He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time,

And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said.

Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said.

Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.

If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said.

Others can pick and choose if you can't.

But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling.

You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.

(And her only thirty-one.)

I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face,

It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.

(She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.)

The chemist said it would be all right, but I've never been the same.

You are a proper fool, I said.

Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said,

What you get married for if you don't want children?

Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,

And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot-

Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.

Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.

Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

The river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf

Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind

Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.

Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.

The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,

Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends

Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.

And their friends, the loitering heirs of City directors;

Departed, have left no addresses.

By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .

Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,

Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.

But at my back in a cold blast I hear

The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.

A rat crept softly through the vegetation

Dragging its slimy belly on the bank

While I was fishing in the dull canal

On a winter evening round behind the gashouse

Musing upon the king my brother's wreck

And on the king my father's death before him.

White bodies naked on the low damp ground

And bones cast in a little low dry garret,

Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year.

But at my back from time to time I hear

The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring

Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.

O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter

They wash their feet in soda water

Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!

Under the brown fog of a winter noon

Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant

Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants

C.i.f. London: documents at sight,

Asked me in demotic French

To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel

Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back

Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits

Like a taxi throbbing waiting,

I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,

Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see

At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives

Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,

The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights

Her stove, and lays out food in tins.

Out of the window perilously spread

Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,

On the divan are piled (at night her bed)

Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.

I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs

Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest-

I too awaited the expected guest.

He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,

A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,

One of the low on whom assurance sits

As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.

The time is now propitious, as he guesses,

The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,

Endeavours to engage her in caresses

Which still are unreproved, if undesired.

Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;

Exploring hands encounter no defence;

His vanity requires no response,

And makes a welcome of indifference.

(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all

Enacted on this same divan or bed;

I who have sat by Thebes below the wall

And walked among the lowest of the dead.)

Bestows one final patronising kiss,

And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .

She turns and looks a moment in the glass,

Hardly aware of her departed lover;

Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:

'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.'

When lovely woman stoops to folly and

Paces about her room again, alone,

She smooths her hair with automatic hand,

And puts a record on the gramophone.

'This music crept by me upon the waters'

And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.

O City city, I can sometimes hear

Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,

The pleasant whining of a mandoline

And a clatter and a chatter from within

Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls

Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.

To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.

Past the Isle of Dogs.

'Trams and dusty trees.

Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew

Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees

Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.'

'My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart

Under my feet. After the event

He wept. He promised a 'new start.'

I made no comment. What should I resent?'

The broken fingernails of dirty hands.

My people humble people who expect

Burning burning burning burning

O Lord Thou pluckest me out

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,

Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell

And the profit and loss.

Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell

He passed the stages of his age and youth

O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,

Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

After the torchlight red on sweaty faces

After the frosty silence in the gardens

After the agony in stony places

The shouting and the crying

Prison and palace and reverberation

Of thunder of spring over distant mountains

He who was living is now dead

We who were living are now dying

Here is no water but only rock

Rock and no water and the sandy road

The road winding above among the mountains

Which are mountains of rock without water

If there were water we should stop and drink

Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think

Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand

If there were only water amongst the rock

Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit

Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit

There is not even silence in the mountains

But dry sterile thunder without rain

There is not even solitude in the mountains

But red sullen faces sneer and snarl

From doors of mudcracked houses

If there were the sound of water only

But sound of water over a rock

Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees

Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop

Who is the third who walks always beside you?

When I count, there are only you and I together

But when I look ahead up the white road

There is always another one walking beside you

Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded

I do not know whether a man or a woman

-But who is that on the other side of you?

What is that sound high in the air

Murmur of maternal lamentation

Who are those hooded hordes swarming

Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth

Ringed by the flat horizon only

What is the city over the mountains

Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air

Jerusalem Athens Alexandria

A woman drew her long black hair out tight

And fiddled whisper music on those strings

And bats with baby faces in the violet light

Whistled, and beat their wings

And crawled head downward down a blackened wall

And upside down in air were towers

Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours

And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

In this decayed hole among the mountains

In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing

Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel

There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home.

It has no windows, and the door swings,

Dry bones can harm no one.

Only a cock stood on the rooftree

In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust

Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves

Waited for rain, while the black clouds

Gathered far distant, over Himavant.

The jungle crouched, humped in silence.

Datta: what have we given?

My friend, blood shaking my heart

The awful daring of a moment's surrender

Which an age of prudence can never retract

By this, and this only, we have existed

Which is not to be found in our obituaries

Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider

Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor

Dayadhvam: I have heard the key

Turn in the door once and turn once only

We think of the key, each in his prison

Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison

Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours

Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus

Damyata: The boat responded

Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar

The sea was calm, your heart would have responded

Gaily, when invited, beating obedient

Fishing, with the arid plain behind me

Shall I at least set my lands in order?

London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down

Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina

Quando fiam uti chelidon-O swallow swallow

Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie

These fragments I have shored against my ruins

Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe.

Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

Shantih shantih shantih

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The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot | Poetry Foundation

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Skylar's padlet post #3 I ,Too by Langston Hughes 

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Skylar's padlet post #3 I ,Too by Langston Hughes 

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I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.

They send me to eat in the kitchen

When company comes,

But I laugh,

And eat well,

And grow strong.

Tomorrow,

I’ll be at the table

When company comes.

Nobody’ll dare

Say to me,

“Eat in the kitchen,”

Then.

Besides,

They’ll see how beautiful I am

And be ashamed—

In the poem I , Too by Langston Hughes it shows meter , tone , and symbolism. Throughout the poem it uses ''I ' repeatedly in which i though was repetition. The first line of the second stanza states "I am the darker brother" which means he may be African American, but he is still an American. The following five meters state "They send me to eat in the kitchen. When company comes, but I laugh, and eat well, and grow strong". The use of "I'' again is showing that African Americans do not worry about what is being done, but how they are growing stronger as segregation continues, knowing soon they will be equal. So this is related to freedom in a way?..

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Jonathan's Padlet post #1 Hollow Men                                 by T.S. Eliot     

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Jonathan's Padlet post #1 Hollow Men                                 by T.S. Eliot     

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Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

A penny for the Old Guy

I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Through the use of symbolism, imagery, and allegory T.S. Eliot in Hollow Men depicts how correlating to other influences can create an unique image only made aware by a specific portion of his audience. In Hollow Men the narrator is one of the "Hollow Men." In the first section, a bunch of Hollow Men are leaning together like scarecrows. Eliot uses metaphor to compare the dryness of their bodies and voices to the Sahara Desert. Everything they say and do is meaningless. They are compared to living in Hell, but they weren’t violent and reckless being who deserved to be in such a place. Next one hollow man is afraid to look at people who made it to "death's dream kingdom" which is either Heaven or Hell. The Hollow Men live in a world where it seems their desire is to make it to the otherworld. The setting is barren and filled with cactus and stones similar to a desert, and is a symbol of the dryness and isolation the hollow men face. The Hollow Men feel a desire to kiss someone, but they are unable to so they say prayers to the broken stones.  In the final section it starts with a nursery rhyme modeled on the song "Here we go 'round the mulberry bush," except instead of a mulberry bush the kiddies are circling a prickly pear cactus. The narrator describes how a "shadow" has paralyzed all of their activities, so they are unable to do as they please and fulfill the desires they have. The Hollow Men die with regret and mourn the final desires of never getting the opportunity to live how they wanted, because to them they are beings which must live in the shadows.

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My Voice
by Oscar Wilde

Within this restless, hurried, modern world
We took our hearts' full pleasure--You and I,
And now the white sails of our ship are furled,
And spent the lading of our argosy.

Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan,
For very weeping is my gladness fled,
Sorrow has paled my young mouth's vermilion,
And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed.

But all this crowded life has been to thee
No more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spell
Of viols, or the music of the sea
That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.
.................
...............................................
“My Voice”, which is the 59th sonnet included in Oscar Wilde’s collection titled Poems, can be seen as continuation of “Her Voice” (which i wrote my last padlet post on). While Her Voice comes from the woman’s point of view, “my voice” is from the other side of the conversation, the husband.

The poem begins by recapturing the essences of their relationship and the passion for one another that seemed to be mutual. The first two lines , “WITHIN this restless, hurried, modern world/ We took our hearts’ full pleasure—You and I,” i got a sense of their being a lot of chaos, or odds against this couple, however this is from the year 1881, and the modern world Oscar Wilde writes about isn't all that modern. Despite my opinion, I do get a sense of the love that he writes about, what stuck out to me is the separation of “you and I” from the rest of the line, It adds emphasis to the emotions the writer felt about their relationship. I almost want to compare it to a bonnie and clyde relationship where it's just the two of them against the world.

Though the stanza starts about the love and passion these two had for each other, there is a quick and sudden shift, the writer is now talking about how things are over and the journey is no longer a quest for adventure. The last two lines of the stanza read, “And now the white sails of our ship are furled,/ And spent the lading of our argosy. The writer uses the ship as a symbol or representation of their relationSHIP. In context the writer says that the ship is back on land, no longer in use, similar to the feelings his partner has lost for him .

The second stanza which uses lots of diction, creates an image what effects are emplaced on the writer. His happiness is gone and the reason to live is no longer, he looks ill and almost lifeless.. His sadness or his broken heart has taken a toll on his physical appearance. I feel as though the writer had a harder time than the person he is addressing.My understanding is confirmed in the third stanza which says that the wife or girlfriend will only see this as a “subtle spell/Of viols, or the music of the sea/That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.”. The writer is clearly shattered by the fate of the relationship, he saw more and probably wanted more but his partner is unaffected, to her this is all just a moment is the chaotic life they live.

This being a continuation of “Her Voice” really makes me happy, it shows something that we rarely see from men: emotion. This is one of the instances where the women is the strong one, who is able to overcome, while the man is left broken and incapable of moving on.  #isOscarWildeafeminist?

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After Work
By Gary Snyder

The shack and a few trees
float in the blowing fog

I pull out your blouse,
warm on my cold hands on your breasts.
you laugh and shudder
peeling garlic by the hot iron stove.
bring in the axe, the rake, the wood

we'll lean on the wall
against each other
stew simmering on the fire
as it grows dark
drinking wine.

...................................................

This is one of Gary Snyder's few poems that focus less on nature and much more on human interaction. Snyder was raised in a much different time then what we have now. Love had a different meaning and the love people had towards one another was much more sacred. This short, but sweet poem focuses on the idea of a husband's love and the happiness it brings. Much like his other poems, one main literary element he employs is that of imagery. Here, he portrays a husband and wife's interactions and the intimate physical and emotional connections they share. Her breasts "warm" his cold hands, and they lean against each other and share a loving moment. Intimacy plays a big part in many of his writings, whether it be between mankind and nature, or like here, man to woman. It's clear that Snyder puts an emphasis on the importance of intimacy and affection, and I believe this might be a commentary on the experiences he witnessed as a child or those he had himself. Gender roles is a clear idea throughout this short work. The husband is returning from work, as suggested by the title, and his wife is at home preparing supper. This poem was written in 1968, and for this period in time, that ritual and lifestyle was completely normal. This is not to point out the imperfection of society or a flaw in the system, but just a view point of the difference of the social structure of the past as compared to that of the present. After studying the idea of gender roles in many works this year and the negative connotations behind it, it was good to see a poem that highlights another viewpoint of this ever-present idea. Perhaps this was not Snyder's intention, but I was able to identify this idea clearly. Overall, I greatly enjoyed this poem because of its simplicity, as compared to his other works that include dark undertones and persuade readers to take his side on a certain subject.

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This Poem is for Deer
By Gary Snyder

I dance on all the mountains
On five mountains I have a  dancing place
When they shoot at me I run
To my five mountains

Missed a last shot
At the buck, in twilight
So we came back sliding
On dry needles through cold pines.
Scared out a cottontail
Whipped up the Winchester
Shot off its head.
The white body roles and twitches
In the dark ravine
As we run down the hill to the car.

Deer foot down scree
Picasso's fawn, Issa's fawn,
Deer on the autumn mountain
Howling like a wise man
Stiff springy jumps down the snowfields
Heads held back, forefeet out,
Balls tight in a tough hair sack
Keeping the human soul from care
On the autumn mountain
Standing in the late sun, ear flick
Tail flick, gold mist of flies
Whirling from nostril to eyes

Home by night
Drunken eye
Still picks out Taurus
Low, and growling high:
four point buck
Dancing in the headlights
on the lonely road
A mile past the mill-pond,
With the car stopped, shot
That wild silly blinded creature down.

Pull out the hot guts with hard bare hands
while night-frost chills the tongue and eye
The cold horn bones.
The hunter's belt
just below the sky
Warm blood in the car trunk.
Deer smell,
the limp tongue.

Deer don't want to die for me.
I'll drink sea water
Sleep on beach pebbles in the rain
Until the deer come down to die
in pity for my pain.

...................................................

Even though I may be a very "set in stone" kind of person, I enjoy seeing things from the opposite perspective. Doing this allows for an expanded point of view and for conversations that further both individual's mindset. Being an avid hunter and outdoorsman, reading and studying this poem definitely intrigues me and makes me think. The main aspect of the poem that jumps out at me is Snyder's use of explicit and graphic imagery. From experience, everything noted is accurate and the details are precise. It's clear that Snyder has seen firsthand what he describes and uses these points to further his argument. Snyder is an avid environmental activist and humanitarian with a in-depth knowledge of the natural world. It's clear that he writes this poem in order to show how human's actions affect wildlife and ultimately leave a negative impact on the world around us. This is evident through his shift from both the deer's point of view to the hunter's point of view. This allows for the reader to both identify with the hunter's excitement, as well as the deer's suffering.The deer is portrayed almost as another human through the use of personification in the first stanza, which is, I'm sure, Snyder's way of having the reader connect with it on a personal level and intensify the feelings felt toward the hunter. Another interesting shift is that present in the final stanza. Snyder begins to use the first person point of view for himself, describing the actions, be them not literal, he would do himself. Overall, I greatly enjoyed breaking this poem down and seeing its heavy undertones of human interaction with nature and the negative effects it has. His uses of imagery and personification are evident in many of his poems and he uses them masterfully in order convey his ideas and most certainly should be studied by students to further their descriptive writing skills and help them build thought provoking arguments that can stand up to another's criticism.

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Her Voice
by Oscar Wilde
THE wild bee reels from bough to bough
With his furry coat and his gauzy wing.
Now in a lily-cup, and now
Setting a jacinth bell a-swing,
In his wandering;
Sit closer love: it was here I trow
I made that vow,
Swore that two lives should be like one
As long as the sea-gull loved the sea,
As long as the sunflower sought the sun,--
It shall be, I said, for eternity
'Twixt you and me!
Dear friend, those times are over and done,
Love's web is spun.
Look upward where the poplar trees
Sway and sway in the summer air,
Here in the valley never a breeze
Scatters the thistledown, but there
Great winds blow fair
From the mighty murmuring mystical seas,
And the wave-lashed leas.
Look upward where the white gull screams,
What does it see that we do not see?
Is that a star? or the lamp that gleams
On some outward voyaging argosy,--
Ah! can it be
We have lived our lives in a land of dreams!
How sad it seems.
Sweet, there is nothing left to say
But this, that love is never lost,
Keen winter stabs the breasts of May
Whose crimson roses burst his frost,
Ships tempest-tossed
Will find a harbour in some bay,
And so we may.
And there is nothing left to do
But to kiss once again, and part,
Nay, there is nothing we should rue,
I have my beauty,--you your Art,
Nay, do not start,
One world was not enough for two
Like me and you.

.....
Her voice by Oscar Wilde is a beautiful poem about the hardships that come with falling in love. I really enjoyed this poem, because it shows that being in love isn't always sunshine and flowers and people change and so do feelings. More importantly Oscar wilde shows that falling out of love is okay.  This poem is written in the point of view of a woman, who once was in lust for her significant other but is now full regret and confusion .

The Poem begins by taking us back to the day they tied the knot “sit closer love: it was here i Trow / I made that vow. “  Assuming this is a conversation with her husband she’s trying to bring back the moment they made a life changing decision,these were the happy times, the times when things seemed promising.

The second stanza, shows that the couple thought their love would last forever , “As long as the sea-gull loved the sea, As long as the sunflower sought the sun,” this simile makes their love for eachother seem unbreakable, never ending. However I noticed a shift, when the speaker says, “Dear friend, those times are over and done, Love's web is spun.” Her referring to her husband, as a “dear friend”  shows thats while those feeling may be long gone, she still has a sense of respect of what was of their relationship.

I also got a sense of  the speaker wishing the best for what the future holds for her husband,  instead of hoping he lives a miserable life, she keeps him optimistic by saying “look upward where the white gull screams,/What does it see that we do not see?” I get the sense that the speaker wants her husband to do some exploring in hopes of finding his true self . This being an Oscar wilde poem , I can only assume self discovery and authenticity, has something to do with why their relationship didn't work out.

The last two stanzas really speak to me the, speaker shows that although they may not be the right one for each there’s someone out there that will love you for you . The speaker acknowledges that they have done everything they can to try and make things work, But sometimes what's best is letting go.

The last two couplets are my favorite, “I have my beauty,--you your Art,/ Nay, do not start,/ One world was not enough for two/ Like me and you. “ It ties everything so beautifully, it shows how love is bittersweet and it also reassures that these two will be just fine on their own.

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Requiescat
by Oscar Wilde
Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone,
She is at rest.
Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life's buried here,
Heap earth upon it.

.....
This poem puts me in a deep dark depression but it's almost as if i need it. I did a bit of research behind why he wrote Requiescat and it turns out Oscar Wilde wrote this for his sister who died at a fairly young age. The theme of Premature Death gives the poem greater meaning in my opinion, It gives his sister a sense of lost potential and what could have arrived from her life. The first impression that was made on me comes from the first stanza when the poet says “Tread lightly, she is near..Under the snow”, this gave me chills, because it almost implies that although she is gone, she still there, present, beneath the ground, waiting for her family or waiting to make meaning of her life.The poet then goes on to say “Speak gently, she can hear. The Daisies grow.” The jump from winter to spring, made me feel as thought Wilde’s young sister is stuck in time, everything around her is changing, growing, full of life, but she is left there unchanged, which reflects Wilde’s feelings of death.

You can really tell Wilde admired his sister’s beauty in the second stanza and feels destroyed of what has become of her. Her once “bright golden hair “ is now “tarnished with rust” and while she was “young and fair” she has now “fallen to dust”.This is very raw of Oscar Wilde to do, he is acknowledging the ugly truth of what has become of his sister.

The third stanza for me really speaks to me on how young and innocent his sister was, he compares her to snow which implies her purity and then he goes on to say “she hardly knew she was a woman, so sweetly she grew” that right there lets you know that her death was before her time. Which provokes more sorrow in anyone who has lost a person they love, especially if it was before their time .
Another very important aspect, Oscar Wilde implies is The effect it has on those left to mourn the death of a loved one. This shift is notable in the finale two stanzas, He no longer describes his admiration of his sister, instead he goes on to say what is left of the situation. Oscar wilde may “lie on her breast”  but he knows he vexes his heart alone. My understanding of this stanza is that he is acknowledging his sister is gone and isn't coming back. Oscar Wilde also acknowledges that there is nothing he can do, when he finishes the poem with “ all my life's buried here, Heap earth upon it.”. This poem is great poem that provokes many feeling of sadness and lost potential, Oscar Wilde was able to show how death can affect the person who has lost their life and also how it affects the people left to mourn them which is rarely done.

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Poem ~ Requiescat   by Oscar Wilde ~ poem with text

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And I'm caught in the bubble now, glass house

floating with me inside. My sister's voice

has sudden silver Contours through the phone,

cranks, slopes, a stream that seems to be

clattering over gravel. Not yet, the bubble says

because it's disposition is to tease-

iridescent, surface tension, aloft.

This one will make the fence and keep on going.

And then this moment, which moments from now

will seem so strangely smooth, breaks into pieces

like a windshield, Square tears of safety glass

raining down, a puddle of block type to set

the newspapers of the dead. No more passage.

His young doctor was wrong. There wasn't time

enough to see my father again.

Commentary:
One of the poems I chose is titled Bad News by Michelle Boisseau. From reading the title, I felt that the poem would have to do with ideas of negativity, darkness, and harsh realities.

To sum up, the poem describes the experience of dealing with the death of a loved one. Particularly, the emotions someone feels when they are just told the ‘bad news’.

I noticed that she made use of literary elements like metaphors and personification. The bubble is an extended metaphor or conceit. It’s being compared to the feelings of despair when someone is given devastating news. The bubble is also personified when  the author writes “Not yet, the bubble says…”

I felt that the tone of the poem was very dark. It gave off feelings of uncertainty, distress, and submissiveness. The voice of the poem was very straightforward, serious, and passionate. The poet made an effort to express the  feelings of distress people feel when faced with difficult situations. The feeling of submissiveness and uncertainty came from  the lack of action taken by the speaker. They made no effort to avoid the despair caused by death. The poem didn't dance around the emotions caused by the loss of a loved one. It detailed some of the feelings felt by those who have had to deal with some ‘bad news’.

I noticed an abrupt shift in the second stanza. The first stanza focused on what was happening in the moment and the second stanza shifted to the emotions being  brought up because of the situation. I felt that this shift could symbolize the sudden and quick change of emotions that a  distressing situation can cause.

From the poem, I gathered the ideas of grief, death, and lack of control. Grief is shown throughout the whole experience that the speaker is facing. They have to deal with the rush of emotions after being told about  the passing of a loved one. Lack of control is shown when Boisseau writes “And I'm caught in the bubble now…” This line expresses the feeling of being trapped and surrounded by despair.

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Recruiting Team

Why should I volunteer?

I'm an American

I have a right to be

drafted.

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i Evacuation

As we boarded the bus

bags on both sides

(I had never packed

two bags before

on a vacation

lasting forever)

the Seattle Times

photographer said

Smile!

so obediently I smiled

and the caption the next day

read:

Note smiling faces

a lesson to Tokyo.

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BY Alice Walker

We alone can devalue gold
by not caring
if it falls or rises
in the marketplace.
Wherever there is gold
there is a chain, you know,
and if your chain
is gold
so much the worse
for you.

Feathers, shells
and sea-shaped stones
are all as rare.

This could be our revolution:
to love what is plentiful
as much as
what's scarce.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alice_Walker#/media/File:Alice_Walker.jpg

Literary Analysis-
When I first read the title of the poem, I thought the poem is focus on isolation and restriction, but as I further analyze the poem, I came to a conclusion that “We Alone” is  focus more on value and materialistic. It’s about how human put values on objects. Walker explains that people should love their family, friends instead of diamonds and gold. The main purpose of this poem is to emphasize the importance of love and the true value of life. Walker begins We Alone with a powerful statement to grabs the reader's attention and to emphasize her message to the society. Similar to her other poems, she didn’t use a lot of complicated words, instead her diction is much simpler compare to other poets. However Walker uses literary elements throughout the poem, first, she uses symbolism. Inline 5-6, she writes “wherever there is gold, there is a chain, you know” Here the chain symbolizes gold, which people don't realize the true value of it. Furthermore Alice also use irony when she writes about gold because gold is supposed to be something good, something has such high value; however, Alice describes gold as something bad, something that holds people down because of its value. Furthermore walker uses alliteration to emphasize the theme and to develop the tone of the poem. She writes “Feathers, shells, and sea-shaped stones, are all as rare” Line 12-13. The tone of the poem is hopeful and optimistic, because she hope that people will change their view on true value.
We Alone is one of my favorite poem, I totally agree with Alice Walker. People should appreciate everything they have and be thankful. But in today’s society, people are more materialistic, they are more into expensive objects instead of their family and friends.

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BY Alice Walker

When you thought me poor,
my poverty was shaming.
When blackness was unwelcome
we found it best
that I stay home.

When by the miracle
of fierce dreaming and hard work
Life fulfilled our every want
you found me crassly
well off;
not trimly,
inconspicuously wealthy
like your rich friends.

Still black too,
now
I owned too much and too many
of everything.

Woe is me: I became a
success! Blackness, who
knows how?
Became suddenly
in!

What to do?
Now that Fate appears
(for the moment anyhow)
to have dismissed
abject failure
in any case?
Now that moonlight and night
have blessed me.

Now that the sun
unaffected by criticism
of any sort,
implacably beams
the kiss filled magic that creates
the dark and radiant wonder
of my face.

Literary Analysis-
When You Thought Me Poor is a free verse style poem, there is no rhyme nor structure. There are six stanzas. Each stanza shows a different stage of the overall story, each line is short so walker can get in her points. The tone of the poem change throughout each stanza, however, the overall tone is challenging and rebellious through to the racist society. She writes “my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome.” Here, Walker shows racism by use words such as “shaming” “ blackness” to emphasize their social status. Next, Walker use diction and details to show unequal in the society.  Walker’s choice of words “the miracle of fierce dreaming” (line 6-7 ) to provide readers a better understanding of the society that people only see what it want to see. Furthermore, she also points out how rich is expected to be rich, and the poor are supposed to be poor. she writes “inconspicuously wealthy, like your rich friends. Here “rich friends” refer to are the social majority which is unequal compared to the narrator. They are known as poor in the society because the society has predetermined who they are. Continually Walker begins to criticise the society by using rhetorical question to emphasize her point. She writes “ Blackness, who knows how?” (Line 19-20) here, she explains how people have to work so hard compared to other in order to gain their status in the society.
The end of the stanza, Walker introduces a new theme- Fate. The narrator begins to wonder what is their plan for their new freedom. She writes “abject failure, in any case? Now that moonlight and night…”  she uses imagery to illustrate the shift after they gain protection through social equality.
Overall, Walker's main purpose is  to show how the society mistreated the black people and their disadvantage, and to fight for their right and equality.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alice_Walker#/media/File:Alice_Walker.jpg

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BY ROBERT FROST

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

Nicole Biles

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https://padlet.com/averyll0914/fnh6k3kdxv5s

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By; Robert Frost

The old dog barks backwards without getting up.
I can remember when he was a pup.

Nicole Biles

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Spaces We Leave Empty
BY CATHY SONG
The jade slipped from my wrist
with the smoothness of water
leaving the mountains,

silk falling from a shoulder,
melon slices sliding across the tongue,
the fish returning.

The bracelet worn since my first birthday
cracked into thousand-year-old eggshells.
The sound could be heard
ringing across the water

where my mother woke in her sleep crying thief.
Her nightgown slapped in the wind
as he howled clutching his hoard.

The cultured pearls.
The bone flutes.
The peppermint disks of jade.

The clean hole
in the center, Heaven:
the spaces we left empty.  Literacy Analysis: Spaces we Leave Open by Cathy Song, the title in my opinion is meaning the space she has between her and her mother and herself. This poem is set to have may literacy elements like metaphors, similes, diction, alliteration, and much more, But overall, it’s about something being taken away from her. Maybe something that her mother might have disapproved of. From my perspective I fee like the poem is very erotic maybe because I’m bent and twisted. In the title "Spaces we leave empty" she may also be referencing how amazing it is that God molds us to long, desire, & lust. For if we were whole to begin with, we could never feel the joy that comes with being completed. This could also be a rebellion against conventionality. The entire purpose of this piece could perhaps be to question why society is so very prudish. This could be her step to leading society into a sexual revolution.  "Cultured pearls, bones flutes, peppermint disks of jade." Description of the bracelet and also perhaps, of the woman before the act. Pearls can symbolize being proper. The authors Chinese heritage further supports this idea. In China Jade can symbolize moral integrity & perfection. "The jade slipped from my wrist" This could symbolize that family bound her, cultural, or religious expectations. As if the bracelet imprisoned her, like handcuffs or chains. When it slips off she is free. "The bracelet worn since my first birthday cracked into thousand-year-old eggshells. The sound could be heard ringing across the water" Obviously, she was born free of sin. Sexual expression, especially outside of marriage is often considered sin. Thousand-year-old eggshells symbolizes human nature & our desire, the fact that this has been happening since the dawn of time. If the sound is ringing across the water it's not necessarily a loud encounter between lovers, this means that the experience is profound. If it is ringing across the water, it will have a rippling effect. It will change her life. This could certainly relate to the loss of one's virginity.
https://www.sfchronicle.com/bayarea/article/Advocates-advice-for-immigrants-If-ICE-12789467.php

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The Kindness of Others
BY CATHY SONG
The kindness of others
is all they ever wanted,
the laughter of neighbors
prospering in the blue light of summer.

Those of the small sputtering flame
and the sudden white sprung hair,
who feed off envy and grow old quickly,
desire largesse.

The role of poor relation
evokes a lack
they are not apt to admit,
or unbearable pity.

They prefer to penetrate the giver’s
effortless knack of giving
they perceive as vitality,
a pulsating entity

that rewards the kindness of others
tenfold.
This they have witnessed.
This they have tabulated relentlessly.

The generosity of others
whose spirits, like their long-legged
children blossoming into a progeny
of orchards and fields, flourish.

Those who have never known kindness
drag into the privacy of their smallness
the baskets of fruit
appearing year after year on their porches,

to be picked apart
in the hushed posture of thieves.
They peel skin, probe flesh
the color of honey

as if the seeds will yield something
other than a glimmer of sweet air
rising from the roots of trees
and licorice-laced, half-opened leaves.

Those of the small flame,
who feed off envy and grow old quickly,
live out their lives
hungry,

glaring at themselves across the table,
wife of the cruel mouth,
husband of the thin broth
trickling like spittle. Analysis:
In “The Kindness of Others,” Cathy Song shows how everyone, young or old, must be kind and generous to everyone through free verse and imagery. She explains how children are only nice to people if they are receiving gifts, but the children never give to others. This leads to her saying, sooner or later, they won’t be receivers since they were never givers. “Those of the small flame/who feed off envy and grow old quickly/ live out their lives/ hungry/ Glaring at themselves across the table/ wife of the cruel mouth/ husband of the thin broth/ trickling like spittle.” This quote is a very obvious stab at the ones who expect to just keep receiving kindness when they don’t give it. As they grow older, they never realize what they are doing wrong and just live their life desiring the kindness of others. Those lines from the poem also depict Song’s style of poetry. She uses free verse to really get the meaning out of what she wants people to see. Song also really throws in a lot of imagery into this poem. “To be picked apart/ in the hushed posture of thieves/ they peel skin, probe flesh/ the color of honey” She uses imagery in this to allow people to see that not being kind to people can cause others to be rude to you, too. Through Song’s free verse and imagery, she really gets out the meaning behind being kind to others and how important it is in the long run.
https://www.itemlive.com/2018/03/30/swampscott-school-kids-learn-lesson-kindness/

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Romance

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

Romance, who loves to nod and sing,

With drowsy head and folded wing,

Among the green leaves as they shake

Far down within some shadowy lake,

To me a painted paroquet

Hath been—a most familiar bird—

Taught me my alphabet to say—

To lisp my very earliest word

While in the wild wood I did lie,

A child—with a most knowing eye.

Of late, eternal Condor years

So shake the very Heaven on high

With tumult as they thunder by,

I have no time for idle cares

Through gazing on the unquiet sky.

And when an hour with calmer wings

Its down upon my spirit flings—

That little time with lyre and rhyme

To while away—forbidden things!

My heart would feel to be a crime

Unless it trembled with the strings.

With reading the tittle I thought it would be about rommonce or a relationship some sortof love. But once reading I came to realise that he uses a bird to describe love well he gives romance bird like characteristic. At first it is more of a reflection of love as a small like loving bird a pet bird like a perekeet. As it continued is changes to a big scary bord and that's the being of the shift . the oberal theme is that reality is not an innocent world filled with lovelennes it a harsh world. The shyme scheme and stricter is next and the structure is AABB the poem uses aiambic and tetrametter . and stressed syllables and the use of only musculin hyme and one case of internal rhyme. some litery elements are onomatopea symbolism alitteration. And the ideas are isolation romance cruelty and reality

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Annabel Lee

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsmen came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,

Went envying her and me—

Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we—

Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in Heaven above

Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

In her sepulchre there by the sea—

In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Littery analysis
Annabel Lee is a dark poem with hypnotic rhyme and song like rhyme. The overall theme of this poem is that true love is able to transcend death. The rhyme scene is ababcb there are in rhyming end words in each stanza. The letter is dum da da dum da da dum da dum . the ideas ate desire romance list innocent death. The poem overall is very Gothic and mystery's. The liary devices are imegry alliteration and repation .

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https://padlet.com/averyll0914/fnh6k3kdxv5s

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Father. You always call to say nothing in particular . that you

ask what I’m doing or where I am and when the silence

stretches like a lifetime between us I scramble to find

questions to keep the conversation going. What I long to

say most is. I understand this world broke you. It has

been so hard on your feet I don’t blame you for not

knowing how to remain soft with me. Sometimes I stay

up thinking of all the places you’re hurting that you

Will never care to mention. I come from the same

aching blood. From the same bone so desperate for

attention I collapse in on myself. I am your daughter. I

know the Small talk is the only way you know how to

tell me you love me. Because it is the only way I know

how to tell you.

Analysis: some people show love in different ways and it still might hurt others unintentionally. Communication is key! The literary elements are found in this poem were empathy, symbolism, and hyperbole. The quote that are used as an example for the hyperbole was "stretches like a lifetime” which is over exaggerated. "I understand this world broke you. It has been so hard on your feet I don’t blame you for not knowing how to remain soft with me “ is an example for the empathy the poet uses to really make the reader feel what she is going through. " the small talk is the only way you know how to tell me” is Symbolism and the phone calls are symbolic to their love that they do not physically show to each other. The tone is sad, negative ,and oppressive. The poet uses a shift to kinda change the subject and try to relate to her dad “ I am your daughter.” The ideas I pulled from the poem were desperation, desire, and detachment. Rupi kaur uses empathy, symbolism, and hyperbole to depict how The detachment the author feels creates a desperation for attention from the father that grows into a desire to be connected to her father.

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Rise

said the moon

and the new day came

the show must go on said the sun

life does not stop for anyone

it drags you by the legs whether you want to move forward or not

that is the gift

life will force you to forget how you long for them

Your skin will shed till there is not

a single of you left they’ve touched

Your eyes finally just your eyes

not the eyes which held them

You will make it to the end

Of what is only the beginning

Go on

Open the door to the rest of it

Analysis:

At the beginning when I read the title I felt that the story would be about the limited time we have or just the time we do have. As I went on and read the poem I figured out that  it was really about how no matter what has happened to you or who has hurt you life keeps going in with time if you pick yourself up you will be exposed to new opportunities. There were some literary elements that really stood out like the personification, visual imagery, and symbolism.   When the poet says “rise said the moon “it was her using personification. When the poet said “the show must go on said the sun” it showed symbolism because the new day symbolizes a new beginning which is  basically what the whole poem was about. When the poet said “your skin will shed till there is not a single part of you left they’ve touched” that showed her using visual imagery. The tone of the poem was very uplifting ,empowering and motivational.  You can really notice the positivity in the poem because it’s very uplifting like when the poet said “you will make it to the end of what is only the beginning” or when  the poet said “open the door to the rest of it”.There is a shift in the poem and he makes the poem even more empowering and makes the reader feel strong it is when the poet says “you will make it to the end”.  The ideas I pulled out of this poem were definitely biorhythm ,self control ,and power.  Rupi kaur  used personification symbolism and visual imagery to depict how the bio rhythm of life with self-control can help you have power over your life to open doors to new opportunities.

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After while remembering the men you loved

is like counting stars.

From the arbitrary constellations

you pick out those the brightest. Then the others,

dimmer and dimmer, till you can't tell if they're real or only reflections

from your eyes watering with the strain

The body's memory is a poor thing. Ask the adopted child

who falls asleep against my steady heart,

to lullabye in any language.

Between my first lover who was thin

and my second who was and nostalgic,

my arms remember little. Though, yes,

there was one who had that sweet smell in his skin

of a child who still drinks nothing

but milk. A milk ladled out

by the Big and Little Dippers. If you look up

long enough into the night sky,

It becomes sure of itself, and you left sure

whether you're lying on the lawn, skirt tucked

against mosquitoes, a cigarette

about to burn your fingers, or if you're falling, and the sky

is a net that can't catch you

since, like everyone else, you are water

nothing can stop. So you lie on your bed, all night staring at the cracks in the plaster

terrified of falling through.
The poem I decided to analyze is titled “Counting”. What drew me in was the title of it. It's incredibly simple and leaves a lot of open space for the reader. Open space in the sense that its name doesn't completely give away the ideas included in this poem.

The poem expresses the author's point of view on the idea of love. As many of us would agree, love is an experience. Those you fall in love with will forever stay with you. This can either be a good or bad thing. You'll remember all of them for all and whatever it is that drew you to them. The poem puts emphasis on expressing the idea that love is confusing. It's not something that is easily forgettable. It leaves us with the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Love makes us feel like we're on top of the world and then when we least expect it,we come crashing down.

I felt that the theme of the poem was love and the loss of it. From this I gathered the ideas of confusion and lack of control. Boisseau writes, “The body's memory is a poor thing...and you less sure whether you're lying on the lawn...or if you're falling…” This moment in the poem gave off a feeling of confusion. Confusion about one's own perceptions and their own emotions. The poem states,“...you're falling and the sky is a net that can't catch you since, like everyone else, you are water nothing can stop…” These lines show the helplessness people feel towards the idea of love. “So you lie on your bed, all night staring at the cracks in the plaster,terrified of falling through.” Here, Boisseau further develops the idea of lack of control. She describes the image of someone lying on their bed hoping they won't fall. She shows that they're terrified of the emotions love can bring out in people.

A few literary elements I picked up on were metaphors, similes, and illusions. Boisseau writes, “...you are water nothing can stop.” This metaphor is used to explain the feeling of hopelessness love create in people. “After a while, remembering the men you loved is like counting stars.” Here, she uses a simile to compare men, or those you loved, to the action of counting stars. The simile works to express the idea that love, and those we fall in love with, will always hold a special place in our thoughts. Boisseau also included an illusion to the Big and Little Dippers. This plays into the presence of stars and constellations. I tied this back to the feeling of lightness we experience when in love.

What I liked most about this poem was the ending. I felt it did a good job at showing that love isn't always a smooth ride. It's something that can bring out the worst and best in us.

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Death Gets into the Suburbs by Michelle Boisseau

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Death Gets into the Suburbs by Michelle Boisseau

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It sweats into the tongue and groove of redwood decks with a Tahoe view.
It slides under the truck where some knuckles

are getting banged up on a stuck nut.

It whirls in the egg whites. Among blacks and whites spread evenly. Inside the chicken

factory, the Falcon 7x, and under the bridge.

There’s death by taxi, by blood clot, by slippery rug.

Death by oops and flood, by drone and gun.

Death with honor derides death without.

Realpolitik and offshore accounts

are erased like a thumb drive lost in a fire.

And the friendly crow sets out walnuts to pop under tires.

So let’s walk the ruins, let’s walk along the ocean

and listen to death’s undying devotion.

One of the poems I chose is titled “Death Gets into the Suburbs”. Just by reading the title, i got a general sense of the ideas to come. The suburbs are defined as  an outlying district of a city, especially a residential one. Suburbs, to me, symbolize normality, middle class, a close community, and an all around idea of what a typical life is like.

To sum up, the poem is describing death, who it affects, and the inevitability of it. Death is present in every part of our lives. This ranges from close family members to nearby wilting flower. Death itself comes in many forms. The poem expresses this through saying “There’s death by taxi, by blood clot, by slippery rug. Death by oops and flood, by drone and gun.” Death can strike at anytime and it doesn’t discriminate.

I felt that the tone of the poem was very accepting and straightforward. The straightforwardness of the poem was shown in the the description of the different types of death. This propels the idea of death taking on many forms. The last stanza expresses the tone of contentedness. Boisseau invites us to calmly walk alongside her and take in the existence of death. Death is something that can never be prevented.

I noticed Boisseau’s use of repetition in the stanza that explains the forms of death. The word ‘death’ is said over and over again. I felt she used this to show the prevalence and overbearing presence of death in our everyday lives. Death is also given human movements when she writes

"It sweats into the tongue and groove of redwood decks with a Tahoe view. It slides under the truck where some knuckles are getting banged up on a stuck nut. It whirls in the egg whites. Among blacks and whites spread evenly." This expresses the swiftness of death and how easily it can reach all of us.

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Still I Rise

BY MAYA ANGELOU

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

- The main theme in this poem is that no matter what happens or what is thrown at Maya Angelou, she will always rise. It's really about self respect and confidence. Here she reveals how she will overcome anything with her self-esteem. She shows how nothing can get her down. Three ideas I saw where slavery, oppression, and history. Which they all tie together there was slavery in history and this poem is like a motivation that no matter what brings you down there is something that will motivate you to push through and rise. It is a reminder of the abuse of power by those who sit in government, the judiciary, in the military and in the police force. For the public, society it sends out a clear message of hope no matter the circumstances, there must always be hope to cling on to. Simile was shown for example in "but still, like dust I'll rise", the imagery was the picture of the rising cloud of dust in the mind.

Caged Bird

BY MAYA ANGELOU

A free bird leaps

on the back of the wind

and floats downstream

till the current ends

and dips his wing

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn

and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom.

- This poem uses metaphor an juxtaposition to express the idea that freedom is a natural state and knowledge of this fact cannot be undone by any amount of oppression, imprisonment or limitation of opportunity. In the poem, the free bird has power and "names the sky his own" while acting on inborn impulses to fly and float on the sky. The language and imagery surrounding the free bird is soft and also indicative of authority, innate rights and self-ownership. Three ideas were Angelou describes the joy that free bird takes in the soaring through the sky. The describes a bird that has been caged, its feet tied and wings clipped. The caged bird rails against its imprisonment. In spite of its fear, it sings of freedom.

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I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.

I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.

     But it was      Cold in that water!      It was cold!

I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.

I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.

     But it was      High up there!      It was high!

So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love—
But for livin' I was born

Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry—
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.

     Life is fine!      Fine as wine!      Life is fine!

In this poem , it describes some of the emotions that lead him to suicidal thoughts..*not finished

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To Change The World Enough

By Alice Walker

To change the world enough

you must cease to be afraid

of the poor.

We experience your fear as the least pardonable of

humiliations; in the past

it has sent us scurrying off

daunted and ashamed

into the shadows.

Now,

the world ending

the only one all of us have known

we seek the same

fresh light

you do:

the same high place

and ample table.

The poor always believe

there is room enough

for all of us;

the very rich never seem to have heard

of this.

In us there is wisdom of how to share

loaves and fishes

however few;

we do this everyday.

Learn from us,

we ask you.

We enter now

the dreaded location

of Earth's reckoning;

no longer far

off

or hidden in books

that claim to disclose

revelations;

it is here.

We must walk together without fear.

There is no path without us

Literary Analysis

As I read Alice Walker’s poem “To Change the World Enough”, I found out that this poem has no rhyme scheme, Walker did not use any meters and she uses simple words just as the poem “Expect Nothing”.  The mood of the poem is dark and angry. Walker feels like poor people are treated unfairly which reflect one of the ideas of the poem.  she writes “ In us this is wisdom of how to shares loaves and fishes…” (line 22-23) here, she promotes equal power between gender and class. Next, as I read through the poem, Walker also concerned about social class, she believes that end of war is near, and it’s time for the poor and rich to work together. She writes “ The poor always believe there is room enough for all of us; the very rich never seem to have heard of this…” ( line 17-23) here, she pointed out that the poor know how to share and rich just don’t.  Walker's purpose (theme) for this is that she wants everyone to work together and unity, she believes that unity is the only choices for peace.  She is frustrated because she thinks that time is running out and she wants everyone to "walk together without fear," which mean that everyone have to work together to solve this problem.
Moreover some of the literary element she uses are allusion, repetition, and visual imagery.  She writes “ Loaves and fishes” here, Walker refer to the bible without mention Bibble Mathew. Next walker used repetition “ we” in order to emphasize her ideas and theme as well as the structure of the poem. Also she uses visual imagery to show that if we want peace we have to walk together and can’t be angry at each others.
link -https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alice_Walker#/media/File:Alice_Walker.jpg

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Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

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Expect Nothing

By Alice Walker

Expect nothing. Live frugally

On surprise.

become a stranger

To need of pity

Or, if compassion be freely

Given out

Take only enough

Stop short of urge to plead

Then purge away the need.

Wish for nothing larger

Than your own small heart

Or greater than a star;

Tame wild disappointment

With caress unmoved and cold

Make of it a parka

For your soul.

Discover the reason why

So tiny human midget

Exists at all

So scared unwise

But expect nothing. Live frugally

On surprise.

Literary Analysis - As I read the poem, I realized that the poem is simple and easy to read. The tone and mood of the are neutral and simple. Walker did not use any rhyme and complicated words, instead, she uses words that are pretty straightforward in order to emphasize the title as well as the messages “Expect Nothing. Moreover, my first impression of the title is lack of expectation, as what Walker said in the first stanza  “expect nothing. Live frugally on surprise.” Here, she explained that life should be simple and easy; we should enjoy every little thing and live our life to the fullest. Furthermore, as I get a deeper analysis, I realized that  Walker promotes a bigger idea which is independence and self- reliant. She believed that people should do their own things instead depend on others. She writes “Step short of urge to plead. Then purge away the need.” (L8-L9 ) I totally agree with Walker and these two lines are my favorite part of the poem. If we can do things on our own, why depends on others?  We should be thankful for what we have instead compared it with others. Life is simple, but sometimes we just make it more complicated. However, Walker also uses some literary elements such as metaphor, personification, and symbolism in order to emphasize the idea of simplicity. First, she uses metaphor to compare the heart as greater than a star in order to show tiny things can be the greatest. Next, she uses personification to compare things in the world which allows readers to have a better understanding. She writes, “wild Disappointment” (L13) and “make of it a Parka for your soul” (L15-16) here, she describes disappointment as wild and she says to uses the disappointment as Parka for your soul. According to Walker, parka means protection, which to protect the soul from suffering. Lastly, Walker also uses symbolism such as “small heart”, which refer to one’s ability and value.
link -https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alice_Walker#/media/File:Alice_Walker.jpg

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"Lost Sister" - Cathy Song               1
In China,
even the peasants
named their first daughters
Jade―
the stone that in the far fields
could moisten the dry season,
could make men move mountains
for the healing green of the inner hills
glistening like slices of winter melon.
And the daughters were grateful:
They never left home.
To move freely was a luxury
stolen from them at birth.
Instead, they gathered patience;
learning to walk in shoes
the size of teacups,
without breaking―
the arc of their movements
as dormant as the rooted willow,
as redundant as the farmyard hens.
But they traveled far
in surviving,
learning to stretch the family rice,
to quiet the demons,
the noisy stomachs.
2
There is a sister
across the ocean,
who relinquished her name,
diluting jade green
with the blue of the Pacific.
Rising with a tide of locusts,
she swarmed with others
to inundate another shore.
In America,
there are many roads
and women can stride along with men.
But in another wilderness,
the possibilities,
the loneliness,
can strangulate like jungle vines.
The meager provisions and sentiments
of once belonging―
fermented roots, Mah-Jong tiles and firecrackers―set but
a flimsy household
in a forest of nightless cities.
A giant snake rattles above,
spewing black clouds into your kitchen.
Dough-faced landlords
slip in and out of your keyholes,
making claims you don't understand,
tapping into your communication systems
of laundry lines and restaurant chains.
You find you need China:
your one fragile identification,
a jade link
handcuffed to your wrist.
You remember your mother
who walked for centuries,
footless―
and like her,
you have left no footprints,
but only because
there is an ocean in between,
the unremitting space of your rebellion.                                      Literacy Analysis: This poem has a set of tone that lead questioning and situations that are quite semimetal and a bit sad. When you read the poem tittle you think that its abut a sister that’s lost with no escape. Also, the other sister expressing her feelings in the poem, but thoughts aren’t quite right. Lost Sister is a poem in which two sisters have different aspects of a lifestyle. One sister wants to leave China and begin her life in America. While the other sister wants to stay in China and learn about her heritage and society. This poem has an aspect of similar generations by culture but are separated by their lifestyles. In my opinion I think the sisters could make their own opinions their old enough to make their decisions, there are ways they can contact and transportation to see each other if they wish to do so. Although there was a defect because in the poem, women in China had to give up their freedom for their family and tradition. In this poem the speaker shows the readers how the differences of living in America and China were like for women. “your mother”, this phrase in my opinion was symbolic to the poem because “your mother”, was meant to be Chinese woman of the past. My thought on this phrase was the lifestyle that woman had back then which was for example, to clean watch out for the family (do housewife material things) Woman basically did have to give up their freedom for their family or else how would the rest of the family be prepared. Also, I think that culture also has a huge impact on the women who stayed in China, women before had a lifestyle to be a housewife and maybe that kept on passing on to family to family like a tradition.  Although the sister escapes the limitations she had in China, she yet experiences a different set of identity issues and limitations on her power and independence, as she navigates a foreign world and its cultural barriers.          http://www.pitlanemagazine.com/morals-values-and-norms/how-much-does-culture-and-lifestyle-affect-behavior.html this article shows how some still choose their culture tradition and how lifestyles people choose affect them. - samantha mata

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A Dream Within a Dream

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow —

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand —

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep — while I weep!

O God! Can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?

Literary analysis
The poem is titled "A dream within a dream" once I read this tittle i thought of a sweet dreams but once I read the poem it was twisted to cruelty and darkness. The sum of the poem is of a parting of the speaker parting with some one and the author can not grasp the there parting.
This is all described in first persons point of view. Poe uses alliteration imagery and personification. And is written in iambic rhythm.
The tone of the poem is devastated contemplative and distraught and this is best shown with these words "while i weep " And "o god! Can I not grasp them with a tighter clasp"

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Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

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The Road Not Taken

Launch Audio in a New Window

By Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

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The Question of Loyalty

If I sign this

What will I be?

I am doubly loyal

to my American children

also to my own people.

How can double mean nothing?

I wish no one to lose this war.

Everyone does.

As I read this poem i noticed that identity is a priority to Yamada. Loyalty is questioned, and i ask myself, Can you be loyal to a country you were not born in? I believe this allows a reader to see that by her being loyal to both America and Her home land, Japan, makes her just as patriotic as the average Jane. This war she refers to is meant to be the war for an identity, again this is one her Yamada’s strongest purpose. Her purpose being ,or theme I should say, just because she was not born in America, does not mean she is not American. She has followed our culture, our government, and she has contributed to the society.

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Haunt Me
for my father
I am the archaeologist. I sift the shards of you: cufflinks, passport photos,
a button from the March on Washington with a black hand shaking
a white hand, letters in Spanish, your birth certificate from a town high
in the mountains. I cup your silence, and the silence melts like ice in a cup.
I search for you in two yellow Kodak boxes marked Puerto Rico,
Noche Buena, Diciembre 1968. In the 8-millimeter silence the Espadas
gather, elders born before the Spanish American War, my grandfather
on crutches after fracturing his fossil hip, his blind brother on a cane.
You greet the elders and they call you Tato, the name they call you there.
Uncles and cousins sing in a chorus of tongues without sound, vibration
of guitar strings stilled by an unseen hand, maracas shaking empty
of seeds. The camera wobbles from the singers to the television
and the astronauts sending pictures of the moon back to earth.
Down by the river, women still pound laundry on the rocks.
I am eleven again, a boy from the faraway city of ice that felled
my grandfather, startled after the blind man with the cane stroked
my face with his hand dry as straw, crying out Bendito. At the table,
I hear only the silence that rises like the river in my big ears.
You sit next to me, clowning for the camera, tugging the lapels
on your jacket, slicking back your black hair, brown skin darker
from days in the sun. You slide your arm around my shoulder,
your good right arm, your pitching arm, and my moon face radiates,
and the mountain song of my uncles and cousins plays in my head.
Watching you now, my face stings as it stung when my blind great-uncle
brushed my cheekbones, searching for his own face. When you died,
Tato, I took a razor to the movie looping in my head, cutting the scenes
where you curled an arm around my shoulder, all the times you would
squeeze the silence out of me so I could hear the cries and songs again.
When you died, I heard only the silences between us, the shouts belling
the air before the phone went dead, all the words melting like ice in a cup.
That way I could set my jaw and take my mother’s hand at the mortuary,
greet the elders in my suit and tie at the memorial, say all the right words.
Yet my face stings at last. I rewind and watch your arm drape across
my shoulder, over and over. A year ago, you pressed a Kodak slide
of my grandfather into my hand and said: Next time, stay longer.
Now, in the silence that is never silent, I push the chair away
from the table and say to you: Sit down. Tell me everything. Haunt me.

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My Name is Espada
Espada: the word for sword in Spain
wrought by fire and the hammer's chime,
name for the warrior reeling helmut-hooded
through the pandemonium of horses in mud,
or the face dreaming on a sarcophagus,
hands folded across the hilt of stone.
Espada: sword in el Caribe,
rapier tested sharp across the bellies of Indios, steel tongue
lapping blood like a mastiff gorged on a runaway slave,
god gleaming brighter than the god nailed to the cross,
forged at the anvil with chains by the millions
tangled and red as the entrails of demons.
Espada: baptizing Taíno or Congolese,
name they stuttered in the barking language
of priests and overseers, slave's finger pressed to the blade
with the pulsing revelation that a Spaniard's throat
could seep blood like a fingertip, sabers for the uprising
smuggled in the hay, slave of the upraised saber
beheaded even as the servants and fieldhands
murmured he is not dead, he rides a white horse at night,
his sword is a torch, the master cannot sleep,
there is a dagger under the pillow.
Espada: cousin to the machete, peasant cutlass
splitting the cane like a peasant's backbone,
cousin to the kitchen knife skinning a plátano.
Swords at rest, the machetero or cook
studied their blisters as if planets
to glimpse the hands of their father the horseman,
map the hands of their mother the serf.
Espada: sword in Puerto Rico, family name of bricklayers
who swore their trowels fell as leaves from iron trees;
teachers who wrote poems in galloping calligraphy;
saintcarvers who whittled a slave's gaze and a conqueror's beard;
shoemaker spitting tuberculosis, madwoman
dangling a lantern to listen for the cough;
gambler in a straw hat inhabited by mathematical angels;
preacher who first heard the savior's voice
bleeding through the plaster of the jailhouse;
dreadlocked sculptor stunned by visions of birds,
sprouting wings from his forehead, earthen wings in the fire.
So the face dreaming on a sarcophagus,
the slave of the saber riding a white horse by night
breathe my name, tell me to taste my name: Espada.

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"Cincinnati," in Camp Notes

Freedom at last
in this town aimless
I walked against the rush
hour traffic
My first day
in a real city
where

no one knew me.

No one except one
hissing voice that said
dirty jap
warm spittle on my right cheek.
I turned and faced
the shop window
and my spittle face
spilled onto a hill
of books.
Words on display.

As I read this poem, I had to read it multiple times to understand the meaning I inferred from the poem. As I did my sketch notes, I highlighted words like “Freedom” and “aimless” to understand that Yamada was trying to imply she was exposed to a new world. The discrimination and name calling she went through is what gave her motive to create her work. Generally, Yamada experienced isolation and racism, on her “first day in a real city”. However, she used that discrimination to put her “ Words on display.” To give her readers an insight of her story.

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Heaven

BY CATHY SONG

He thinks when we die we’ll go to China.

Think of it—a Chinese heaven

where, except for his blond hair,

the part that belongs to his father,

everyone will look like him.

China, that blue flower on the map,

bluer than the sea

his hand must span like a bridge

to reach it.

An octave away.

I’ve never seen it.

It’s as if I can’t sing that far.

But look—

on the map, this black dot.

Here is where we live,

on the pancake plains

just east of the Rockies,

on the other side of the clouds.

A mile above the sea,

the air is so thin, you can starve on it.

No bamboo trees

but the alpine equivalent,

reedy aspen with light, fluttering leaves.

Did a boy in Guangzhou dream of this

as his last stop?

I’ve heard the trains at night

whistling past our yards,

what we’ve come to own,

the broken fences, the whiny dog, the rattletrap cars.

It’s still the wild west,

mean and grubby,

the shootouts and fistfights in the back alley.

With my son the dreamer

and my daughter, who is too young to walk,

I’ve sat in this spot

and wondered why here?

Why in this short life,

this town, this creek they call a river?

He had never planned to stay,

the boy who helped to build

the railroads for a dollar a day.

He had always meant to go back.

When did he finally know

that each mile of track led him further away,

that he would die in his sleep,

dispossessed,

having seen Gold Mountain,

the icy wind tunneling through it,

these landlocked, makeshift ghost towns?

It must be in the blood,

this notion of returning.

It skipped two generations, lay fallow,

the garden an unmarked grave.

On a spring sweater day

it’s as if we remember him.

I call to the children.

We can see the mountains

shimmering blue above the air.

If you look really hard

says my son the dreamer,

leaning out from the laundry’s rigging,

the work shirts fluttering like sails,

you can see all the way to heaven.

Poem Analysis: “Heaven”, by the title you could think its paradise after death but, in the beginning of the poem Songs son refers “Heaven” as China. Her song is bringing the notions of returning where his family came from. Her son hopes to find people to get involved with in China with the same characteristics as him.  Cathy has never been to China where her family is from. It’s a place she would love to go to learn more about her ancestry and her heritage and meet people there, like her son said to meet people with similar characteristics as them. Although she questions herself why her grandfather left China and came to America. Ideas such as isolation, identity, and freedom. Identity is shown through the family and the ancestry. Cathy has never been to China and her grandfather never returned. Her grandfather basically isolated himself from his country leaving no tracts of himself. An example of a literacy element shown through the poem often is China, it was a symbolism of heaven, because her son thinks that when everyone dies they go to China. Bringing identity and the ethnicity of their race. Cathy thought are rerouted to a historical time when a boy in southern China started his long journey to the United States to make a living at the gold mines and the railroad, indefinitely prolonging his stay. Switching back to the present, the poet muses that “It must be in the blood, this notion of returning. It skipped two generations, lay fallow, the garden an unmarked grave.” This realization, triggered by the innocent thoughts of a child, leads the poet to call to the children to look to where “we can see the mountains shimmering blue above the air.” Late much of the tone throughout the poem is desirous, wistful, and sorrowful. The poem begins with a neutral tone than shifts to a tone that is negative but ends on a positive note.
http://napavalleyregister.com/opinion/letters/the-napa-high-indian/article_5644f4cb-7f17-53c8-8b86-9a05d76aab46.html this documentary showed how heritage culture and background isolated themselves from others to keep its self safe - samantha mata

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“Alone”

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

From childhood’s hour I have not been

As others were—I have not seen

As others saw—I could not bring

My passions from a common spring—

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow—I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone—

And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—

Then—in my childhood—in the dawn

Of a most stormy life—was drawn

From ev’ry depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still—

From the torrent, or the fountain—

From the red cliff of the mountain—

From the sun that ’round me roll’d

In its autumn tint of gold—

From the lightning in the sky

As it pass’d me flying by—

From the thunder, and the storm—

And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view—

Littery analysis
This poem is tittled "Alone" by just reading the tittle I get/got the general idea/theme of loneliness and isolation.
The sum of the poem is edgar describing himself/his life on how he has seen the darkness in the world when I read it the poem gave me the idea of a pessimist and a person who was isolated from a young age. In the poem there was a big use of alliteration and imagery the one that expresses the idea of isolation is this quote "and all I loved, i loved alone" and "from childhoods hour I have not been as others were, i have not been as others were, - I I have not seen as others saw," this loneliness was brought from a young age. The author was always alone.
The tone of this poem is vary dark and somber. Alone describes alot of dark and sad things that happened to poe's life, edgar describes how he was always alone and was isolated from Socity and looked down upon. The key words to help are "sorrow" "I lov'd Alone" "stormy life" "mystery" "torrent" and the rhyme scheme is AABB the rhymes rhyme but some times not in a rhyme sense but a visual one.

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Create a post by copying and pasting a photo of your poet, a copy of the poem you are analyzing, and then your analytical commentary.  Be sure to include your name, or user name at the bottom of the post so I can give you credit for your work.