Spellbound - Emily Bronte

Spellbound

Emily Brontë (1818 – 1848)

The night is darkening round me,

The wild winds coldly blow;

But a tyrant spell has bound me

And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending

Their bare boughs weighed with snow.

And the storm is fast descending,

And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,

Wastes beyond wastes below;

But nothing dear can move me;

I will not, cannot go.




Responding to the Title - 9

n Emily Bronte’s Spellbound, Emily Bronte sets a turbulent tone with diction that turns from dark and helpless to stubborn as well as with unpredictable syntax. The title Spellbound implies that a person is held to something against their will, and this is reflected in the language. The bleak diction includes wild winds, tyrant, bending, fast descending, and wastes which set clear visual and tactile imagery of the turmoil the speaker is enduring. The syntax also does not have a clear pattern and haphazardly switches between commas, semicolons, and periods, further showing the violence of the environment. The speaker repeats in all three stanzas that she “cannot go,” and speaks of a tyrant that has bound her, revealing her inability to leave or take control of her actions, despite the horrible conditions. The repetitive usage of passive voice further demonstrates the idea of being out of control and perhaps displacing blame on the spell she believes she is under. The title fits well with the speaker’s helpless outlook, however, in the last line (12) of the poem, she breaks the repetition of “I cannot go” with “I will not, cannot go.” This statement shows change in the speaker who finally takes a stance. And through the realization that she is staying by choice, she takes responsibility over her actions and is no longer spellbound.

The World of Grown Ups

The world of grown-ups by Ku Sang

Don't mock me and say:
Why are you so sunk in thought?
It doesn't suit your little form!

The reason I am so shocked and dumbfounded
and quite at a loss for words

is, well, oh dear, well,
is the fact that
what you adults call 'life'
is so crammed full of lies.

You shout justice, yet you act unjustly,
you mouth love, yet you hate each other,
you advocate peace as you fight and kill.

I fear I am very impertinent
but as someone else has said

unless you regain the heart of a child
you cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven and
likewise if you do not regain the heart of a child
you cannot escape the snares and quicksands
of this lying world.

#12 – How this poem speaks to me

As Ms. Hatkoff mentioned in class the other day, I too have been bombarded with different questions about my values, beliefs and goals lately, especially as I am at a fork in the road. I feel as though I am in a slimy, transitional period of my life where I am in a sort of purgatory between imminent adulthood and fleeting childhood. I have been confronted by harsh realities from all aspects of my life. I chose this poem because it reflects how I feel most of the time that adults are hypocrites and the “real world” which I have been preparing to enter my entire life thus far, is full of deception and greed. Sang verbalizes my opinions, my recent conclusion that maturity is not synonymous with adulthood and I wish specific people, such as my parental units, would be able to recognize that.

Ku Sang’s poem conveys the maturity of youths and their capacity to be more discerning than adults and more true to the values that they may not understand yet are told to believe by the adults, the hypocrites. Sang begins with interrogative and exclamatory diction to emphasize the way in which children are patronized. The infantilizing diction, “sunk” and “little”, is implemented to distinguish the roles of children as defined by adults. In the second stanza, Sang speaks from the perspective of a child and reverses the roles by using a patronizing tone created by the use of the phrase “what you adults call…”. In the fourth and sixth stanzas, the use of the repetition of “you” is accusatory and highlights the hypocrisy of adults. Sang’s use of “snares and quicksands” as a metaphor for the hypocrisy, deception and double standards of this world fit perfectly as well.

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep (unknown)

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
[There are four corners on my bed,
There are four angels over my head.
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,
Bless this bed that I lay on.]

#12
Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep is the poem, prayer, and grouping of words that I have been saying since before I can remember. As a child, it guarded me in my slumber, leaving my future secure. After delivering the first verse I would always add: “ There are four corners on my bed, there are four angels over my head. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, bless this bed that I lay on”. Then I would proceed by touching the four posts of my bed with my feet and hands and falling fast asleep. This poem speaks to me because it unites me with all who have repeated it. Though this poem is about vulnerability; there is also a sense of security. The speaker originally asks for protection but there are more possibilities so he or she asks for salvation. The voice contains no doubt or fear; only trust that God is watching over. Reading this poem and remembering my absolute devotion causes me to question my own beliefs and wonder if I can be as secure as this poem. I feel trust is often thrown aside as naiveté, but that is not always the case. Belief is a tangible thing, grounded in faith and God as stated in this poem. More than anything this poem speaks to me because it is the foundation of my beliefs, preaching trust and protection; which inevitably take my soul and my mind to another realm offering a retreat for my soul from the daily struggles I face.

George Herbert's "Jordan (II)"

George Herbert
“Jordan (II)”
When first my lines of heav'nly joyes made mention,
Such was their lustre, they did so excell,
That I sought out quaint words, and trim invention ;
My thoughts began to burnish, sprout, and swell,
Curling with metaphors a plain intention,
Decking the sense, as if it were to sell.

Thousands of notions in my brain did runne,
Off'ring their service, if I were not sped :
I often blotted what I had begunne ;
This was not quick enough, and that was dead.
Nothing could seem too rich to clothe the sunne,
Much lesse those joyes which trample on his head.

As flames do work and winde, when they ascend,
So did I weave my self into the sense.
But while I bustled, I might heare a friend
Whisper, How wide is all this long pretence !
There is in love a sweetnesse readie penn'd :
Copie out only that, and save expense.

Herbert conveys his difficulty in reconciling his religion with his poetry. As a poet, he’s driven by an impulse to compose his thoughts into flowery, rich language, yet his religion requires the very modesty that would prohibit this type of expression. Herbert opens the first stanza describing his initial attempts to put his “heav’nly joyes” to paper. He describes his faith and his poetry using rich metaphor, pointing to the fact that he cannot even express his sentiments in this poem without violating God’s supposed call for modesty. He says that his poetry begins to “burnish, sprout and swell” his faith, implying that poetry can polish and beautify his love for God. Yet, Herbert goes on to say that his poetry begins “curling with metaphors a plain intention.” For all its richness, Herbert’s poetic language curls and thus distorts the purity of his “plain” faith. Herbert employs an unflattering simile to convey this degradation, stating that writing rich words is akin to “decking the sense, as if it were to sell.” Selling one’s sentiments is hardly pious, and Herbert implies that decorating one’s faith with flowery language is ostentatious.

Herbert’s second stanza conveys how consuming his practice can become. “I often blotted what I had begunne;” he says, pointing to how expressing one’s religion in poetry can often subject one’s faith to unnecessary scrutiny and alteration. If Herbert feels the need to blot out his words, his poetry reflects a certain vanity or preoccupation with his own merit rather than a devotion to God. Herbert’s poem builds insidiously to a climax when he states that “nothing could seem too rich to clothe the sunne.” Herbert attempts to encompass the greatness of God, or “the sunne” with “rich words.” Yet, he is aware that “nothing” can emulate God’s strength and that it is futile to think that a poem can measure up to his glory. Herbert concludes his poem with a friend’s wise admonition to “copie out only” the pure sentiment of faith and avoid the “long pretense” of rich wording. There is a certain futility in the whole endeavor of composing this poem, for Herbert employs the very literary devices he is warned to stay away from. In fact, he implies that poetry itself is “pretense” that distracts from true faith. When man is concerned with composing beautiful stanzas, he obsesses over himself rather than focusing on his love towards God. Herbert’s sentiments indicate that he’s greatly torn between his poetry and his faith.

Shakespeare's Sonnet VII.

Shakespeare’s Sonnet VII. 1564-1616

BEING your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.

Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;

Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those!

So true a fool is love, that in your Will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.


response type #1:
In Shakespeare’s Sonnet VII the speaker feels enraged about how his love is not returned. The first words in the sonnet, stating “BEING your slave,” sets the tone and the type of relationship the speaker has with his love one. By comparing himself to a “slave,” the speaker reveals the relationship is not equal, but rather a master-servant bond in which he is the only one giving. Also by describing himself as a “slave,” he reveals his will is not his own, but is controlled by his lover. The repetition of “Nor dare” further evinces how his will is not his own as he cannot take any action without thought of his love one’s approval and seems to be exasperated that he is always waiting for her. His frustration of the perpetual waiting is shown through how he stresses time. The diction, “hours” and “times”, are repeated throughout the sonnet and also other related words, such as “watch” and “clock,” are stated as well, all dealing with the sense of waiting. Also it is evident that the speaker is infuriated through the usage of an exclamation mark when he agonies how his lover makes others “happy,” yet she never is concerned with his happiness.
However, instead of being a poem that only consists of a speaker's rants about not being loved, Shakespeare is able to cleverly instill guilt and shame to the addressed lover through the language utilized. Evoking the sense of guilt is most effectively done with the juxtaposition of the described unfair relationship to the speaker’s description of his yet unwavering love for her. The speaker describes his thoughts to be absent of “bitterness,” despite her negligence. Also even though she does nothing for him, “he thinks no ill.” Through setting this pretense of being at peace, it heightens the speaker’s selflessness acts, thus creating greater empathy for the pain he has experienced.
In Sonnet VII Shakespeare yet again proves his genius in conveying human feelings as well as evoking emotions from the reader.

poetry response #1 - Analyze the ways in which this poem reflects the values of the movement with which it is affiliated.

Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight - Vachel Lindsay (1879)

It is portentous, and a thing of state
That here at midnight, in our little town
A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,
Near the old court-house pacing up and down.

Or by his homestead, or in shadowed yards
He lingers where his children used to play,
Or through the market, on the well-worn stones
He stalks until the dawn-stars burn away.

A bronzed, lank man! His suit of ancient black,
A famous high top-hat and plain worn shawl
Make him the quaint great figure that men love,
The prairie-lawyer, master of us all.

He cannot sleep upon his hillside now.
He is among us: -- as in times before!
And we who toss and lie awake for long
Breathe deep, and start, to see him pass the door.

His head is bowed. He thinks on men and kings.
Yea, when the sick world cries, how can he sleep?
Too many peasants fight, they know not why,
Too many homesteads in black terror weep.

The sins of all the war-lords burn his heart.
He sees the dreadnaughts scouring every main.
He carries on his shawl-wrapped shoulders now
The bitterness, the folly and the pain.

He cannot rest until a spirit-dawn
Shall come; -- the shining hope of Europe free;
The league of sober folk, the Workers' Earth,
Bringing long peace to Cornwall, Alp and Sea.

It breaks his heart that kings must murder still,
That all his hours of travail here for men
Seem yet in vain. And who will bring white peace
That he may sleep upon his hill again?


The “figure” in Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight by Vachel Lindsay represents Abraham Lincoln, and the poetic work as a whole reflects the burden American abolitionists felt to abolish slavery. Lindsay aligns the reader and himself with the abolitionist movement by labeling Lincoln, a revolutionary abolitionist, as “the leader of us all” in the third stanza. The continual use of “us” and “we” in the following stanza further implies we are a part of the anti-slavery movement led by Lincoln because Lincoln experiences the same restlessness over the issue of slavery we experience (Abraham Lincoln “pacing up and down” at midnight in the first stanza and “we who toss and lie awake for long” in the fourth stanza). Thus, the anxious imagery used throughout the poem to describe Lincoln’s distress over slavery and other sins of this world is used to reflect the anxiety other abolitionists similarly felt. Abolitionists’ determination is also reflected by the figure who “will not rest,” paralleling the perseverance of the movement.

A result of the Second Great Awakening, the anti-slavery movement was partly spurred by religion. “Hillside” in the fourth stanza and “hill” in the last stanza allude to the biblical idea of becoming an accurate representation of God’s teachings, or the “city on a hill,” to spread the word of God. Abolitionists felt slavery prevented their population from fulfilling this responsibility, and this sentiment is supported in the poem by Lincoln being on the hillside, rather than on the top of the hill. The last line, “That he may sleep upon his hill again?” further implies they have strayed from their Christian mission and must end slavery to return to the top of the hill.

The White House by Claude McKay

The White House
By Claude McKay
Your door is shut against my tightened face,
And I am sharp as steel with discontent;
But I possess the courage and the grace
To bear my anger proudly and unbent.
The pavement slabs burn loose beneath my feet,
A chafing savage, down the decent street;
And passion rends my vitals as I pass,
Where boldly shines your shuttered door of glass.
Oh, I must search for wisdom every hour,
Deep in my wrathful bosom sore and raw,
And find in it the superhuman power
To hold me to the letter of your law!
Oh, I must keep my heart inviolate
Against the potent poison of your hate.

Here is the link: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15248

Response #6: How biographical information about the poet deepens an understanding of the poem

Claude McKay, author of The White House, was born in Jamaica, West Indies, 1889. In 1912, he travelled to the United States to attend school. During his stay here he witnessed many injustices pertaining to the black citizens. His interest in political and social matters is evident in many of his poems, especially The White House. During the 1920s Claude McKay became interested in Communism and moved to Russia and then to France. His enthusiasm, however, eventually ceased and he moved to Harlem. During the Harlem Renaissance he felt inspired to celebrate his heritage and write about his life as a black man. As a child he was told the stories of his ancestors, who were brought over as slaves, but managed to keep together. He became very proud of his race and was never wiling to apologize for the color of his skin. In The White House, Claude McKay speaks from his own experiences, using first person and including detailed imagery, such as the “shuttered door of glass” and his “wrathful bosom sore and raw.”
He writes about his resentment concerning the social inequalities, and the struggle he goes through in attempting to subdue his hatred. Having seen his family being acted against in violent ways, he knows that brutality is not the solution and he must refrain from acting out of aggression. The White House tells the life of a man who stood “proudly and unbent” in the face of “potent poison.” Later Harlem Renaissance poets such as Langston Hughes found much inspiration in McKay’s work.

Explain how biographical information about the poet deepens an understanding of the poem. THIS IS KATIAS!!!

On His Blindness
John Milton (1652)
WHEN I consider how my light is spent
E're half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide,Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bentTo serve therewith my Maker, and presentMy true account, lest he returning chide,
Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd,
I fondly ask; But patience to preven
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts, who best
Bear his milde yoak, they serve him best, his StateIs Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o're Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and waite.

Milton was a 15th century English poet whose writings convey his personal connection to his particular subjects. For instance, in “On His Blindness”, Milton discusses the emotions and consequences of being blinded by glaucoma. Because of his sudden illness, he was forced to dictate his poems to his apprentices rather than personally write them. “On His Blindness” demonstrates the sense of loss and isolation Milton felt after having suddenly lost his sight. Milton turned to religion as a solution to try and lessen his fear of blindness and loneliness. Biographical information allows the reader to have a deeper understanding of the tone and message the author wishes to convey. Initially, I was unaware of the fact that Milton was blind when he wrote this so I did not understand the personal implication in the poem’s message. In the poem, Milton has presented light and dark as two contrasting symbols signifying how he has spent his past in the light and his future is dark and bleak. Milton has tried to communicate to the reader what he has felt concerning his blindness- sadness, disappointment, and confusion, so Milton turns to religion to try and understand why God has made him blind. Milton tries to find meaning behind God’s actions as a way to accept what has happened to him. Milton’s blindness and connection with God help create a clearer sense of the message the poem is trying to communicate to the reader.

"Nothing Gold Can Stay" by Robert Frost (1923)

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Response # 11:

Robert Frost’s poem, "Nothing Gold Can Stay," refers to the transience and finiteness of mortality. He uses plants as a metaphor for all of life, describing the beauty and intrinsic value of God’s creations. Frost starkly contrasts the vibrantly colorful diction present in the opening line by introducing the theme of fatality in the second line: "Nature’s first green is gold, / Her hardest hue to hold." As the greenness of a plant is characteristic of life, Frost’s implication that Nature must struggle to retain her existence is both disheartening and true. Too many humans the world and its wonders for granted, even more so in the 21st century than in 1923, when Frost wrote "Nothing Gold Can Stay". The recurrence of death as a theme suggests that Frost dwells mainly on the loss of precious life, but he does speak to rebirth, saying, "Then leaf subsides to leaf." This line references the circle of life and the ever-present reminders that some life must die to make room for new life. Though as humans we can find sorrow in the loss of others, Robert Frost’s poem, "Nothing Gold Can Stay" reaffirms the necessity that we must also recognize the beauty and value of all life on earth.

Life (Charlotte Bronte, 1816-1854)

Life, believe, is not a dream
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why lament its fall?
Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily
Enjoy them as they fly!
What though Death at times steps in,
And calls our Best away?
What though sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope, a heavy sway?
Yet Hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell;
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
Manfully, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell despair!


#12:

In reading this poem for the first time, not only did it resonate strongly with me, but I was struck that a woman in the mid 1800s had the same outlook on life and seemingly the same optimistically realistic personality that I do. You see, I call myself an optimistic realist, because I’m an optimistic person, but within the bounds of reality. Basically, I have a generally happy disposition, but I’ve managed to keep my feet on the ground. In keeping with my positive outlook, the poem says, “if the shower will make the roses bloom, / O why lament its fall?” which reminds me of my favorite saying “for every cloud there is a silver lining”. It seemed that the saying that I know is the modern version of what Bronte states. Funny as it may seem, I found my self nodding with every line and every phrase of encouragement to enjoy life, every sentence in perfect accord with my personal outlook on life. Perhaps, I thought while reading it, I’ve finally found someone like me who can concisely express what the both of us feel. I’m still amazed that 192 years later, Charlotte Bronte’s poem about life and hope is still applicable and relatable, still resonating with me and what I’ve know about myself and life for a long time.

Poetry Anthology

Cassandra (Robinson Jeffers 1887-1962)

The mad girl with the staring eyes and long white fingersHooked in the stones of the wall,The storm-wrack hair and screeching mouth: does it matter,
Cassandra,Whether the people believeYour bitter fountain? Truly men hate the truth, they'd lieferMeet a tiger on the road.Therefore the poets honey their truth with lying; but religion—Vendors and political menPour from the barrel, new lies on the old, and are praised for
kindlyWisdom. Poor bitch be wise.No: you'll still mumble in a corner a crust of truth, to menAnd gods disgusting—You and I, Cassandra.

The story of Cassandra in Greek mythology is one of tragedy. According to mythology, Cassandra was given the power to foretell the future from the God Apollo. Hoping to win her affections, he became her teacher in the art of prophecy. Ultimately, he won her allegiance but not her heart. Insulted by her refusal, Apollo decided to turn her gift into a curse; from then on anyone who heard Cassandra’s truthful prophecies would automatically believe them to be lies. Cassandra’s burden was most evident during the battle of Troy. Cassandra knowing beforehand the Greek’s plan of attack, tried to keep the Trojans from accepting the infamous wooden horse. Unfortunately, her forewarnings were ignored and Troy and all those who inhabited it were destroyed. Many poets have written poems about Cassandra and her unwavering desire to tell the truth but I found this one, by Robinson Jeffers, to be the most poignant and irreverently honest of all the ones I read.
Understanding the story of Cassandra is key to understanding the significance of the poem. Without a clear understanding of her story it is impossible to read the amount of passion Jefferson has for relaying the truth in his writing. In the last line of the poem Robinson reveals that only he and Cassandra are the last two people who truly feel a need to tell the truth; she through her gift of foretelling and he through his gift of writing. This is significant because he knows she died for her cause. Therefore, in relating his cause with hers he admits he is willing to die for his own cause. He even alienates himself from other writers saying, “Poets honey their truth with lying.” This is significant because Robinson alienates himself in the same way Cassandra does by telling the truth. Jefferson’s Cassandra is so poignant because she not only foretells the destruction of her own civilization but she seems to foretell the destruction of our own society. Jefferson seems to end his poem with a haunting warning: If we continue to ignore the truth of our society, then we, like the Trojans, will meet our end.

Part Three: Love

I ’M wife; I ’ve finished that,

That other state;

I ’m Czar, I ’m woman now:

It ’s safer so.



How odd the girl’s life looks

Behind this soft eclipse!

I think that earth seems so

To those in heaven now.




This being comfort, then

That other kind was pain;

But why compare?

I ’m wife! stop there!

#9 meaning in the title

The title for this poem does not seem to fit the poem because there are no obvious emotions of love expressed. The woman in this poem is not only reminiscing on a earlier life she had, but is also comparing her life then to her life now. Her title "Love" could either be a reference to her younger life or her present one. Although she states "this being comfort then. That other kind was pain," which would cause the reader to assume her life now is better, her unwillingness to delve too deep into her past casts doubt on her love for her present life. Her use of the word "safe" to describe her preference for being a wife also does not fit under the description of love. Love is not safe. But this woman seems very scared of anything that isn't safe, demonstrated by her constant reaffirmation that she is a wife, "finished that,"and "stop there." This woman may be trying to convince herself she loves this safe life, but her fear to venture into the dangerous territories of her past impede on her discovering her true emotions.

"The Geranium"

“The Geranium”

by Theodore Roethke, 1966

When I put her out, once, by the garbage pail,

She looked so limp and bedraggled,

So foolish and trusting, like a sick poodle,

Or a wizened aster in late September,

I brought her back in again

For a new routine—

Vitamins, water, and whatever

Sustenance seemed sensible

At the time: she’d lived

So long on gin, bobbie pins, half-smoked cigars, dead beer,

Her shriveled petals falling

On the faded carpet, the stale

Steak grease stuck to her fuzzy leaves.

(Dried-out, she creaked like a tulip.)

The things she endured!—

The dumb dames shrieking half the night

Or the two of us, alone, both seedy,

Me breathing booze at her,

She leaning out of her pot toward the window.

Near the end, she seemed almost to hear me—

And that was scary—

So when that snuffling cretin of a maid

Threw her, pot and all, into the trash-can,

I said nothing.

But I sacked the presumptuous hag the next week,

I was that lonely.

#12.

Upon reading “The Geranium,” I was immediately reminded of something, or someone, I had not thought about in approximately four years: my first and only doll, Mimi. I received Mimi as a gift from my mother when I was 9 months old. Originally, Mimi was a white, terrycloth doll with a peach colored face wrapped in a strawberry-print bonnet. After more than a decade of having Mimi as a bedmate, her terrycloth skin frayed and her bonnet ripped open, exposing her stuffed “brains” to the hazardous world. If most people looked at Mimi’s stretched-out left arm or undetectable facial features, they would assume that she was the remnant of a childhood long past and was meant to be discarded. Many years ago, several “presumptuous” people have acted on these assumptions, whether they have been pre-school teachers or hotel maids. After repeatedly experiencing the pain of losing the friend I loved most as a child, my family somehow always managed to miraculously save Mimi from reaching the “point of no return” (Phantom of the Opera) feared by all children with toys - the garbage can. Mimi’s repeated salvation appears to suggest that I was never meant to share Roethke’s experience of “loneliness” he felt upon losing his closest friend, the geranium. While reading this poem, I knew exactly how he felt at the moment when he lost his geranium. I, too, have shared his bewilderment at the ignorance of people who mistakenly assume that what they consider to be trash, is not in fact someone else’s treasure. I felt compassion for Roethke’s loss because I appreciated how many times I came close to losing what was my dearest possession, my dearest friend…Mimi.

El Mar

El Mar
Pablo Neruda circa 1950 (Translated from Spanish)
#12

For me, poetry is about the soul; it’s Beethoven without music. It reaches out to me, touching my being with a finger light touch and yet knocks me off my metaphorical feet with the sheer joy and beauty of the words. This is the first poem I ever read that did just that. I can remember sitting and opening the book and reading this first poem again and again, trying to take in the beauty. Pablo (for that’s what I would call him if we could meet, he understands me so well) writes with such simplicity and yet encompasses the vast essence of being. This poem is a beautiful moment encapsulated in words— one of those moments where existence pauses, where the light catches the dust motes and sets them ablaze and you can hear the perfection of comforting silence in every syllable, both audible and mental. “I reconstruct the day out of a fragment, the stalactite from a sliver of salt, and the great god out of a spoonful.” I live for those moments, keeping them like treasures, waiting breathlessly for the next one. And so does he. Pablo Neruda makes a life of those moments, breathing and learning in the sea and truly living life. We are the same in that sense; Pablo and I. In my brightest most perfect moments I am living life, completely open and vulnerable to knowledge and emotion. The smallest spark changes everything in an instant and yet everything is the same, just deeper, wilder, and more aware. The passion of this poem feeds the fire of my own purpose for life, making my insignificant life meaningful in a sentient, beautiful and vast universe. My awareness and existence matter in some small way. “The fact is that until I fall asleep, in some magnetic way I move in the university of waves”.

----
I need the sea because it teaches me.
I don’t know if I learn music or awareness,
if it’s a single wave or its vast existence,
or only its harsh voice or its shining
suggestion of fishes and ships.
The fact is that until I fall asleep,
in some magnetic way I move in
the university of waves.

It’s not simple the shells crunched
as if some shivering planet
were giving signs of it’s gradual death;
no, I reconstruct the day out of a fragment,
the stalactite from a sliver of salt,
and the great god out of a spoonful.

What it taught me before, I keep! It’s air
ceaseless wind, water and sand.

It seems a small thing for a young man,
to have come here to live with his own fire;
nevertheless, the pulse that rose
and fell in its abyss,
the crackling of the blue cold,
the gradual wearing away of the star,
the soft unfolding of the wave
squandering snow with its foam,
the quiet power out there, sure
as a stone shrine in the depths,
replaced my world in which were growing
stubborn sorrow, gathering oblivion,
and my life changed suddenly;as I became part of its pure movement.

Poetry Response to Ogden Nash's "A Caution to Everybody."

A Caution to Everybody

By Ogden Nash

Consider the auk;

Becoming extinct because he forgot how to fly, and could only walk.

Consider man, who may well become extinct

Because he forgot how to walk and learned how to fly before he thinked.

This poem speaks to me because it cautions against the Naïveté and over-ambition of man, and how eventually man is going to lead himself right into extinction. The short length and simple rhyming structure, and also the use of the made-up word “thinked” instead of thought all contribute to the poem’s silly, childish nature. The childishness of the poem illustrates, how just as a small child thinks that they can do anything in the world without any sense of limitations, man thinks he can advance himself endlessly and act without thinking of the limitations and consequences.

The Auk is like a flying version of a penguin, and by forgetting how to fly it becomes a symbol for the kind of people who fall behind and become obsolete. Many people think that the only way to live is through advancement, that the only risk is in falling behind the times. The symbol of man learning how to fly before he “thinked” is a metaphor for man’s quest to constantly further themselves intellectually and technologically without being able to fully comprehend the ideas first. When I read this I think of the example of the invention of the car. When cars were invented, people grabbed ahold of this new, fast technology, and since they did not have the full knowledge about car safety and the consequences, millions of people died in car crashes. To me, this is an example of something that man’s “learning how to fly” symbolizes, and I think that this poem is trying to say that man will keep repeating these kinds of mistakes until we are extinct.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken
By Robert Frost
Please click on link to see poem: http://www.bartleby.com/119/1.html

12. Explain how this poem “speaks to you.”

When I read this poem, the last line always stands out to me (I’m sure this was intended). Though Robert Frost mentions two paths in his poem, the concept of choosing the right path resonates with me. When he says, “And sorry I could not travel both,” he tells his reader that one must make choices. Instead of worrying about what choices I could have made that would have made me a better person, I have to take a chance and make a decision even though I may not be sure how the other road turned out. In order to take risks and not regret the road not taken, one should be at ease with a decision as inferred by “I doubted if I should ever come back.” With the knowledge of experience this poem has provided, I heed Frost’s advice and will try to take risks and not bemoan the other path I could have taken. By being brave enough to venture out of the comfort zone, I can utilize opportunities I never would have discovered “And that has made all the difference.”

Thomas Hardy- Drummer Hodge

They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
Uncoffined – just as found:
His landmark is a kopje-crest
That breaks the veldt around;
And foreign constellations west
Each night above his mound.

Young Hodge the Drummer never knew –
Fresh from his Wessex home –
The meaning of the broad Karoo,
The Bush, the dusty loam,
And why uprose to nightly view
Strange stars amid the gloam.

Yet portion of that unknown plain
Will Hodge forever be;
His homely Northern breast and brain
Grow to some Southern tree,
And strange-eyed constellation reign
His stars eternally.


Response #7: Explain cultural or historical context and how it relates to the poem.

Hardy’s “Drummer Hodge” reveals not only his ideas about the cost of war but also about the societal prejudices of the Victorian age. As Hardy explains in his Tess of the D’Urbervilles, northern England’s farming class was disdained by wealthier city-dwellers, a stereotype referred to as “Hodge.” In Tess of the D’Urbervilles he introduces, and shows his disdain for, the idea of calling an entire class by a single family name: “The conventional farm-folk of...imagination - [were] personified by the pitiable dummy known as Hodge.” Ironically, in both novel and poem Hardy uses the single name to refer to a stereotyped group of people in their defense, rather than to condescend once again, as the wealthy would.
The hero of the poem is part of the condescended group, but Hardy humanizes him in focusing on him during his final, and most anonymous, moment. Just as Hodge is tossed into a makeshift grave, far from home, Hardy gives him sympathy by addressing his innocence and sense of being lost: “Young Hodge the Drummer never knew/ Fresh from his Wessex home.” Although the young man in the poem was condescended in life and quickly left behind in death, Hardy pays him tribute with provocative and profound phrases such as “Strange-eyed constellations reign his stars eternally,” suggesting that in death his fate is decided by the patterns of the stars that “reign” the skies above him, much as it was decided in life by his station in society. Therefore, Hardy blames both war and society for Hodge’s tragic fate.

Poetry Response to Langston Hughes' Democracy

Democracy

Democracy will not come
Today, this year
Nor ever
Through compromise and fear.

I have as much right
As the other fellow has
To stand
On my two feet
And own the land.

I tire so of hearing people say,
Let things take their course.
Tomorrow is another day.
I do not need my freedom when I'm dead.
I cannot live on tomorrow's bread.

Freedom
Is a strong seed
Planted
In a great need

I live here, too.
I want freedom
Just as you.

"Democrary by Langston Hughes." Poem Hunter. 14 Nov. 2007. 14 Nov. 2007 .

9. Explain the meaning of the title.

I have read this poem many times, repeatedly glancing back at the title, more than a little bewildered. According to Langston Hughes “democracy” is the action of standing up for what you believe is right. Democracy through his eyes emphasizes equality between black and white Americans, and more specifically, the freedom of blacks in America. When Hughes says, “I do not need my freedom when I’m dead. I cannot live on tomorrow’s bread”, he makes it clear that when he thinks of democracy, he thinks of equality and having it right now, not relying for it to possibly happen in the future.

I do not disagree with Hughes; however the world I live in defines “democracy” quite differently from Hughes. To me, democracy seems to have become about voting and making compromises in attempt to satisfy as many people as possible, for one sole purpose: popularity. I do not see that our democracy encourages people to take a stand, the way Hughes sees it. While he says he has just as much of a right to “stand on [his] two feet and own the land”, he looks to democracy as his means to access freedom. I look at democracy as not standing up for anything, but rather supporting as many conflicting views as possible to so you can appear to be the most popular candidate or the one who is friends with everyone. Perhaps the disconnect between my experience of democracy and Hughes’ definition is that the though battle for right to vote has been won, the value of our votes has been undermined by the influence of money and marketing in the democratic process.

My Personal Connection to My Mother's Poem: The Vultures

My Personal Connection to My Mother’s Poem: The Vultures (#12)

I know my mother through the eyes of a daughter, but when I read her poem, The Vultures; I hear the voice of a painfully shy dreamer, the youngest of three sisters. I can see her when my mother tells me the stories of her childhood as their images dance unseen behind her resting lids. Private to a fault, my mother does not speak much of her life beyond the quiet New Jersey town she grew up in. She ignores my prying questions as if they were sharp pins threatening to burst the frail bubble that guards her heart. But when I gingerly run my fingers over each stanza of her poem, my mother’s hand reaches out from the faded yellow pages and cups my cheek.

As a child, my mother wanted to be like her older sister, Heidi. Strong willed with even stronger desires, she soon fell from the pedestal my mother had placed her on. The lies, the manipulation were too much too bear. I am told that I look like her. We share the same oval shaped face, deep-set dark eyes, and wispy blonde hair. But her face is more angular, sharper than mine. Like my aunt, I have strong desires for fine things and for fame. I read this poem and it reminds me of what I could be, but will never become. I would like to think that my mother’s softer nature smoothed over my sharp edges. Like my mother, I am a sparrow and not a vulture: a gentle soul.

Vultures by Nina Weston
I ask my sister, “What is it like being in the house without Daddy?”
I remember walking into the den
After my mother had died,
Looking for her on the sofa
Where she had always fell asleep,
Newspapers on her lap.
It hurt
Every time I saw her not there.
Now I dreaded walking back into the house
Fatherless.

“It’s not too hard,” she answered.
Then she wondered if the paintings just needed
Stretched canvas and new frames.
They would look good in her own house, she said,
Along with my mother’s wood coffee table and silver tea set,
I thought I heard feathers rustle
And the silent call of a monstrous bird through
The phone line.

My sister, the one with the strongest beak, smells the scraps
And remembers the taste of cameos and gold
From the last carrion.
Others in the family gather, perching on the roof
Anticipating a meal, or two, or three.
The wait has been long
And they are hungry,
Ready to slip wedding rings
Off fingers of the dead
To see how they still sparkle on the living.

My stomach is empty
But I will not eat this meal.

God’s Will by Robert Louis Munger
I KNOW, I know where violets blow
Upon a sweet hillside,
And very bashfully they grow
And in the grasses hide—
It is the fairest field, I trow, 5
In the whole world wide.

One spring I saw two lassies go,
Brown cheek and laughing eye;
They swung their aprons to and fro,
They filled them very high 10
With violets—then whispered low
So strange, I wondered why.

I know where violet tendrils creep
And crumbled tombstones lie,
The green churchyard is silence-deep; 15
The village folk go by,
And lassies laugh and women weep,
And God knows why.

#9 Explain the meaning of the title:
The speaker of the poem uses religion and God to explain why there has been a death and to console the reader for the loss of a person. Therefore the title “God’s Will” serves the poem well for it is comforting to the reader to know that the death was the will of god. The word “will” as it is used in this title refers to the force of God. While it is unexplainable as to why this death has occurred, because it was God’s doing, the death is less severe. The will of God is what God decided would happen and therefore it is what was meant to be. When referring to the young women the speaker observes, he says, “lassies laugh and women weep, and God knows why” (18). The women in this poem are seen laughing and then in the next moment crying. The speaker later finds out that their happiness was destroyed by the news of the death. The title conveys the message to the reader that when one is confronted with the ambiguities of life and the hardships one might face, they can find comfort in knowing that “God knows why.” The title serves to explain to the reader that whatever happens in life is part of God’s plan. It is due to the omnipotence of God’s will that his people are forced to be along for the journey no matter what life throws at them.