#poetic analysis

[equidem]

Poetic analysis is such bullshit The poet could be saying "it's raining outside" and some whack ass professor will say it's because the poet is seeing clarity through a lenses rather than experiencing clarity But, maybe it was just raining outside???

[laurntaylor]

Next Time

I wake up to last night’s mistakes stamped across my hand,

head pounding, my eyes flutter helplessly against light

sneaking, creeping through curtains torn

from the time she tried wine without the glass

spilled lines, tasted freedom, wasted time;

all while white smoke billowed from her lips.

 I can still hear her now, anxiously pursing her lips,

“We have to leave soon,” choking neck with hand.

But she can’t find her phone to check the time,

reaching angrily to borrow my light.

I’ll primp and pose, reflecting in glass

only to surrender to scrutiny of tights, torn

 but not wasted, like the pages she had torn

from their places, stealing stories from my lips.

She skips class to kiss glass,

rolling papers in hand,

begging strangers for a light,

swearing by the words, “next time.”

 I’ll tap my toes, keeping us in time

While she bleeds into speakers, “I’m torn.”

I can’t make out faces beyond blinding light,

between licks, chapping lips,

gripping in hand

bent strings; I’ll etch progressions in glass

 while she looks on, glass–

y eyed like the last time.

Instead of lending a helping hand

I’ll point and I’ll prod until she is torn

From this town, leaving nothing but lips-

tick stained cigarettes at the setting of light

 hearted jokes taken anything but light–

ly, she breaks glass after glass after glass

in spite of me. Curses flood from cold lips

while I repeat, “There won’t be a ‘next time.’”

Bludgeoned promises beneath ideas of shirts torn

by a boy who never even offered to hold her hand.

 As my head aches, my words shake, I shed tears with time,

Finding memories between paper clippings, pictures torn

Heartlessly from their frames, I’ll mourn who she was, on paper, by hand.

[generationsoftrees]

I like this poem by Wallace Stevens because:

-It uses "bad" as a noun, never as an adjective. "Bad," rather than "evil," is the opposite of "good" here. -Stalks get tongues. Their "captive cry" is so mute and makes me feel numb. -"Seeing" is also a noun, as in the ability to see. One usually "loses their hearing," or someone might "lose their feeling" say, in their cheek, (again, numbing) but you never hear about anything happening to the other sensory nouns, i.e. tasting (do people even say that?), smelling (or that?), or seeing. It's not usually "I lost my seeing," it's "I lost my vision." Here, "seeing" falls brightly away, instead of "vision." So we can read that line in two ways, with "seeing" being both noun and verb. -The poem makes me ponder other ways we might join something at a distance. "Bright is the malice" in the crows eye before another crow join him, at a distance. So, we can "join" with others for "company" as long as they are in the range of our seeing. -The snowflakes, then, "like eyesight falling to earth," make great company. -Yet there is "solitude," "emptiness." 

No Possum, No Sop, No Taters

He is not here, the old sun, As absent as if we were asleep. The field is frozen. The leaves are dry. Bad is final in this light. In this bleak air the broken stalks Have arms without hands. They have trunks Without legs or, for that, without heads. They have heads in which a captive cry Is merely the moving of a tongue. Snow sparkles like eyesight falling to earth, Like seeing fallen brightly away. The leaves hop, scraping on the ground. It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice. It is in this solitude, a syllable, Out of these gawky flitterings, Intones its single emptiness, The savagest hollow of winter-sound. It is here, in this bad, that we reach The last purity of the knowledge of good. The crow looks rusty as he rises up. Bright is the malice in his eye... One joins him there for company, But at a distance, in another tree.

[djwatson-blog]

I really fucking hate poetic analysis.

Honestly I do. It really pisses me off. 

Its just so full of bullshit over-analysis. I mean obviously there are different interpretations to poetry, but is it really necessary to be such a pretentious wanker about it?

I honestly thought doing English Language not Literature at Uni would spare me all this crap. Apparently not.

I think my hatred for poetry started during my GCSEs when in a class discussion about a poem, one of my peers claimed that the use of a full stop symbolised finality. Sorry, what? What a load of shit. They used a full stop because its the correct orthographical convention for ENDING A SENTENCE. 

It was that day, at the age of 15, that I realised you could say whatever you wanted when analysing poetry and no one could argue, and whilst that helped me get through my English Literature GCSE, it meant that the seeds of hatred had been planted.

Today those seeds grew a little more.

Unfortunately one of my many mistakes in life was choosing to do an Old English module this semester, and as a result this meant an essay involving literary criticism on Old English poetry. As if literary criticism on modern poetry wasn't bad enough.

So as I researched various interpretations of various Old English poems, I became more and more angered by what I was reading. 

Here's a fairly typical extract analysing The Wanderer from a book called English Literature before Chaucer by Michael Swanton: "Picking up and developing several of the images of the first part of the poem, and thus universalizing the experience of the individual Wanderer, the final statement represents not one wallowing in self-pity but the quietude of dignified self-realization, aware of his place in the mutable flux of the world's being. Transcending the grim experience in his individual plight, the Wanderer moves from signs of physical dissolution to a metaphysical understanding concluding with an echo of the doom-laden". That shit goes on for near enough 300 pages.

FUCK OFF MICHAEL SWANTON. SERIOUSLY GO DIE. 

The phrases "mutable flux of the world's being" and "physical dissolution to a metaphysical understanding" are particularly angering/pretentious/death-worthy.

As a result I've written Mr. Swanton a Haiku:

Dear Mr. Swanton

Please go and die in a hole

Pretentious wanker                                                                               

[watersandwild]

A Vision of Heavenly Treasures [part 2]

Apart from the poem’s consonance, Bradstreet further emphasizes and unifies her train of thought through parallel structure. After she has taken in the reality of losing all her worldly possessions in the fire (11-15), the narrator declares “so it was, and so ‘twas just./It was His own, it was not mine.” (16-17) Both lines illustrate examples where parallel structure is used to contrast opposing perspective. On the one hand, Bradstreet had all the things that belonged to her ripped away by the fire. On the other hand, she immediately recognizes that everything she had was a gift, truly belonging to God. However, the narrator does not allow the latter thought to dominate her perspective, as she continues to focus on both the possessions she has lost and the value that they held. To illustrate how much of her heart continues to dwell on that loss, Bradstreet again employs parallel structure in lines 30-34. Beginning each line with either “No” or “Nor”, the reader increasingly identifies with the author’s perspective as her despair gains momentum with each line.

Despair, however, is not the message of Bradstreet’s poem. Intentionally, the poet narrates her experience, while drawing biblical allusions to emphasize the anagogical nature of the actual event, in accordance with the Puritan’s belief in the Doctrine of Weaning Affections. This doctrine states that God may take away worldly wealth or possessions, even loved ones, to redirect our affections to where they truly belong, which is on Him and His promises. In line 14, “I blest His name that gave and took”, Bradstreet draws a comparison between her loss and Job’s loss of all his cattle, and of his sons’ and daughters’ deaths (Job 1:21). She reminds herself in the midst of her despair that God is not blameworthy– that He is, indeed, praiseworthy for taking away her home.

Bradstreet makes the most striking allusion at the peak of the poem’s distress to point towards the greater happiness in God’s promise fulfilled in heaven. Even as the narrator becomes consumed with memories of the security and happiness her home once brought, one can see that Brdastreet will not allow the poem to end in the despair evident in the narrator’s tone, as she declares that nothing matters now that her home and possessions have been destroyed. “Adieu, Adieu, all’s vanity.” (36) This line of despair is tongue and cheek, as it clearly alludes to the numerous conclusions and theses of the speaker in Ecclesiastes, who declares that all things in all the earth are vanities. The reader, especially the Puritan reader, hungrily awaits the moment when Bradstreet will come to the same conclusion as the writer of Ecclesiastes, who declares that one must turn their hearts toward God and his commandments (Ecc. 12:13). Of course, Bradstreet does not disappoint, correcting herself in the following line (37), and rhetorically asking in the next, “And did thy wealth on earth abide?” (38)

As if the allusion in line 36 was not clear enough, the narrators remembrances in lines 28-35 recount earthly happenings, while also alluding to the Gospel of Christ, in which the poet places her ultimate hope for happiness. In mourning the narrator speaks to her house, saying, “no guests shall sit,/Nor at thy table eat a bit.” These lines recall the numerous instances in the gospel accounts when Jesus sat and ate with His disciples; none more so that the Last Supper, which is eaten in anticipation of the Wedding Feast of the Lamb for His chosen people in heaven (Lk. 22:17-19). Continuing with her allusion to the consummation of God’s kingdom, where her heavenly home lies, the narrator singles out the voice of the “bridegroom”, which is the same title Jesus uses to describe himself in parables (Mat. 9:15, 25:1-13) and in His Revelation to John (Rev. 18:23). Furthermore, Bradstreet describes the fire – the cause of all these contemplative verses– as a “thund’ring noise”, which is the same language used by John to describe the announcement of Christ the Bridegroom’s Wedding Feast (Rev. 19:6). This allusion is interwoven with the promise of a home in heaven that is “Framed by that mighty Architect...purchased and paid for” (44 & 47) through Christ’s death. This promise, in turn, alludes to John 14:1-4, where Jesus comforts his disciples by saying, “In My Father's house are many dwelling places [...] I go to prepare a place for you.” (English Standard Version) Her faith in this home, which Jesus promises to his faithful disciples, is exactly what comforts Bradstreet after the burning of her family’s earthly dwelling. 

Bradstreet understands that when it comes to communication, one’s diction– the language one uses– is as important as the skill with which one uses that language. Thus, Bradstreet uses classical, poetic devices, like consonance and parallelism, to both unify the progression of her thoughts throughout the poem’s narrative, and emphasize the important shifts and growths of perspectives within the narrator’s heart. The harmony of the poem that results from her masterful use of these devices conveys the most important, Puritan message during that era, i.e. that the faithful Christian’s affections must lie with God alone, for He alone is worthy. Bradstreet not only confesses her utmost faith in the security and sovereignty of God’s love, but it is clear in the poem that she intends to live out her beliefs while acknowledging the reality that her faith will never be perfected till her body joins her heart, which lies with her treasure in heaven (54).

[watersandwild]

A Vision of Heavenly Treasures [part 1]

After losing her worldly wealth and possessions, Anne Bradstreet turned her mind away from the tragedy of the incident. Instead, when her earthly dwelling was destroyed, she looked towards her heavenly home; and with all her possessions burnt like straw in the fire, she remembered the good and perfect gift of salvation in Christ. The title of her poem, “Here Follows Some Verses Upon the Burning of Our House”, conveys Bradstreet’s intention to state plainly her thoughts and feelings toward the loss of her family’s house. This desire to directly communicate her ideas is characteristic of the literary movement, Puritan Plain style, of which Bradstreet is apart. What distinguishes Bradstreet from other Puritan poets writing within this tradition is her intricate knowledge and use of classical, poetic conventions, making her poem easily understood, and relatable to the reader. This relatability is especially true concerning Bradstreet’s fellow puritan readers; for along with her clarity of ideas, Bradstreet anagogically connects the burning of her house with the providence of God, testified in Scripture. As such, Anne Bradstreet’s purpose in writing this poem, following the loss of her home, is to reorient her own heart toward heaven, seeing the world, and her own life, as centered on Christ.

Bradstreet’s father, who held great affection for his daughter, assured her an exceptional education (Baym 187). This education is responsible for her ability to elegantly employ the poetic devices that are the vehicles through which Bradstreet conveys her thoughts and emotions. It is clear through the poem’s consonance and parallel structure that Bradstreet understands how to effectively communicate ideas. The most obvious instances of consonance throughout the poem are the line-ends that construct rhyming, iambic couplets, which direct the poems flow of ideas. Looking at the first few lines of the poem, it is clear that Bradstreet’s thoughts can be confined and characterized by each of these couplets. Starting from the beginning: the poet’s sleep (1-2) is interrupted by a “thund-ring noise […] of dreadful voice” (3-4), which awakes her physically to the fire, and spiritually to the possible fulfillment of her desire (5-6). 

While the poem twice breaks this structure (3-4, 45-48), Bradstreet continues to use assonance and alliteration– both forms of consonance– to both maintain the poem’s overall harmony, and introduce a shift in the poets internal narrative. Before the first break occurs, the narrator is asleep, completely passive to the fire that has already begun to consume everything around her. Afterwards, the poet reacts to the “fearful sound of ‘Fire!’” (5) by actively acknowledging her desire (6), and getting out of bed to confirm the tragedy (7). This shift from a passive state to an active movement is marked by the break in iambic tetrameter; and it is mirrored in line 5, “I was waked with thund’ring noise”, by the repetition of the soft w sound contrasting harsh consonants: th, d, and n. It is interesting to note that the second break in the poem’s structure occurs when the narrator experiences a paradigm shift, as she completely ceases to focus on her earthly home, and instead looks forward to her home in heaven. While in lines 21-36 the narrator describes the things she has lost in the fire, lines 45 and 47 mark with assonance and alliteration the first description of her heavenly home: a place “With glory richlyfurnished,” that has been “purchase and paid for too” [emphasis added]. Thus, Bradstreet intentionally strengthens her poem by using the first break to emphasize the introduction of the narrators desire for her affections to be reoriented toward heaven (6)– even if it means losing her material goods– which is brought to fruition in the narrators contemplation of her heavenly home (43-48), which is marked by the second break.