Sweet jesus, Ap readers, wasn't this an interesting poem. I'm wondering whether the first line was a comparison of the two figures or just exclamation of excitement/admiration. Clifton says she would know the good, super hero, and that the mere human of clark kent can be human-like, standing around listening to the news and horror of the world. But Superman, he saves the city, captures the criminals with their human weaknesses all about them (kryptonite.) Making himself different, with the cape and leggings and everything, from humanity only makes sense because earth is the strangest planet ever.
This poem is strange for this author because in clifton's other writings that i've read, she has always had a positive outlook on humanity in general.
Well hope you've enjoyed reading, please leave your comments.
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can’t be much amiss, ‘tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, ‘tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship, ‘tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.”
Why, if ‘tis dancing you would be
There’s brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh, many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God’s ways to man.
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter pot
To see the world as the world’s not.
And faith, ‘tis pleasant till ‘tis past:
The mischief is that ‘twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half-way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I’ve lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.
Therefore, since the world has still
Much good, but much less good than ill,
And while the sun and moon endure
Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure,
I’d face it as a wise man would,
And train for ill and not for good.
‘Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale
Is not so brisk a brew as ale:
Out of a stem that scored the hand
I wrung it in a weary land.
But take it: if the smack is sour,
The better for the embittered hour;
It should do good to heart and head
When your soul is in my soul’s stead;
And I will friend you, if I may,
In the dark and cloudy day.
There was a king reigned in the East:
There when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all that springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white’s their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt.
--I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.
To say I know exactly what this poem is about would be a complete lie. I see it touches on the subject of beer, and also the disloyalty of royal servants, but beyond that not much. So in my best efforts to find a theme I will say this poem is on Gluttony (or over indulgence.)
So we start the poem off with the narration of someone talking about/to Terence. Mentioning the way he eats, and drinks, and makes rhyme and music. The picture that is burning hot in my head is the image of some Viking bar, where a bold bartender with a long mustache is handing out pints of beer to his over-comfortably weighted guests. What I thinkget from the first two stanzas is that the poet is trying to tell how this man is eating, drinking, and dancing his way out of reality, that is ultimately futile.
In the next stanza I think he’s kind of wrapping up his point in saying that even great kings who have huge feasts, and can continually drown themselves in food and drink, so to end up dying from the poison, maybe that poison being cholesterol.
Like I said before there is a lot in this poem that I don’t get, most of them being allusions that I am unfamiliar with.
For a Lady I Know Countee Cullen She even thinks that up in heaven Her class lies late and snores, While poor black cherubs rise at seven To do celestial chores.
Well here we go for poem number two that has stumped me; though there is not a whole lot of poem to draw from.
First off when speaking of cherubs and classes, I think the ABAB rhyme is quite fitting making the feel of it childlike. But as to what the theme pertains to, I’m pretty sure it is on the inequality of black and white children.
In the poem I feel is based on a teacher who is troubled by the fact that even in heaven (a place of justice and fairness) that the white kids in her class would still be allowed to sleep in as the black “cherubs” would do the work that needed to be done in heaven, though I don’t know how labor intensive those jobs might be.
Oh No Robert Creeley If you wander far enough you will come to it and when you get there they will give you a place to sit
for yourself only, in a nice chair, and all your friends will be there with smiles on their faces and they will likewise all have places.
You know…I’m not sure about whether or not this was the intended theme but I finded supported enough and I like the idea so lets go for it: the theme of the poem is insanity.
Everyone is told stay on the beat and path, although sometimes it’s fun to explore around the path. But it was the word “wander” that caught my eye in this poem. Because if you wander too far of the path, people will think your crazy, they’ll start talking about you, they’ll start saying things that might not even be true but it doesn’t matter because you’re a loon and you might as well have done it. Eventually when they (maybe society, or your friends) have had enough, someone will intervene. They’ll wrap you in a coat, put you in a comfy chair, sit, and talk with you.
And it’s the last line that trips me up because either: 1) they will all have places to sit so that they can talk to you or 2) they will all have their own crazy seats in your mind, and you will intervene with them telling them all about your loon’s epistemology
I especially liked writing this one, and I hope you enjoyed it.
at the cemetery, walnut grove plantation, south carolina, 1989 Lucille Clifton among the rocks at walnut grove your silence drumming in my bones, tell me your names.
nobody mentioned slaves and yet the curious tools shine with your fingerprints. nobody mentioned slaves but somebody did this work who had no guide, no stone, who moulders under rock.
tell me your names, tell me your bashful names and i will testify.
the inventory lists ten slaves but only men were recognized.
among the rocks at walnut grove some of these honored dead were dark some of these dark were slaves some of these slaves were women some of them did this honored work. tell me your names foremothers, brothers, tell me your dishonored names. here lies here lies here lies here lies hear
I believe I am in love with Clifton. The theme of this poem is recognition, remembrance, or maybe white man’s regret?
I love the develop that Clifton keeps in her poems. Like she’s taking us through a journey. First by telling us the setting, then the events that happened there, then the conflict (there were no names to thank for those labored rocks.) She tells in her italics of her discovery and its limitations. And after the blank reality sets in that the names are lost, she only has the “silence” that drums into her bones, and the best she can do is “hear”.
I think remembrance is the main theme, and I think it is something important.
When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer Walt Whitman When I heard the learn’d astronomer, When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me, When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them, When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture room, How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick, Till rising and gliding out I wandered off by myself, In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, Looked up in perfect silence at the stars.
I know we’ve done this one in class already so I feel it is kinda cheating if I identify the same theme so I’m going to day that the poets intent is to question the running definition of Learn’d.
What does it mean to be educated? That you can take a planetary system and convert it into binary code for anaylsis? Or you can list the major cities of the world from 1456 to the current era? Or that you can take a brilliant piece of poetry and break it down to every syllable?
The man in this poem would be of the school that says learning is being able to experience the subject in a meaningful manor. Despite being able to see the charts, or the math, or the lecture, he’d rather see the stars because that’s what he loves, not the science.
I Remember the Room was Filled with Light Judith Hemschemeyer They were still young, younger than I am now. I remember the room was filled with light And moving air. I was watching him Pick brass slivers from his hands as he did each night After work. Bits of brass gleamed on his brow. She was making supper. I stood on the rim Of a wound just healing; so when he looked up And asked me when we were going to eat I ran to her, though she could her. She smiled And said, ‘Tell him . . .’ Then ‘Tell her . . .’ on winged feet I danced between them, forgiveness in my cup, Wise messenger of the gods, their child.
Through some research I’d like to point out that the poet in this case is actually not Judith Hemschemeyer but actually the Russian poet Anna Akhmatova (Judith Hemschemeyer being here translator.)
I think the theme of this poem is that parents are the gods of our childhood.
I hope that any AP lit students reading this will appreciate a little bit more, the information we just learned in our last class.
The poet begins by letting us know this is a memory of her father (who we will learn later works in an electrical wiring factory.) She has hurt her self in some way and is confronted with the fact she must tell him. She runs to her nanny. And she, in her paternal way smile, but tells her to tell the two (her mother and father) about the wound. And like the messenger god Hermes, she spins the tale of her accident to Zeus and Hera. Side note: Zeus is the god of thunder, or electricity; Therefore it makes sense that the brass he pulls from his hands is the brass they use for electrical wiring.
She is a child of the gods, and that is where I get the theme that: in our childhood, our parents are our gods.
the lesson of the falling leaves Lucille Clifton the leaves believe such letting go is love such love is faith such faith is grace such grace is god i agree with the leaves
This is the second poem, by Clifton, that I’ve read and I, thus far, appreciate her view of human nature.
Think to the long season past of fall. Of course you know where I’m going with this: In the fall the leaves fall from the trees. They float to the grown in hopes that there decay and departure from their old friend will result, win cold winter ends, with new life and the continuation of the trees life. This is what I think the poem is speaking of: that though it hurts to leave those we care about, it ends with new opportunities, adventures and friendships for them.
The leaves love the tree, but if they were to stay the tree would never be able to escape its dead appearance. So the leaves depart with love for the tree, loving in hopes that it is able to grow into something better, hopes that are based in faith, and the faith is that the tree will choose to continue growing (because if it doesn’t grow the leaves sacrifice was in vain. But the leaves trust, and have faith in the tree.) The faith is a virtue of grace. And the grace is only available by the grace of god.
The author poet uses “such” to show how one simple act, the leaves falling, going to college, or the passing of a loved one, is so much more then simple; it means more (ie. love, faith, grace, and god.)
What the mirror said Lucille Clifton listen, you a wonder. you a city of a woman. you got a geography of your own. listen, somebody need a map to understand you. somebody need directions to move around you. listen, woman, you not a noplace anonymous girl; mister with his hands on you he got his hands on some damn body!
I believe this poem is what people should think when they look in the mirror. Not a reflection for the purpose of bettering oneself for other, but for a reflection on how good he or she is. The theme of this poem, according to what I get from it, is that every women is an unique object of respect not only from herself, but from others as well.
I consider the listens, not only as the author’s trying to gain the attention of the reader, but also breaking up the poem into specifically different parts. Part one: Just the women, Part two: The women and others, Part three: A message to others.
Part one: Women, are unique, have the complexity of a city, have bodies that are different from any other. Part two: People can’t approach the city (a women) with the assumption that they know their way around. Part three: That any man, needs to know that this is not any girl, but is SOMEBODY.
Though this analysis had largely contained summary, the poem itself contains specialized development, and blatant meaning.
I love the theme, I think it should be applicable to all people, and I hope you’ve enjoyed this blog.
Many red devils . . . Stephen Crane Many red devils ran from my heart And out upon the page. They were so tiny the pen could mash them. And many struggled in the ink. It was strange To write in this red muck Of things from my heart.
Well we’ve all read little of Crane’s writing, and this is another of his poems which I, after having to go through some interpretation, have grown to love. I believe the theme of the poem to be that writing, more specifically poetry, is a method or mending heart break.
Crane brings the image of devils, specifically red (either to represent rage, or love, or some other deep emotion, which run across the page. Then he uses words like mash, struggle, and muck to describe the way in which his writing has freed him of these demons. That even by the end of the poem thay cease to be devils and are simply things from his heart.
This poem is strangely heart warming and I hope you like, and will comment on my analysis.
I for some reason LOVE this poem. I'm not sure why it is -I imagine it is for the vividness of the imagery- but I think that this poem leaves a lot of things open for interpretation. In the desert gives a a very plain, harsh, dry, dull setting. Perhaps it is meant to symbolize life in its unforgiving, ruggedness? And a creature. I imagine some kind of man lizard, beast like and naked. This to me represents inner human nature, or most basic, and brutal selves. And this thing has his heart, and is eating of it. Now the heart may represent the soul, or love, or compassion, or morality, or a whole slue of crap. But as for eating it, I think that again calls to the recognition of our primitive self, digging our teeth into the raw heart, and chews it like a piece of overcooked steak. What I get from the dialogue is that there is a relationship between the bitterness and his heart, because if it where not bitter, than it wouldn't be his heart, and if it wasn't his heart theres no reason he is working at devouring it.
Now reason for saying all of this is that Ana and I had a disagreement in-class where I compared this poem to a different work of the same poet, saying this work is much less specific in its theme then the other on. So by showing you that each symbol COULD mean a thousand different things (and that even the theme of primitivity is ambiguous-look two big words in one interrupter) I have shown that this poem can indeed have several different interpretations, causing me to refer to the poem as VAGUE in its meaning.
[Note: Parnassus is a mountain in Greece and, according to Greek myth, the seat of music and poetry.]
Like thousands, I took pride and more than just,
struck matches that brought my blood to a boil;
I memorized the tricks to set the river on fire—
Somehow never wrote something to go back to.
Can I suppose I am finished with wax flowers
And have earned my grass on the minor slopes of
Parnassus. . .
No honeycomb is built without a bee
adding circle to circle, cell to cell,
the wax and honey of a mausoleum—
this round dome proves its maker is alive;
the corpse of the insect lives embalmed in honey,
prays that its perishable work lives long
enough for the sweet-tooth bear to desecrate—
this open book . . . my coffin.
To begin, I first notice things such as “pride,” “more than just,” and “never wrote something to go back to.” Now none of the these things are something that brings cheer and joy to our hearts, they are simply the “perishable work(s).” In the seven lines, the author tells about how he has, in his life, done exciting things (line 2), mastered impossible tasks (line 3), yet still is nothing is so important that he might go back and do it again (line 4). He has earned nothing more than fake flowers and a single blade of grass on the massive mountain of poetry.
Now the allusion to the bee in the 2nd half of the poem simply tells how a bee works his whole life, making a hive to prove its existence-because things that are made must have a maker, but it dies in its work (line 12) and its life’s work is destroyed by something beyond its control (line 14).
Overall I think the purpose to this poem is to say life is meaning less and insignificant. …Sorry
So with all of this happiness with christmas and new years, I thought it would be fitting to start with Poe, and get us back onto a more depressed, "school-ish" mind set.
Ok so to begin with each line rhymes either with the one presetting it, or succeeding it. Usually I associate rhythmic poetry with Dr. Seuss or other "Unicorns and Butterflies" types but this poem obviously does not have many similarities to my associations.
Maybe he is using this rhyming method, to mock the cliche "happy childhood" idea; and by using a "sing-songy" structure to state a sobering truth of his childhood, he makes the audience give a little more pity to his cause.
Moving forward, I was rather confused on how this whole piece was broken up (due to the fact it has no punctuation) but this is what I thought the first SENTENCE might be.
"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—"
Analysis/Translation: During the time of my childhood I was not like the other children. We were not similar in tastes, vantages, nor interests.
Next Sentence,
"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 loved alone—"
Analysis/Translation: We neither the things that made us happy, nor the things that made us sad we the same. And the things the I loved, I loved alone.
All of this so far is pretty evident. But lets continue a little farther because I doubt this trend continues.
Next sentence,
"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—"
Analysis/Translation: In my childhood, that time which is the beginning to my CRAZY life, sprang a struggle (which came from "every depth of good and ill") that still plagues him.
Next sentence,
"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—"
Analysis/Translation: From all those depths where my mystery came, they composed what would become a lonely life.
Explanation for my analysis is as fallows:
Torrents = Rough waters (metaphor for his stormy life),
Fountain = Recalculation of water (" for a reaccuring slap in the face from god called loneliness),
Red cliff mountain = lonely admiration of sunsets superimposed by mountains (" for Poe's lone admiration of things he considers beautiful."I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone.")
Sun = Eternal source of light and warmth (" for some constant goal, comfort, or motivation)
Lighting = a powerful, lethal natural assurance (" for potentially catastrophic events in life)
And a Thunderous storm cloud = A black, accumulating, humungous rain producing object (" for the collection of fear, and evil?)
The last two lines throw me off because is this cloud/demand in his view (or in the way of his view) of Heaven and its blueness?
So in my expert opinion, having taken several liberal arts classes, many of them being AP, and having some background knowledge of Poe and his work my analysis for the work as a whole is: He started writing while sober, got writers block, dropped some acid or something, and began to list everything that entered his mind, because the first 8 lines in comparison to the last 8, are like day and night when it comes to making sense.
