POETRY!

NARRATIVE POETRY

Poetry that tells a story Can you put the poem in a plot diagram?

If you can, it’s a narrative poem! ** The Odyssey classifies not only as an “Epic

Poem,” but also as a narrative poem!

DONALD JUSTICE

by Donald Justice-- Coronado Beach, California, March, 1905

In a hotel room by the sea, the MasterSits brooding on the continent he has crossed.Not that he foresees immediate disaster,Only a sort of freshness being lost -- Or should he go on calling it Innocence?The sad-faced monsters of the plains are gone;Wall Street controls the wilderness. There's an immenseNovel in all this waiting to be done.But not, not -- sadly enough -- by him. His talents,Such as they may be, want a different theme,Rather more civilized than this, on balance.For him now always the recurring dreamIs just the mild, dear light of Lamb House fallingBeautifully down the pages of his calling.

CASEY AT THE BATBy Ernest Lawrence Thayer Taken From the San Francisco Examiner - June 3, 1888

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The restClung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that —We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat;For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped —"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand;And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said "Strike two!"

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate;He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out.

DRAMATIC POETRY

Speaker is clearly someone other than the poet Does the poem have more than one speaker? Does it kind of work like a play?

It might be dramatic poetry!

INCIDENT IN A ROSE GARDENGardener

Sir, I encountered Death Just now among our rosesThin as a scythe he stood there.

I knew him by his picturesHe had on his black coatBlack gloves, and broad black hat.

I think he would have spoken,Seeing his mouth stood open.Big it was, with white teeth.

As soon as he beckoned, I ran.I ran untill I found you.Sir, I'm quitting my job.

I want to see my sonsOnce more before I die.

I want to see California.

MasterSir, you must be that strangerWho threatened my gardener.This is my property, sir.

I welcome only friends here.

DeathSir, I knew your father.And we were friends at the end.

As for your gardener,I did not threaten him.Old men mistake my gestures.

I only ment to ask himTo show me to his master.I take it you are he?

SPEAKER Voice that “talks” to the reader

George Gray by Edgar Lee Masters

I have studied many timesThe marble which was chiseled for me --A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.In truth it pictures not my destinationBut my life.For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.And now I know that we must lift the sailAnd catch the winds of destinyWherever they drive the boat.To put meaning in one's life may end in madness,But life without meaning is the tortureOf restlessness and vague desire --It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.

LYRIC POETRY

Writers express their thoughts and feelings about a subject in a brief but musical way Does the poem have a songlike quality?

THE FUNERAL, BY GORDON PARKS

After many snows I was home again.Time had whittled down to mere hills the great

mountains of my childhood.Raging rivers I once swam trickled now like gentle

streamsAnd the wide road curving on to China or Kansas

City or perhaps Calcutta Had withered to a crooked path of dustEnding abruptly at the county burial ground.Only the giant that was my father remained the

same.A hundred strong men strained beneath his coffinWhen they bore him to his grave.

WORD CHOICE IN POETRY

What kind of mood does the poem have? Feeling a poem creates Does the poem feel happy? Sad? Joyful?

What kind of tone does the poem have? Attitude that a poet takes toward his or her

subject and the readers Choice of words – are they friendly? Sad? Mad?

JABBERWOCKY BY LEWIS CARROLL(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:All mimsy were the borogoves,  And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!  The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun  The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:  Long time the manxome foe he sought --So rested he by the Tumtum tree,  And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,  The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,  And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through  The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!He left it dead, and with its head  He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?  Come to my arms, my beamish boy!O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'  He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;All mimsy were the borogoves,  And the mome raths outgrabe.

IMAGERY

A poet’s use of words to create a mental picture or image that communicates experiences Can you “sense” the poem using your five

senses? It’s that whole “showing not telling thing again!!

"MEMORY," BY MARGARET WALKERRead the poem then complete the assignment that follows.

I can remember wind-swept streets of citieson cold and blustery nights, on rainy days;heads under shabby felts and parasolsand shoulders hunched against a sharp concern;seeing hurt bewilderment on poor faces,smelling a deep and sinister unrestthese brooding people cautiously caress;hearing ghostly marching on pavement stonesand closing fast around their squares of hate.I can remember seeing them alone,at work, and in their tenements at home.I can remember hearing all they said:their muttering protests, their whispered oaths,and all that spells their living in distress.

• Identify the tone in this poem; and• describe two examples from the poem in which the author's use of imagery helps

create the tone that you identified.

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE

Language that uses figures of speech to create pictures – saying one thing but meaning another Does the poem use Literary Elements to paint

it’s picture? Simile Metaphor Personification

"I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD"by William Wordsworth

  I wandered lonely as a cloudThat floats on high o'er vales and hills,When all at once I saw a crowd,A host, of golden daffodils;Beside the lake, beneath the trees,Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shineAnd twinkle on the milky way,They stretched in never-ending lineAlong the margin of a bay:Ten thousand saw I at a glance,Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but theyOut-did the sparkling waves in glee:A poet could not but be gay,In such a jocund company:I gazed---and gazed---but little thoughtWhat wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lieIn vacant or in pensive mood,They flash upon that inward eyeWhich is the bliss of solitude;And then my heart with pleasure fills,And dances with the daffodils.

MUSICAL DEVICES IN POETRY!

When poets use the sound of words to enrich their poetry Alliteration – repetition of the same consanant

sound Assonance – repetition of vowel sounds Onomatopoeia – use of a word whose sound

imitates or suggests sound

Can you think of examples of each?

Also . . . . Parallelism – repetition of similarly structured lines

THE BELLS BY EDGAR ALLEN POE

IHear the sledges with the bells-Silver bells!What a world of merriment their melody foretells!How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,In the icy air of night!While the stars that oversprinkleAll the heavens, seem to twinkleWith a crystalline delight;Keeping time, time, time,In a sort of Runic rhyme,To the tintinnabulation that so musically wellsFrom the bells, bells, bells, bells,Bells, bells, bells-From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

IIHear the mellow wedding bells,Golden bells!What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!Through the balmy air of nightHow they ring out their delight!From the molten-golden notes,And an in tune,What a liquid ditty floatsTo the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloatsOn the moon!Oh, from out the sounding cells,What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!How it swells!How it dwellsOn the Future! how it tellsOf the rapture that impelsTo the swinging and the ringingOf the bells, bells, bells,Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,Bells, bells, bells-To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III

Hear the loud alarum bells-Brazen bells!What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!In the startled ear of nightHow they scream out their affright!Too much horrified to speak,They can only shriek, shriek,Out of tune,In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,Leaping higher, higher, higher,With a desperate desire,And a resolute endeavor,Now–now to sit or never,By the side of the pale-faced moon.Oh, the bells, bells, bells!What a tale their terror tellsOf Despair!

How they clang, and clash, and roar!What a horror they outpourOn the bosom of the palpitating air!Yet the ear it fully knows,By the twanging,And the clanging,How the danger ebbs and flows:Yet the ear distinctly tells,In the jangling,And the wrangling,How the danger sinks and swells,By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-Of the bells-Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,Bells, bells, bells-In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

IVHear the tolling of the bells-Iron Bells!What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!In the silence of the night,How we shiver with affrightAt the melancholy menace of their tone!For every sound that floatsFrom the rust within their throatsIs a groan.And the people–ah, the people-They that dwell up in the steeple,All AloneAnd who, tolling, tolling, tolling,In that muffled monotone,Feel a glory in so rollingOn the human heart a stone-They are neither man nor woman-They are neither brute nor human-They are Ghouls:And their king it is who tolls;And he rolls, rolls, rolls,Rolls

A paean from the bells!And his merry bosom swellsWith the paean of the bells!And he dances, and he yells;Keeping time, time, time,In a sort of Runic rhyme,To the paean of the bells-Of the bells:Keeping time, time, time,In a sort of Runic rhyme,To the throbbing of the bells-Of the bells, bells, bells-To the sobbing of the bells;Keeping time, time, time,As he knells, knells, knells,In a happy Runic rhyme,To the rolling of the bells-Of the bells, bells, bells:To the tolling of the bells,Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-Bells, bells, bells-To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

THE END

STRUCTURE OF POETRY

Stanza – unit with a set number of lines Couplet – Stanza of two rhymed lines Quatrain – Stanza of four rhymed lines

Meter – pattern of accented and unaccented syllables that form the basis of a poem’s rhythm Number of rhythmic beats or “feet” in a line and the

arrangement of accented and unaccented syllables A line that has five beats or feet is called a pentameter If a foot has an unaccented syllable followed by an

accented syllable it is called an iamb.If a poem has no regular meter it is called “Free Verse”

WHAT’S THE STRUCTURE?

maggie and milly and molly and may By e.e. cummings maggie and milly and molly and maywent down to the beach (to play one day) and maggie discovered a shell that sangso sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles, and milly befriended a stranded starwhose rays five languid fingers were; and molly was chased by a horrible thingwhich raced sideways while blowing bubbles; and may came home with a smooth round stoneas small as a world and as large as alone. For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)it's always ourselves we find in the sea

SONNET – WELCOME TO SHAKESPEARE’S WORLD!

Lyric poem of 14 lines with a set rhyme scheme

Normally written in iambic pentameter A line of ten syllables in which every second

syllable is accented Usually unaccented lines are marked with a “u”

while accented syllables are marked with a “/” A rhyme scheme is marked by coordinating

alphabet letters for each rhyme. For example, if the 1st and 3rd lines rhyme and the 2nd

and 4th line rhyme, the rhyme scheme would be abab. Shakespearean rhyme scheme is abab cdcd efef gg

SONNET 116 BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

HAIKU

Three lines of verse Five syllables, seven syllables, five syllables

Usually about nature

Temple bells die out.The fragrant blossoms remain.A perfect evening.

- Basho

CONCRETE POETRY

Poetry in which the words are arranged to look like, or suggest something about, the subject being presented.