D. Watts Poetry Booklet

English 102009

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Definitions of Poetic Terms

The following is a list of poetry terms and elements that you will become familiar with during this poetry unit. You will use these throughout the poetry unit.

Abstract - An idea, concept, belief that does not have an actual existence: opposite of concrete.

Alliteration - The repetition of initial consonant sound in words that are close to one another. E.g. “sweet and sour,” “gaggle of geese.” Alliteration occurs most often at the beginning of words.

Allusion – A reference to a statement, person, place, event, or thing that is known from literature, history, religion, myth, politics, sports, science, or pop culture. e.g. …”Like Midas, I guess / everything we touch turns / to a poem…” Here the allusion is to King Midas in Greek mythology who turns everything he touches to gold.

Assonance - The repetition of similar vowel sounds followed by different consonant sounds in words that are close together. e.g. The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain.

Audience - The person or group to whom the words or actions are directed.

Concrete - Having actual objective existence; opposite of abstract.

Connotation - A word with meaning that is suggested or implied

Consonance – Repetition of internal consonant sounds within a group of words. e.g. The detectives suspected the suspiciously silent girls.

Couplet - Two consecutive lines of poetry that rhyme.

Dramatic Poem - Verse portraying a story of life or character, usually involving conflict and emotions. It has a bit of a plot coming from the action and dialogue.

Figurative language - Language that is always based on some kind of comparison that is not literally true. Figurative language includes figures of speech. Figure of speech - A word or phrase that describes one thing in terms of another and is not meant to be understood on a literal level. The most common figures of speech are the simile, the metaphor, and personification.

Hyperbole - A bold, unrealistic overstatement. e.g. “I’d give you my right arm for a piece of pizza.” It is not intended to be taken literally., and is used to emphasize the truth about something.

Free Verse- Poetry that has no regular meter or rhyme scheme.

Imagery – Words and phrases the writer selects to create a certain picture in the mind of the reader. Imagery is usually based on the five senses.

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Irony – Using a word or phrase to mean the exact opposite of its literal or normal meaning. There are three kinds of irony: Dramatic irony is when the reader or audience sees a character’s mistakes or misunderstandings, but the character him- or herself does not. Verbal irony is when the writer says one thing and means another, and Irony of situation exists when there is a great deal of difference between the purpose of a particular action and the result.

Lyric Poetry - Poetry that focuses on expressing emotions or thoughts, rather than telling a story.

Metaphor - A figure of speech that makes a comparison between two seemingly unlike things without using the connective words like, as, than, or resembles. An extended metaphor is a metaphor that is extended, or developed, over several lines of writing or even throughout an entire poem.

Mood – The feeling a piece of literature arouses in the reader e.g. happiness, fear.

Narrative Poetry - Poetry that focuses on telling a story or relates a series of events.

Onomatopoeia - The use of a word whose sound imitates or suggests its meaning. e.g. buzz, knock, splash and bark

Oxymoron - Two words together, which seem contradictory, but whose meaning expresses a truth or dramatic effect. e.g. cool fire, deafening silence, wise folly

Personification - A kind of metaphor in which a non human thing or quality is talked about as if it were human.

Purpose - The goal or end to be attained.

Refrain - A repeated word, phrase, line, or group of lines.

Repetition - A rhetorical device reiterating a word or phrase, or rewording the same idea.

Rhyme - The repetition of accented vowel sounds and all sounds following them in words that are close together in a poem. End rhymes occur at ends of rhymes. Internal rhymes occur within lines. Near rhyme is an imperfect, or half rhyme—an almost rhyme that can occur in the middle of lines. e.g. the words ‘date’ and ‘fade.’

Rhetorical Question - A question solely for effect, with no answer expected. The answer is obvious. It is a means to emphasize and is stronger than a direct statement. e.g: “Ode to the West Wind,… O, Wind, / If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? (Shelley)

Rhyme scheme - Any fixed pattern of rhymes characterizing a whole poem or its stanzas. The pattern of rhymed lines in a poem is called its rhyme scheme.

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Simile - A figure of speech that makes a comparison between two seemingly unlike things by using a connective word such as like, as, than, or resembles.

Sonnet - A fixed form consisting of 14 lines with other specific patterns. If your poem has 14 lines, check it out with Ms. H.

Speaker - Person who acts as a spokesman for the ideas or words presented.

Stanza - A group of consecutive lines in a poem that form a single unit.

Symbol - Often an ordinary object, event, animal, or person to which we have attached extraordinary meaning and significance. A symbol stands both for itself and for something beyond itself.

Theme - The central idea or insight of a work of literature.

Tone - The attitude created by the writer’s use of words towards a subject or character e.g. satirical, serious.

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About School~ Anonymous

He alwaysHe always wanted to explain things, but no one cared,So he drew.

Sometimes he would just draw and it wasn’t anything.He wanted to carve it in stone or write it in the sky.He would lie out on the grass and look up at the sky and it would

Be only the sky and things inside him that needed saying.

And it was after that that he drew the picture,It was a beautiful picture. He kept it under his pillow and would

Let no one see it.And he would look at it every night and think about it.And when it was dark and his eyes were closed he could see it still.And it was all of him and he loved it.When he started school he brought it with him,Not to show anyone, but just to have with him like a friend.

It was funny about school.He sat in a square brown room, like all the other rooms, And it was tight and close and stiff.

He hated to hold the pencil and chalk, with his arm stiff andHis feet flat on the floor, stiff, with the teacher watchingAnd watching.

The teacher came and spoke to him.She told him to wear a tie like all the other boys.He said he didn’t like them and she said it didn’t matter.After that he drew. And he drew all yellow and it was the way

He felt about morning. And it was beautiful.

The teacher came and smiled at him. “What’s this?” she said.“Why don’t you draw something like Ken’s drawing?

Isn’t it beautiful?”

After that his mother bought him a tie and he always drewAirplanes and rocket-ships like everyone else.

And he threw the old picture away.And when he lay all alone looking at the sky, it was big and blue,

And all of everything, but he wasn’t anymore.

He was square and brown inside and his hands were stiff.And he was like everyone else. All the things inside him that

Needed saying didn’t need it anymore.

It had stopped pushing. It was crushed.Stiff.Like everything else.

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Still I Rise

~ Maya Angelou

You may write me down in historyWith your bitter, twisted lies,You may trod me in the very dirtBut still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you? 5Why are you beset with gloom?'Cause I walk like I've got oil wellsPumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,With the certainty of tides, 10Just like hopes springing high,Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?Bowed head and lowered eyes?Shoulders falling down like teardrops, 15Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?Don't you take it awful hard'Cause I laugh like I've got gold minesDiggin' in my own backyard. 20

You may shoot me with your words,You may cut me with your eyes,You may kill me with your hatefulness,But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you? 25Does it come as a surpriseThat I dance like I've got diamondsAt the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shameI rise 30Up from a past that's rooted in painI riseI'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear 35I riseInto a daybreak that's wondrously clearI riseBringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,I am the dream and the hope of the slave. 40I riseI riseI rise.

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This Is A Photograph Of Me by Margaret AtwoodIt was taken some time ago.At first it seems to bea smearedprint: blurred lines and grey flecksblended with the paper;

then, as you scanit, you see in the left-hand cornera thing that is like a branch: part of a tree(balsam or spruce) emergingand, to the right, halfway upwhat ought to be a gentleslope, a small frame house.

In the background there is a lake,and beyond that, some low hills.

(The photograph was takenthe day after I drowned.

I am in the lake, in the centerof the picture, just under the surface.

It is difficult to say whereprecisely, or to sayhow large or small I am:the effect of wateron light is a distortion

but if you look long enough,eventuallyyou will be able to see me.)

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Funeral Blues

W. H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,Silence the pianos and with muffled drumBring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overheadScribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,My working week and my Sunday rest,My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.For nothing now can ever come to any good.

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If you were coming in the Fallby Emily Dickinson

If you were coming in the Fall,I'd brush the Summer byWith half a smile, and half a spurn,As Housewives do, a Fly.

If I could see you in a year,I'd wind the months in balls --And put them each in separate Drawers,For fear the numbers fuse --

If only Centuries, delayed,I'd count them on my Hand,Subtracting, till my fingers droppedInto Van Dieman's Land.

If certain, when this life was out --That yours and mine, should beI'd toss it yonder, like a Rind,And take Eternity --

But, now, uncertain of the lengthOf this, that is between,It goads me, like the Goblin Bee --That will not state -- its sting.

'Out, Out–'  Robert Frost  The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard

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And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,

Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.

And from there those that lifted eyes could count

Five mountain ranges one behind the other 5

Under the sunset far into Vermont.

And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,

As it ran light, or had to bear a load.

And nothing happened: day was all but done.

Call it a day, I wish they might have said 10

To please the boy by giving him the half hour

That a boy counts so much when saved from work.

His sister stood beside them in her apron

To tell them "Supper." At the word, the saw,

As if to prove saws knew what supper meant, 15

Leaped out at the boy's hand, or seemed to leap--

He must have given the hand. However it was,

Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!

The boy's first outcry was a rueful laugh,

As he swung toward them holding up the hand 20

Half in appeal, but half as if to keep

The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all--

Since he was old enough to know, big boy

Doing a man's work, though a child at heart--

He saw all spoiled. "Don't let him cut my hand off-- 25

The doctor, when he comes. Don't let him, sister!"

So. But the hand was gone already.

The doctor put him in the dark of ether.

He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.

And then--the watcher at his pulse took fright. 30

No one believed. They listened at his heart.

Little--less--nothing!--and that ended it.

No more to build on there. And they, since they

Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

If~ Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on

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you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same:. If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

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The Road Not Taken By Robert Frost

Two Roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry that I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Mother to Son (aka: The Crystal Stair)BY LANGSTON HUGHES

Well, son, I’ll tell you:Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.It’s had tacks in it,And splinters,

5 And boards torn up,And places with no carpet on the floor—Bare.But all the timeI’se been a-climbin’ on,

10 And reachin’ landin’s,And turnin’ corners,And sometimes goin’ in the darkWhere there ain’t been no light.So boy, don’t you turn back.

15 Don’t you set down on the steps’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.Don’t you fall now—For I’se still goin’, honey,I’se still climbin’,

20 And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

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1958Gwendolyn MacEwen

was a fabulous year when you parked in the lot at the lakeshorenext to the Palais Royaleand necked for hours in those souped up cars, you

5 savages of the Fifties, your terrible perfect bodieslooped around the gearshift, the wheel, along thedashboard, and the smell, the smell, the smellof the lake and the fish and the United States –

10 O, those guys spoke in crazy cryptic monosyllables, and those girls said nothing and were mean and cracked gum and looked you up and down like you were nowhere, them in their

15 black batwing sweaters and skirts with slitsand little black low-heeled shoes and smoking Black Cat corktips because the package looked mysterious, and some girls wore crinolines and socks

20 folded over at least three times and Peter Pan collars with plastic rosesholding them together –

Someone was always the Queen of the School andshe taught you how to use a lipstick brush, not

25 a messy old tube; shewas Xenobia, shewas Cat Woman, she was so tough she made you faint, who wentlike you

30 to Western Technical High School wherethe boys learned shop and the girlssewed shaky seams in dresses they would never wear, whereeveryone had ducktails and smelled of Vitalis

35 and you cracked your gum, cracked your gumand died insideand looked the whole world up and down.

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PoetryPablo Neruda

And it was at that age….Poetry arrivedin search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know whereit came from, from winter or a river. I don’t know how or when, no, they were not voices, they were not words, or silence, but from a street I was summoned, from the branches of night, abruptly from the others, among violent firesor returning alone, there I was without a faceand it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouthhad no waywith names, my eyes were blind, and something started in my soul, fever or forgotten wings, and I made my own way, deciphering that fire, and I wrote the first faint line, faint, without substance, pure nonsense,pure wisdomof someone who knows nothing,and suddenly I saw the heavensunfastenedand open,planets, palpitating plantations, shadow perforated, riddled with arrows, fire and flowers, the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being, drunk with the great starryvoid, likeness, image of mystery, felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind.

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Mad Girl's Love SongBy Sylvia Plath

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade: Exit seraphim and Satan's men: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

Anthem for Doomed Youthby Wilfred Owen

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? - Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattleCan patter out their hasty orisons.No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells, 5 Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, - The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all? Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes 10Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes. The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

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Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Cinderella by Anne Sexton

You always read about it:the plumber with the twelve childrenwho wins the Irish Sweepstakes.From toilets to riches.That story.

Or the nursemaid,some luscious sweet from Denmarkwho captures the oldest son's heart.from diapers to Dior.That story.

Or a milkman who serves the wealthy,eggs, cream, butter, yogurt, milk,the white truck like an ambulancewho goes into real estateand makes a pile.From homogenized to martinis at lunch.

Or the charwomanwho is on the bus when it cracks upand collects enough from the insurance.From mops to Bonwit Teller.That story.

Oncethe wife of a rich man was on her deathbedand she said to her daughter Cinderella:Be devout. Be good. Then I will smiledown from heaven in the seam of a cloud.The man took another wife who hadtwo daughters, pretty enoughbut with hearts like blackjacks.Cinderella was their maid.She slept on the sooty hearth each nightand walked around looking like Al Jolson.Her father brought presents home from town,jewels and gowns for the other womenbut the twig of a tree for Cinderella.She planted that twig on her mother's graveand it grew to a tree where a white dove sat.Whenever she wished for anything the dovewould drop it like an egg upon the ground.The bird is important, my dears, so heed him.

Next came the ball, as you all know.It was a marriage market.The prince was looking for a wife.All but Cinderella were preparingand gussying up for the event.Cinderella begged to go too.Her stepmother threw a dish of lentilsinto the cinders and said: Pick them

up in an hour and you shall go.The white dove brought all his friends;all the warm wings of the fatherland came,and picked up the lentils in a jiffy.No, Cinderella, said the stepmother,you have no clothes and cannot dance.That's the way with stepmothers.

Cinderella went to the tree at the graveand cried forth like a gospel singer:Mama! Mama! My turtledove,send me to the prince's ball!The bird dropped down a golden dressand delicate little slippers.Rather a large package for a simple bird.So she went. Which is no surprise.Her stepmother and sisters didn'trecognize her without her cinder faceand the prince took her hand on the spotand danced with no other the whole day.

As nightfall came she thought she'd betterget home. The prince walked her homeand she disappeared into the pigeon houseand although the prince took an axe and brokeit open she was gone. Back to her cinders.These events repeated themselves for three days.However on the third day the princecovered the palace steps with cobbler's waxand Cinderella's gold shoe stuck upon it.Now he would find whom the shoe fitand find his strange dancing girl for keeps.He went to their house and the two sisterswere delighted because they had lovely feet.The eldest went into a room to try the slipper onbut her big toe got in the way so she simplysliced it off and put on the slipper.The prince rode away with her until the white dovetold him to look at the blood pouring forth.That is the way with amputations.They just don't heal up like a wish.The other sister cut off her heelbut the blood told as blood will.The prince was getting tired.He began to feel like a shoe salesman.But he gave it one last try.This time Cinderella fit into the shoelike a love letter into its envelope.

At the wedding ceremonythe two sisters came to curry favorand the white dove pecked their eyes out.

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Two hollow spots were leftlike soup spoons.

Cinderella and the princelived, they say, happily ever after,like two dolls in a museum casenever bothered by diapers or dust,

never arguing over the timing of an egg,never telling the same story twice,never getting a middle-aged spread,their darling smiles pasted on for eternity.Regular Bobbsey Twins.That story.

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Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night- Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

5 Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

10 Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

15 Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

20 Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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The DaffodilsWilliam 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 leaves in glee;A poet could not be but 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.

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The LambWilliam Blake

Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life, and bid thee feed, By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, Little Lamb, I'll tell thee. He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb. He is meek, and He is mild; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee! Little Lamb, God bless thee!

The TygerWilliam Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire?

And What shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

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