Poetry, Short Fiction, and Passage

1. Discuss the following passage, extracted from Dylan Thomas' '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,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


2. Alice Munro's 'Boys and Girls' is a depiction of the coming of age of a young woman. Discuss it's symbolism, with regards to the function of the story.


1. Thomas' 'Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night' is a comment on the meaning of life, and the 'best' way to live it. Good men, while 'good', have not lived. They have been 'good', though, their "frail deeds" might have shone brighter, burned longer. The poem is about sapping every drop out of life, and the men in the passage have failed to do so.

2. 'Boys and Girls' acts as a mirror to society; a microcosmic representation of what girls go through as they become women, the character symbolizes all women on a smaller scale. The family farm that the story takes place on is a 'smaller' society, with all of its pressures and expectations. By acting as a mirror to society, Munro's story brings attention to what girls and young women go through with age.

Onion-ey titles

U of T Extends Application Opportunities to Extra-Terrestrial Life; Campus Enforcement reports increase of Missing Persons Reports
Bell Canada reintroduces Morse Code
Laura Ingalls-Wilder making a comeback
Entertainment Weekly raves about Acetone.... "It's the new Blonde!"
Chartwells Dining Services extends menu to Include 'The Zone'

Araby and Eveline

James Joyce's Araby and Eveline are similar in that both characters are looking for something. The main character in Araby wants to impress his 'true love' by picking her something out from the bazaar; however, when he gets there, it is pretty much closed, and he goes home empty-handed.

In Eveline, the main character is looking from an escape from her life; her father is abusive, her two older brothers are gone, and her mother is dead.. when she falls in love, a sort of exit-strategy comes up, but in the end, she fails to follow through with it. Her love is stranded and she stays where she is.

Both of Joyce's texts have melancholy tones; both use descriptive imagery. I found it kind of hard to read, and had to go over each story a couple of times so that I could really 'see' what was going on in the story, but after I did, I saw the images very clearly. Joyce's descriptions are both relevant to the story line and poetic. His style of writing was clear in both stories - they followed a similar track, and I liked that continuity.

Both characters fail to complete the actions they set out with. There is no follow-through in both of Joyce's stories, and that is what makes them the same.

Describe Describe

1. I have four rats; Octavia, Juliet, Seraphina and Stardust. This journal is about Stardust.

Her name is Stardust, named after the sheen of her pale fur and the rose-red glow in her eyes; a light behind them, pulsing, pulsing, inquisitive and calm. She hides in my lap, under the warmth radiating from my laptop.
Two eyes, two ears, four feet, one tail.
Her ears are thin yet sturdy. They are delicate cones. I can see her veins beneath the skin - footpaths for her lifesource. Her fur wrinkles up around them as these pale, pink members connect to her head. The ripples of soft white fur follow down her strong, supple and workable shoulders. White, tinted gold over her back. Buttercream. Shining and healthy.
Whiskers jaunt off of her dainty nose and mouth, flicking and quivering with every sniff of her little pink nose.
The muscle in her body in dense and lean, marbles of it around her tiny frame. Her toes are a quiet surprise - tiny in comparison to the measurable mass of body. From her toes protrude small claws, thin, almost invisible. Fine bone, though capable of destruction, proven by the scars on my arms and chest and the state of my desk.
Her tail is the length of her body, and so strong from all of her firsking and climbing, course and rough - almost like fish scales. Tiny hairs protrude from this pink rope.

2.
Stardust: white fur, red eyes, pink tail. An albino rat.

3. Stardust is absolutley beautiful. Her buttercream fur and glowing eyes make her sparkle. Her whiskers are playful, her tail id strong, her claws are sharp. She is inquisitive and smart, always stealing my pens and my food. She sits on my shoulder as I'm writing this. Her fur is soft and tickles my neck, her tongue is warm, but so small you could miss it if you weren't paying attention.

4. Personally, I love description. My work is always, always flowery, even when I try to sharpen it up. I think a good writer has a fine balance of both - good description is nothing is it isn't sharp enough to leap off of the page, or is lost in a field of beautiful words. Good adjectives and poetic voice need to be offset. They deserve to stand out.

Essay Outlines and Theme

1. Alice Munro's Boys and Girls is a microsmic representation of the troubles associated with traditional gender roles.

               1.Avoidance of 'traditional' female roles
                       1. Father refferring to her as a 'hired man'
                       2. adventurous stories (shooting, horsebackriding, etc), singing
               2. Expectation forced upon the narrator by other characters
                       1. Mother wanting help in kitchen
                       2. Her treatment by her brother changes as they get older
               3. Eventual Accepance
                       1. "I didn't protest that, even in my heart. Maybe it was true."
                       2. Decorating room (with lace, a dressing table, etc.)



1. Chinua Achebe's Dead Men's Path is an ironic comment on the frustrating juxtaposition of the old and the new.
           
            1. Michael Obi's self-righteous tendencies
                      1.His wife's obsession with the modern
                      2. "...show these people how a school should be run."
           
            2. Exoteric views of the people.
                      1. "He was outspoken in his condemnation of the narrow views of these older and often less educated ones [headmasters]"
                      2. "What would the Government Education Officer think of this when... use the schoolroom for a pagan ritual during the inspection."
            
            3. Retaliation to Michael
                     1. Visit from the village priest
                     2. Death of a young woman in childbirth
                     3. Destruction of the schoolyard, and a scathing report from the inspector.

Review - Pleasantville

The 1998 film Pleasantville, starring Reese Witherspoon and Toby Maguire, is both a candid remark on modern society and a classically entertaining film.
When twins Jennifer and David are sucked into their television and find themselves in the world of a black-and-white 1950s sitcom, their influences on Pleasantville's pristine community begin to irrevocably change everything.
Jennifer and Daniel begin to introduce the people of Pleasantville to things that have never been explored before, things like sex, self-direction, and creativity. Books appear in the library. Double beds are developped. But most notably, people become coloured. The black and whites and the 'coloured' segregate - with half the town embracing new sides of themselves and the other half actively resisisting, the film captures well the difficulty that arises when people begin to express their true selves.
The film is a great piece of 'bubble gum culture,' that is, it is easy to watch and really easy to enjoy. The message is cear and close to home. The characters are endearing and familiar, the humour is clean and the theme is uplifting.
I highly reccommend Pleasantville to all film lovers. Not only is it something that is great for a Sunday afternoon at home, but it is thought-invoking and a curt remark on societal roles and expectations. Funny and warm, Pleasantville can be enjoyed by everyone.

True Blood and Fanfiction

Created and originally written by Alan Ball

Sookie shut her eyes.

Instead of black, the inside of her eyelids rosed into a hue of pink. She heard the sun's heat, on her skin, in her hair, splayed out on the browning grass. It crackled under the weight of her growing body - a body for two.

Her fingers traced her hips and stomach, rippling skin, the miracle of motherhood. She thought of herself, and thought of her husband, compiling the two into what this new life would be.
Vampires are created, not born. That's what Bill said.

Sookie reminds herself again and again that the child will be human. Or at least part. The blood of the fae that runs within her has carried into the child she bears, blood irresistable to vampires - blood of light and music and throbbing life. The telepathy and ability to weild and bend light have also carried. Sookie can feel it. Her daughter will be more powerful than she is, a fae with a vampire father. The two worlds have finally embraced.

She wonders what her daughter's life will be like. With two such powerful parents, she will no doubt be special. A special girl with a special name: Adele. The name of Sookie's murdered grandmother. The child will carry her light and love into this world.

Laying on the lawn of her Louisiana home, the birds cry. The forests, thickly bestowed with the burden of summer, speak volumes in the day's heavy silence. In a few hours, it will be night. Bill will awaken.

Sookie lifts herself up from the crippling grass and props herself up on her elbows. Her summer dresses are becoming too small, she notices with the anticipation only a first-time mother can know. Her eyes squint to the trees surrounding her home, their home. Along with heavy swamp moss and vines hang beautiful lanterns that Bill picked out for her. Papers of blue and pink and silver and gold. They do not sway, do not move. The day is still. Sookie closes her eyes from the glare of the sun and smiles, awaiting the rise of the moon. The lanters will be lit. She will put on her pearls. Bill will escort her out, to dance, and sing, and smile into eachothers eyes. Husband and wife, mother and father, vampire and fae. All is right in Bontemps. It is perfect.

Plunderverse

This is the original poem, Variations of the word Love, by Margaret Atwood

This is a word we use to plug
holes with. It's the right size for those warm
blanks in speech, for those red heart-
shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing
like real hearts. Add lace
and you can sell
it. We insert it also in the one empty
space on the printed form
that comes with no instructions. There are whole
magazines with not much in them
but the word love, you can
rub it all over your body and you
can cook with it too. How do we know
it isn't what goes on at the cool
debaucheries of slugs under damp
pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-
seedlings nosing their tough snouts up
among the lettuces, they shout it.
Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising
their glittering knives in salute.

Then there's the two
of us. This word
is far too short for us, it has only
four letters, too sparse
to fill those deep bare
vacuums between the stars
that press on us with their deafness.
It's not love we don't wish
to fall into, but that fear.
this word is not enough but it will
have to do. It's a single
vowel in this metallic
silence, a mouth that says
O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside. You can
hold on or let go.      

This is the 'plundered' version, by yours truly.

This we use for those warm blanks in speech.
Empty space, the word - we know it isn't what goes on.
The glittering two of us,
Those bare stars press on us.
Love is metallic.
In wonder and pain, hold on.

*Hi Paul, I know this is a week late, but I thought I'd submit anyways! Just in case. Cheers.

A poem on death

Down pillows on the bed,
Birthed of your shoulder blades (these tender hills, popping stems)
Birthing your wings.
These you have acquired, along with wrinles and grey and rotting teeth.
Things you have made (babies, loaves of bread, salted meats, an apple orchard)
Things you have earned (a living)
Things you have dreamt (and refused).

I want to help you,
But i won't coddle an angel.

Critique;This piece reflects a life lived and reflected upon. The use of repetition byy the author creates a soothing rhthym, as this reflection occurs not in a stat of panic, but in acceptance and ascendance to death.
The metaphorical growth of wings reinforces the idea of ascendance to whatever after life one accepts; in this case, angel wings tie in to the idea of reaching heaven. It may also convey ideas of a good soul, or a true life lived, while not remarkably, but lovingly.
The narrator of the piece takes on a tone of comfort, yet in the last two lines, "I want to help you/ But i won't coddle an angel," resounds with the idea that death is a personal and individual journey. There is no accompaniment in death.
The poet is exploring the idea os the individuality of death reflected in life; totally personal. And while it is the connections of others that gives life its potency, many individuals surrender their personal rights and personal choices , losing power over the slef. The references to everyday tasks bring this idea to the surface - the everyday and the extraordinary, an the fine line inbetween.

Tone in "Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?"

To compare one to a summer's day - the imagery itself requests visions of blooms, of sun and breezes. In Shakespeare's sonnet Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?, the gentle tone of the author saturates the piece through the use of comparison and symbolism. The effective application of careful diction and euphony creates a splendid, soothing sound, reminiscent of a lover's praise. It is through such a thoughtfully constructed piece that one is invited into a window of time where this affection is voiced. The light and loving tone of this poem is effectively communicated through Shakespeare's employed devices, recreating the subtle warmth and fire filtrated between lovers.

The very sounds of the piece create an image - in lines one and two, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?/ Thou art more lovely and more temperate," the soothing sounds contained in the lines create a peaceful euphora. This is carried on in the imagery conveyed in lines three and four; "Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,/ And summer's lease hath all too short a date." The finite nature and temporary beauty of the season is conveyed smoothly, and contrasts well with the implied eternal beauty of his lover, making a strong statement - does he dare draw the connection between a lover and a season that comes and goes? Still, the euphony bolsters the light and loving imagery of a gentle and beautiful season, only adding to the affectionbate tone of the piece.

Sonnets

The thumb is the best part of my whole hand;
We cannot pick things up without its help -
Just like we need two legs for us to stand,
And the ocean's ecosystem needs kelp,
Thumbs are good for sharing our opinions,
If a thumbs up oor a thumbs down is shown,
Good or bad is shared amongst one's minions,
Effecting if one's mob is shrunk or grown.
Thumbs are things we share with our primates,
The main difference is that they have hair.
They carry babies and have much-loved mates,
Once again, thumbs are things we share.
I am quite attached to my appendage.
Thumbs are good despite race, sex, class, and age!

The structure in this poem had a great effect on the content of the poem - while in free verse, one can really write whatever so long as it conveys an image and has the intent of poetry (however one defines it), in the sonnet structure one must pay attention to what is being penned down. I found myself planning out what I was going to write, as there was a map to be followed, in particular the iambic pentameter and rhyme scheme of the piece. This poem was meant to acknowledge the many uses and amount of appreciation of the fifth digit, and to give credit to its universality and defining difference between the opposable and non-opposable digited races. I found it easiest to begin with a broad-ish opener and to follow from there where both form and cntent would lead me.

Form to Content

Haiku

Ponytails are fine.
The tying back of impulse
That would rather fly.

Limerick

"There once was a teacher named Rumbly
Who had a strange noise in her tumbly.
She had armpit hair,
And made sounds like a bear,
Her skin is very crumbly."

(A limerick I wrote in grade five. Ms. Rumbly is based on an actual teacher I had, Ms. Rumley, who I just so happened to despise. I got in a lot of trouble for writing this.)

Upon writing the two poems above, I found that the content and tone changed drastically depending on the form. The haiku seems to be much more understanding and accepting of  varying content matters - one can write a haiku about anything; it accepts a wider variety of subjects than the limerick, which, mainly because of its rhyme scheme and cadence, demands a lighter subject. The tone changes as the form varies.
I originally set out to write a limerick about cancer or sex to see if I could write a limerick about something that needs to be taken in a more serious context, but the sing-song cadence of it made that virtually impossible/ disrespectful.
The length demanded by both haikus and limericks makes it so that the content must be precise. The form must accent and compliment the content, because the poems are so short, there is no room for air if the full impact of the piece is to be conveyed and accepted by readers.
 Rhyme scheme, cadence, placement of lines on a page (demonstrated well by the renowned poet e.e. cummings), length, and other things that convey form all have an impact on the content of a poem based on how efficiently and accurately it is to be conveyed to readers, how well the author can tailor his writing to fit the demands of a set form (or lack thereof), and the tone that is to be set by a pre-supposed rhyme scheme, cadence. etc.

Amelia Curran, 'Mistress' Poetic Analysis

(Please see lyrics and youtube link in post below).

Perhaps one of the most puncturing devices implemented by Curran throughout her work is the employment of repetition. This can be seen through lines 4-5;
"You don't act much like you need it, you don't look much like you care.
And will you need me in the summer, will you need me in the spring?"
This can also be seen in the repetition of the first and last lines of the song,
"Hello, its me, the Mistress."

Curran's rhyme scheme of AA BB is also effective - the sounds in the song, a mishmash of constantants and vowels, seem almost condensed, seen clearly in stanza four, most notably in the first two lines;
"And then you praise me for my inspiration, asked me for an explanation
Followed up with hesitation, fit my primal expectation.
I don't care but I don't mind, you can call me anytime
You can holler through the fortress, kick me out on line."
Not only is there a repetition of sound, but the closeness of the words creates a rhythym that the music only adds to, yet it is very present with solely the diction and vocabulary.
Internal rhyme is also present, which also adds to this effect, seen in line 20, "I confess to my distress, yeah I get crazier each year."

Curran's references to well-known phrases, characters or objects such as the seven deadly sins, Judas and his women, the Bible Belt and the Devil set a certain tone for the piece as they refernce things that evoke a certain universal feeling amongst readers. Each is associated with a certain emotional trigger, and her refernces - especially to the Devil and demons, suggests very accurately that the narrator is struggling.

Curran's implementation of familiar or 'slang' phrases such as "give it here," or inversion of the well-known on the outside looking in to "on the outside looking out," seen in line 9, also paint a portrait of the narrator and her lonely strife.

Perhaps my favourite line is the question posed at the end of the song, "Is it better to be grounded? Is it better to be free?" This juxtaposition and repetition is highly effective in conveying the inner turmoil beheld to our narrator, and finishes off nicely a powerful piece rich with poetic devices and classic poetic form.

Amelia Curran, "Mistress"

Hello, it's me the mistress, is there anybody home?
'Cause, the last place I should be is, sittin' here all alone
All I ask for is forgiveness, if you've got some, give it here
You don't act much like you need it, you don't look much like you care

And will you need me in the summer, will you need me in the spring?
I believe my life is ending, I don't know where to begin
I've got a page in my back pocket, of the seven deadly sins
And it's draggin' me around, among the needles and the pins

And I don't need to take a breather, I'm on the outside lookin' out
Yeah I don't need to see your papers, 'cause I know what you're about
You had me by the Bible, and you had me by the belt
And you had me from the instant my cold love began to melt

And then you praise me for my inspiration, asked me for an explanation
Followed up with hesitation, fit my primal expectation
I don't care but I don't mind, you can call me anytime
You can holler through the fortress, kick me out on line

I don't expect it from the grief that gathers in my head
I like suspended disbelief, I like to spend the day in bed
I like to spend the nights in Heaven, hangin' with the dead
With Judas and his women, and the voices in my head

I've got my eyes upon the mirror, got my hands up in the air
I confess to my distress, yeah I get crazier each year
And I'd change it if I could, you know that I like to say that I would
But there's a war between the parts of me, the evil and the good

And you try and stop me I'm on fire, although it doesn't look that way
You know I used to be a liar and the livin' set me straight
But I don't come with no disclaimer, I'm like everybody else
We keep our demons on the burner and our morals on the shelf

And nobody asks for my opinion just because you don't want to hear it
I swear I'm only human wishing I could disappear
You must think it's an illusion, that I like to live in fear
Of a probable solution, why the Devil put me here

And now no judgment court will kill me, just makes me close my eyes
And I sink into the slumber, to the prison of my mind
Where I'd love to introduce you if you found a way inside
You could sell me retribution, and totally demystify 'em

'Til I wonder how I got here, until I don't know who to be
Is it better to be grounded, is it better to be free
Am I better off without you, am I happier alone
Hello it's me the mistress, could you please pick up the phone


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMw9hte8IHs

Formalism, McMahan and Atwood.

Upon reading McMahan's Critical Approaches for Interpreting Literature, I found Formalism to be special in that it considers the piece of writing alone, rather than in a specific context or in consideration of context, similar to seeing a person for them true selves rather than by gender, sexuality, peer groups, family or any other context. It is this disrobement of surrounding factors that is so rare in today's society, and so charming when it is found in a means of interpreting literature.
The 'close reading' mothod of formally analyzing a work is beneficial because it ensures that all techniques, methods, languages, and so on are fully recognized in the way in which they contribute to the piece, free of historical, cultural, social or economic shadows.
As for the poem in the text, I chose to analyze Margaret Atwood's Death of a Young Son by Drowning. Atwood's imagery is stunningly powerful, as seen in lines 7-9,
"His feet slid on the bank,
the currents took him;
he swirled with ice and trees in the swollen water"
This painful piece seems to recount the death of a boy during birth. Metaphors and similes used to empower the memory of this moment in time, in line 17, "he was hung in the river like a heart."
The tone can be interpreted as filled with grief - the mother in this particular story leaves the reader with powerful symbolism in remembrance of the deceased, "I planted him in this country/ like a flag."
It is tempting to look into Atwood's life and see what would have caused such pain and sucha  story to spring forth - perhaps the author has lost a son through childbirth herself? However, Formal analyzing demands that only the text be looked at. It is in this regard that I shall leave the story here, and for what it is.