can someone help give me an analysis of this poem?! ASAP!!!!

Discussion in 'Poetry Realm' started by Screech, Oct 8, 2008.

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  1. Screech

    Screech I came, I saw, I conquere

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    THE POEMS OF OUR CLIMATE

    I
    Clear water in a brilliant bowl,
    Pink and white carnations. The light
    In the room more like a snowy air,
    Reflecting snow. A newly-fallen snow
    At the end of winter when afternoons return.
    Pink and white carnations - one desires
    So much more than that. The day itself
    Is simplified: a bowl of white,
    Cold, a cold porcelain, low and round,
    With nothing more than the carnations there.

    II
    Say even that this complete simplicity
    Stripped one of all one's torments, concealed
    The evilly compounded, vital I
    And made it fresh in a world of white,
    A world of clear water, brilliant-edged,
    Still one would want more, one would need more,
    More than a world of white and snowy scents.

    III
    There would still remain the never-resting mind,
    So that one would want to escape, come back
    To what had been so long composed.
    The imperfect is our paradise.
    Note that, in this bitterness, delight,
    Since the imperfect is so hot in us,
    Lies in flawed words and stubborn sounds.


    i need to write an essay on the shape and voice

    any insight is appreciated!
    test
  2. Screech

    Screech I came, I saw, I conquere

    Joined:
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    Messages:
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    OR THIS POEM


    Digging

    Between my finger and my thumb
    The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.

    Under my window a clean rasping sound
    When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
    My father, digging. I look down

    Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
    Bends low, comes up twenty years away
    Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
    Where he was digging.

    The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
    Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
    He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
    To scatter new potatoes that we picked
    Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

    By God, the old man could handle a spade,
    Just like his old man.

    My grandfather could cut more turf in a day
    Than any other man on Toner's bog.
    Once I carried him milk in a bottle
    Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
    To drink it, then fell to right away
    Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
    Over his shoulder, digging down and down
    For the good turf. Digging.

    The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap
    Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
    Through living roots awaken in my head.
    But I've no spade to follow men like them.

    Between my finger and my thumb
    The squat pen rests.
    I'll dig with it.


    and i have to relate to a thesis !!

    ahh help !!
    test
  3. Poetic Concept

    Poetic Concept New Member

    Joined:
    Mar 10, 2006
    Messages:
    382
    I. Nice had a smooth read the loniness you felt almost like a lost love the imagery compounded this work I liked this one

    II/III I couldn't grasp what direction you were taking.

    You next poem "digging" I felt like it should have been a short story. The end was sick however. You were explaining everything I would much rather have you explain them without the narrative behind the word. I am not sure if that makes sense but I thought you ended great
    test
  4. Poet x

    Poet x a ploy at being human...

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    140
    Digging is definitely the strongest out of the two. You have pretty impressive imagery in both poems but to me the first one was lacking. It had moments of brilliance but I found myself struggling to respond to it. "Digging" I saw a connection to the earth through the digging that was being done. I also felt a sense of tradition or lineage in how the grandfather is able to handle a spade the way that his father could and how you can handle the "squat pen" masterfully as they. Idk Its just a thought.
    test
  5. absolute zero

    absolute zero Among the living

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    Messages:
    11,770
    Couple thoughts on this:

    1. I like your imagery. You're showing, not telling, and that's key. Your word choice surprised me, which is also good. "the squelch and slap
    Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge". Pretty nice.

    2. By God, the old man could handle a spade,
    Just like his old man.

    I felt that this was un-needed. You could've explored this idea in the stanza following it, because that stanza is about your Grandpa. You could slip a comparison in there instead of this little sliver of abstract information.

    3. Loved the ending. I like the metaphor that runs through the whole poem. Really works.
    test
  6. Truf DX3000

    Truf DX3000 Problem of Environments

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    pretty much summed up my thoughts...you are very good, especially at being able to use a topic you didnt choose...im no help really but just simply enjoyed "digging" into your writing process...
    Check mine please...
    TRUF FULLY SPITTIN UP!
    test
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