Showing posts with label English Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label English Poetry. Show all posts

Analysis Poetry “After Auschwitz” By Anne Sexton


Analysis Poetry “After Auschwitz” By Anne Sexton
After Auschwitz
Anger, 
as black as a hook, 
overtakes me. 
Each day, 
each Nazi
took, at 8: 00 A.M., a baby
and sauteed him for breakfast
in his frying pan. 

And death looks on with a casual eye
and picks at the dirt under his fingernail. 

Man is evil, 
I say aloud.
Man is a flower
that should be burnt, 
I say aloud.
Man
is a bird full of mud, 
I say aloud. 

And death looks on with a casual eye
and scratches his anus. 

Man with his small pink toes, 
with his miraculous fingers
is not a temple
but an outhouse, 
I say aloud.
Let man never again raise his teacup.
Let man never again write a book.
Let man never again put on his shoe.
Let man never again raise his eyes, 
on a soft July night.
Never. Never. Never. Never. Never.
I say those things aloud. 

I beg the Lord not to hear. 
            After Auschwitz is poetry that was written by Anne Sexton. She was born in Newton, Massachusetts in 1928 and she was known for her frank treatment of intimate and taboo subjects. After Auschwitz tells about the abattoir by Nazi that had done in Auschwitz. The setting of this poetry is in Auschwitz Poland that is the largest and most famous Nazi concentration camp in World War II. As Nazi forces conquered many of the countries of Europe during World War II (1939-1945), millions of Jews were rounded up and slaughtered outright or imprisoned in concentration camps, where they were killed or died from starvation and disease. By the end of the war, After Auschwitz, between 5.6 million and 5.9 million Jewish men, women, and children had died at the hands of the Nazis.
            The speaker in this Sexton’s poetry is the victim of Nazi’s abattoir. The speaker is tortured and suffers during Nazi attitude toward Jews. She shows her anger toward the destruction caused by the Nazis in the World War II to the action of mankind in general.
            The dominant tone in After Auschwitz is angry. It can be seen from the beginning of this poetry, “Anger,” The first line just consist of one word. It indicates the stress in the word, the emotion of the speaker and shows that she really mad. The way she say “Anger” and the following line “Each day, / each Nazi” that is also consist of short and hard sentences, just like she spits them out. It is like she spits something disgusting or gross. The speaker conveys that what the Nazis done was totally horrible treatment of humankind. The speaker start compare what the Nazis done with something gross like in the third stanza “Man/ is a bird full of mud,”. Another sentence in the fourth stanza also shows the speaker’s abhorrence to the Nazis “and scratches his anus.” In the fifth stanza, the tone becomes angrier and darker. “Never. Never. Never. Never. Never.” In the last stanza the tone drastically change to the sad tone, “I beg the Lord not hear .”                               
                                                Angrier and darker
 




Angry                                                  sadness

            This poetry categorizes as dramatic monologue. The speaker tells the contents of this poetry by showing her opinion and feeling directly and explicitly to the reader. In general, the speaker tells about the holocaust that had done by the Nazis toward Jews in the concentration camp in Auschwitz. The slaughtered done like it just common thing that happened every day. The Nazis subjected the Jews like the livestock. The speaker  becomes disgusted and starts scorn man in general.
            In the first stanza, the speaker says “Each day,/ each Nazi/ took, at 8:00 A., a baby/ and sauteed him for breakfast/ in his frying pan.”. The reader must feel disturbing with this sentence. How come sautéed baby as a meal for breakfast? Where is their humanism? The speaker in this sentence shows how the Nazis subjected the Jews as the livestock that can be slaughtered anytime they want as pigs, lambs or cows that become their food.
            The following stanza shows that this horrible treatment just like it was the common thing that happened. The others man who knew this holocaust did not do anything at all. They just stand and allow that happen in front of their eyes. In the speaker’s point of view, it categorizes as the wrong measure. It can be seen in the sentence ““And death looks on with a casual eye/ and picks at the dirt under his fingernail”. When they just keep silent, it means that they agree in Nazi’s abattoir and allow the following horrible treatment happens.
            In the third stanza, the speaker begins to show her repugnance to the abattoirs in Auschwitz. She starts compare them with the disgusting thing and bad thing. “Man is evil”, shows the negative meaning of man that has deed like evil. “ Man is a flower/ that should be burnt, “ point out that actually they are looked good or beautiful in the outside. Because they had done such horrible thing, they should get bad treatment too. Many of victims killed in Auschwitz and other extermination camps suffered death in the gas chambers and had their bodies cremated, the speaker choose the reference to man deserving to be burnt. The last sentence shows how the speaker sees man as disgusting thing. “Man / is a bird full of mud,” mud refers to something gross and the speaker compare it with the man.
            The next stanza, “And death looks on with a casual eye/ and scratches his anus”, has almost same meaning with the second stanzas. The speaker indicates that the slaughtering happened often in the concentration camp and “death” does his job everyday and makes him bored. So he just sit and see who will be the next victim while scratch his ass.
            In the fifth stanza, the speaker says that they “man in general” wants to be associated with something that is great and wonderful, but their actions make them associated with something disgusting, smelly and dirty. “Man with his small pink toes,/ with his miraculous fingers/ is not a temple/ but an outhouse.” They do nothing whereas see their brother was slaughtered. “Let man never again raise his eyes,/ on a soft July night./ Never. Never. Never. Never. Never.” By saying those sentence, the speaker want us not to allow that Holocaust happen in the future. That is the bad story that happen in the world history and nobody wants to remember it.
            In the last line “I beg the Lord not hear that”, the speaker maybe does not want the Lord, the one who create human, to hear what she said because in this poetry she much saying shame on man for their silence toward the holocaust that happen around them.
            This poetry includes in free verse because it does not follow predictable form or rhyme scheme or metric pattern.
            The speaker in this poetry use imagery to make the audience feel angry and show how the speaker’s anger is getting bigger and reach the pinnacle in the fifth stanza “Let man never again raise his cup/ Let man never again write a book/ Let man never again put on his shoes/ Let man never again raise his eyes. She imagines this man sitting on a table or in a chair and drinking a tea and doing nothing while somewhere else humans are tortured and die in concentration camps. The other example of the imagery showed in the second stanza “And death looks on with a casual eye/ and picks at the dirt under his fingernail” and fifth stanza “And death looks on with a casual eye, and scratches his anus” The speaker imagines the death as a person. She imagines the death being somewhere in the concentration camp, simply standing there bored by the same things that happen every day, scratching his ass and waiting for the next person who dies.
            The writer of this poetry was known for her frank treatment of intimate and taboo subjects. We can see her choice of word in the poetry such as “anus” in the “And death looks on with a casual eye/ and scratches his anus. In the second line” as black as a hook”  “hook” was chosen because her anger is become sharp and it combines with the “ black” which indicate that her anger is getting bigger. ” She chose “sauteed” in “and sauteed him for breakfast” to make the reader feel the disturbing feeling how the Nazis’ brutality toward children in the concentration camp. In the fifth stanza “temple” use to represents the purity or great.
            We can find metaphor and personification in this poetry. “Man is evil”, “Man is a flower/that should be burnt”, “Man/ is a bird full of mud” are the sentence that use metaphor. In that sentences, the writer does not use “like” but use “is” to indicate that man in that sentences are really “evil” “flower that should be burn” and “bird full of mud”. “Man is a flower/that should be burnt” can be indicated as paradox because it shows contradiction that flower which is beautiful and should be kept instead should be burnt.
            This poetry is constructed in couplets. The first four stanza has similar structure (8,2,8,2). The first stanza show what the Nazis done, the second stanza show the effect of what the Nazis done that is so much people die. The third stanza shows how human just stand without doing anything toward what had happen in the first stanza. The fifth stanza has similar meaning with the second stanza. The speaker in the last stanza shows her hope in the future that something horrible in the first stanza and third stanza should not be happened again.
            After Auschwitz shows the audience on the worst world history and genocide that had happened in the World War II and the speaker expect that it will never happen again the future because the abattoir was really brutal. 
            

A Mate can do no Wrong by Henry Lawson


A Mate can do no Wrong
We learnt the creed at Hungerford,
We learnt the creed at Bourke;
We learnt it in the good times
And learnt it out of work.
We learnt it by the harbour-side
And on the billabong:
'No matter what a mate may do,
A mate can do no wrong!'
He’s like a king in this respect
(No matter what they do),
And, king-like, shares in storm and shine
The Throne of Life with you.
We learnt it when we were in gaol
And put it in a song:
' No matter what a mate may do,
A mate can do no wrong!'
They’ll say he said a bitter word
When he’s away or dead.
We’re loyal to his memory,
No matter what he said.
And we should never hesitate,
But strike out good and strong,
And jolt the slanderer on the jaw –
A mate can do no wrong !


The House Was Quiet and the World Was Calm by Wallace STEVEN


The House Was Quiet and the World Was Calm

The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night

Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much most to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.



Hamatreya


Hamatreya
Bulkeley, Hunt, Willard, Hosmer, Meriam, Flint,
Possessed the land which rendered to their toil
Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, apples, wool and wood.
Each of these landlords walked amidst his farm,
Saying, "'T is mine, my children's and my name's.
How sweet the west wind sounds in my own trees!
How graceful climb those shadows on my hill!
I fancy these pure waters and the flags
Know me, as does my dog: we sympathize;
And, I affirm, my actions smack of the soil."
Where are these men? Asleep beneath their grounds:
And strangers, fond as they, their furrows plough.
Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys
Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs;
Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet
Clear of the grave.
They added ridge to valley, brook to pond,
And sighed for all that bounded their domain;
"This suits me for a pasture; that's my park;
We must have clay, lime, gravel, granite-ledge,
And misty lowland, where to go for peat.
The land is well, — lies fairly to the south.
'T is good, when you have crossed the sea and back,
To find the sitfast acres where you left them."
Ah! the hot owner sees not Death, who adds
Him to his land, a lump of mould the more.
Hear what the Earth says: —


Dearest Reader by Michael Palmer


Dearest Reader
He painted the mountain over and over again
from his place in the cave, agape
at the light, its absence, the mantled
skull with blue-tinted hollows, wren-
like bird plucking berries from the fire
her hair alight and so on
lemon grass in cafe in clear glass.
Dearest reader there were trees
formed of wire, broad entryways
beneath balconies beneath spires
youthful head come to rest in meadow
beside bend in gravel road, still
body of milky liquid
her hair alight and so on
successive halls, flowered carpets and doors
or the photograph of nothing but pigeons
and grackles by the shadow of a fountain.

A Poet! He Hath Put his Heart to School by William Wordsworth


A Poet! He Hath Put his Heart to School
. A poet!--He hath put his heart to school,
Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff
Which art hath lodged within his hand--must laugh
By precept only, and shed tears by rule.
Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff,
And let the groveller sip his stagnant pool,
In fear that else, when Critics grave and cool
Have killed him, Scorn should write his epitaph.
How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold?
Because the lovely little flower is free
Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold;
And so the grandeur of the Forest-tree
Comes not by casting in a formal mould,
But from its own divine vitality.


A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe


A Dream Within A Dream
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
Edgar Allan Poe

After Auschwitz by Anne Sexton


After Auschwitz
Anger,
as black as a hook,
overtakes me.
Each day,
each Nazi
took, at 8: 00 A.M., a baby
and sauteed him for breakfast
in his frying pan.

And death looks on with a casual eye
and picks at the dirt under his fingernail.

Man is evil,
I say aloud.
Man is a flower
that should be burnt,
I say aloud.
Man
is a bird full of mud,
I say aloud.

And death looks on with a casual eye
and scratches his anus.

Man with his small pink toes,
with his miraculous fingers
is not a temple
but an outhouse,
I say aloud.
Let man never again raise his teacup.
Let man never again write a book.
Let man never again put on his shoe.
Let man never again raise his eyes,
on a soft July night.
Never. Never. Never. Never. Never.
I say those things aloud.

I beg the Lord not to hear.

A Lover's Quarrel Among the Fairies


A Lover's Quarrel Among the Fairies
A moonlight moor. Fairies leading a child.

Male Fairies: Do not fear us, earthly maid!
We will lead you hand in hand
By the willows in the glade,
By the gorse on the high land,

By the pasture where the lambs
Shall awake with lonely bleat,
Shivering closer to their dams
From the rustling of our feet.

You will with the banshee chat,
And will find her good at heart,
Sitting on a warm smooth mat
In the green hill's inmost part.

We will bring a crown of gold
Bending humbly every knee,
Now thy great white doll to hold --
Oh, so happy would we be!

Ah it is so very big,
And we are so very small!
So we dance a fairy jig
To the fiddle's rise and fall.

Yonder see the fairy girls
All their jealousy display,
Lift their chins and toss their curls,
Lift their chins and turn away.

See you, brother, Cranberry Fruit --
He! ho! ho! the merry blade! --
Hugs and pets and pats yon newt,
Teasing every wilful maid.

Girl Fairies: Lead they one with foolish care,
Deafening us with idle sound --
One whose breathing shakes the air,
One whose footfall shakes the ground.

Come you, Coltsfoot, Mousetail, come!
Come I know where, far away,
Owls there be whom age makes numb;
Come and tease them till the day.

Puffed like puff-balls on a tree,
Scoff they at the modern earth --
Ah! how large mice used to be
In their days of youthful mirth!

Come, beside a sandy lake,
Feed a fire with stems of grass;
Roasting berries steam and shake --
Talking hours swiftly pass!

Long before the morning fire
Wake the larks upon the green.
Yonder foolish ones will tire
Of their tall, new-fangled queen.

They will lead her home again
To the orchard-circled farm;
At the house of weary men
Raise the door-pin with alarm,

And come kneeling on one knee,
While we shake our heads and scold
This their wanton treachery,
And our slaves be as of old.

The analysis of “We Real Cool”


The analysis of “We Real Cool”
            “We Real Cool” is a poem written by Gwendolyn Brooks. In this case, I will analyze this poem based on its versification, the structure of stanza, and the musical device that include of rhyme, rhythm and sound. Besides, it will be discussed about the breaking up of lines. First, it is about the structure of stanza. Actually, there are four stanzas, and those could have been written thus:
We real cool.
We left school.
            We lurk late.
            We strike straight.
We sing sin.
We thin gin.
            We jazz June.
            We die soon.
On the other hand, the stanza that is used at this poem is “Couplet”. It is because each stanza consists of two lines with end-rhymes “We”. Besides, it also used for a pair of rhyming lines, such as cool/school, late/straight, and so on. Then, it is about its musical device. In my opinion, here when structuring this poem, the writer more focused on its rhyme. We can see that the lines all rhyme are so short, and the effect of the rhyming is even stronger, it is because the rhyme words are close together: cool / school, late / straight, sin / gin. These are also very strong rhymes and no half rhymes here.  Yet, as if the rhyming are not enough to tie the poem tightly together, we also find alliteration, that technique where a sound repeats, usually a consonant, and usually at the beginning of a word: lurk late, strike straight, sing sin, Jazz June. Sometimes, the rhyming does not even stop with the two end words: Sing sin thin gin, and then of course there is that "we" at the end of all the lines. It does not just rhyme, it is the same word, and its repetition repeatedly, ties the poem even more tightly together. However, it also does not seem quite right to say that "we" is the last word of each line. As a reader we have to pause before we say it, and also after, so it will be like this, “We real cool.  We / Left school. We / Lurk late.” The result is still another pattern of rhythm that binds the lines together. Then, the function of breaking up of the lines, as I said before, actually the writer wanted to focus on the rhyme. Therefore, she put the subject “we” in different line. In other words, she wanted to make a rhyme or it could to prevent fast reading I think.

The Road Not Taken


The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, 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 perhaps having the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as far that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

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

A Red, Red Rose


A Red, Red Rose
                        Robert Burns (1759-1796)


                         Oh my luve is like a red, red rose,
                        That's newly sprung in June:
                        Oh my luve is like the melodie,
                        That's sweetly play'd in tune.

                        As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
                        So deep in luve am I;
                        And I will luve thee still, my dear,
                        Till a' the seas gang dry.

                        Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
                        And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
                        And I will luve thee still, my dear,
                        While the sands o' life shall run.

                        And fare thee weel, my only luve!
                        And fare thee weel a while!
                        And I will come again, my luve,
                        Tho' it were ten thousand mile!


Because I could not stop for Death


Because I could not stop for Death
Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labour and my leisure too,
For His Civility—

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Field of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised  the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –


Leda and the Swan


Leda and the Swan
William Butler Yeats

A sudden blow: the great wing beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Dis she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

Talking to Grief


Talking to Grief
Denis Levertof


Ah, grief, I should not treat you
Like a homeless dog
Who comes to the back door
For a crust, for a meatless bone,
I should trust you.

I should coax you
Into the house and give you
your own corner,
a worn mat to lie on,
your own water dish.

You think I don’t know you’ve been living
Under my porch
You long for your real place to be readied
Before winter comes. You need
your name,
your collar and tag. You need
the right to warn off intruders,
to consider
my house your own
and me your person
and yourself
my own dog.

                                                

Crossing the Bar


Crossing the Bar
Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)
                        Sunset and evening star,
                        And one clear call for me!
                        And may there be no moaning of the bar,
                        When I put out to sea,
                        But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
                        Too full for sound and foam,
                        When that which drew from out the boundless deep
                        Turns again home.
                        Twilight and evening bell,
                        And after that the dark!
                        And may there be no sadness of farewell,
                        When I embark;
                        For through from out our bourne of Time and Place
                        The flood may bear me far,
                        I hope to see my Pilot face to face
                        When I have crossed the bar. 

The Snow Man


The Snow Man          
Wallace Steven                                              

One must have a mind of winter
To regard frost and the boughs
Of the pine trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listen to the snow,
And, nothing himself beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.







Robert Browning


Meeting at Night
Robert Browning

The gray sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i’ the slushy sand.

Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three field to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of lighted match,
And a voice less loud, through its joy and fears,
Then the two hearts beating each to each!

Parting at Morning
Robert Browning

Round the cape of a sudden came the sea,
And the sun looked over the mountain’s rim;
And straight was a path of gold for him,
And the need of a world of men for me.



Let evening come
Jane Kenyon

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinck in the barn , moving
up the bales as the sun moves down

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let the dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in the long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den .
Let the wind die down . Let the shed
Go black inside . Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to the air in the lung
Let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
Comfortless, so let evening come.


Richard Cory


Richard Cory

Edwin Arlington Robinson

              Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
              We people on the pavement looked at him:
              He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
              Clean favored, and imperially slim.

              And he was always quietly arrayed,
              And he was always human when he talked;
              But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
              "Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

              And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
              And admirably schooled in every grace:
              In fine, we thought that he was everything
              To make us wish that we were in his place.

              So on we worked, and waited for the light,
             And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
             And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
             Went home and put a bullet through his head.


To a poor old woman


To a poor old woman

munching a plum on
the street a paper bag
of them in her hand

They taste good to her
They taste good
To her. They taste
good to her.

You can see it by the way she gives herself
to the one half sucked out in her hand

Comforted
a solace of ripe plums
seeming to fill the air
They taste good to her

                                                William Carlos William