Oh, Responsibility

        Today we started off class with high emotions. Yes, I am talking about the senior house being taken away and the general outrage it has stirred up in the class of 2016. So we were given the poem “Responsibility” which some say was a ‘coincidence,’ but I’m sure was carefully selected by Ms. Lemon just for our mood.

        Responsibility. What does that word even mean? According to Google, responsibility is the state or fact of having a duty to deal with something or having control over someone, the state or fact of being accountable or to blame for something, and the opportunity or ability to act independently and make decisions without authorization. Oh, how ironic the definition of responsibility seems now. The speaker in this poem talks about the role and responsibilities of a poet.  She writes about how poets need to speak the truth about both the beautiful and the ugly. A reoccurring responsibility is, “It is the responsibility for the poet to be a woman.” I thought this was interesting because she mentions it in the second line, in the thirteenth and fourteenth line saying both males and females need to be women, and in the thirtieth line. I really liked how she said, “it is the responsibility of the male poet to be a woman,” but I was expecting her to follow up with a line like “it is the responsibility of the female poet to be a man.” It was then surprising that she continued with the theme of a woman being a woman. It makes me wonder, who is she speaking to?  Is she writing to herself as a reminder of her responsibilities as a poet? Or is she writing to other women to stay true to themselves and not try to be like men? I still can’t decide on the answer to these questions, but I suppose these responsibilities are supposed to be taken in a way that is most beneficial to the reader.      

        That may be why that, after reading this poem, we were given the assignment of writing our own “Responsibility” poems in this same style. I think the majority of people’s minds went to the before mentioned topic of outrage. However small this may be in the grand scheme of things, my mind went right there too. But it also went to a more recent event of two flies that we saw the dramatic deaths of. So, even though this is by far not my best piece of writing, I thought I would share my “Responsibility” poem.

Responsibility

It is the responsibility of the fly to be a fly

It is the responsibility for the fly to

come into peaceful classrooms

and create chaos where there was none

It is the responsibility of the fly to

find that one banana

and punish the room with its buzzing

It is the responsibility of the fly to

stir up a crowd

even if they believe in its right to live too

It is the responsibility of the fly

to bond people in anger

and not in love

It is the responsibility of the fly

to evade capture

And it is the responsibility of the people

to just let it go.

The Necessity of Faults

How is it possible that there's only one solidly good character in this whole novel? Cohn is a whiner, Mike is a drunk, Jake can be a jerk, Bill is jaded sometimes, and Brett is the worst. Thank goodness for the existence of Pedro Romero, because otherwise, I'm not sure we'd find a completely likeable character. Even Jake, as the narrator, admits to some of his faults, particularly his horrid jealousy of Cohn. Then, there's Romero, the dashing young bull-fighter. Is there anything "wrong" with him? Not that we know of at the moment. He's mature for his age, an incredible bull-fighter, he's proficient in English and French as well as Spanish, and he's an all-around nice guy. At this point, the only potential problem with him is that he's interested in Brett, which spells trouble.

Meanwhile, there's every other character. Let's start with our narrator, Jake. He puts himself in a good light, but we can still see hints of his flaws. He's very judgmental and doesn't stop other people from slamming Cohn since he doesn't particularly like Cohn. Jake doesn't try to hide his issues, but he isn't confronting them, either. I see Jake as a coward. He loves Brett, and even though he knows she's destructive bad news, he doesn't try to sever ties with her. He's too afraid to be without her, but he can't be with her. He would be better off if he could face his problems head-on.

I'll say the same for Mike: he's a coward. He becomes falsely brave when he's drunk--a.k.a. all the time--and that's when he chooses to confront Cohn. But he confronts Cohn for these issues. Only Cohn. Never Brett, because God forbid she do anything wrong. I mean, Mike even mentions that Brett has affairs all the time, yet he's still going to marry her! Like Jake, he's too scared to leave her.

Cohn needs to get over himself. So he spent some time in San Sebastian with Brett. So has probably the majority of male Europe. That doesn't make him super special. He published a book that was popular in America? Congratulations, but he's in France! He isn't a big deal there! He seems very whiny to me, especially when talking about the bull-fights, a huge contrast to Romero. First, he's afraid he might be bored, then he's feeling sick at the sight of dying animals. I'm sure he's a nice guy when he's not being terribly annoying, but I'm finding it hard to see too many redeeming qualities at the moment. But I should keep in mind that our narrator is Jake, who isn't so happy with Cohn, so there's obviously some bias abounding.

Bill is generally a light-hearted guy, but on occasions, he lashes out. He's pretty jaded, especially with his snarky comments about Cohn and the Catholic pilgrims. Did the war make him like this? Maybe he's born with it. Maybe it's Maybelline. He's hardly in the chapters post-fishing, though, so we don't get to see a lot more of his bitter side.

Then there's Brett. Ah, flirtatious, insincere, self-destructive Brett. Everyone is a phase to her. Cohn, Mike, Romero, even Jake, although their relationship doesn't fade super quickly. Her flaws are more noticeable than others. It's like there's an air horn directing our attention to her faults. She's engaged (and still somewhat married, if there is such a thing), yet she still has affairs with pretty much every man she meets, and doesn't even try to hide it from her fiancée. How cold-hearted and ridiculous is that? If I had a moral compass that didn't quite point North, I wonder if I would like Brett more, since Jake still paints her in a flattering light. I guess love really does see not with the eyes but with the mind.

It's hard to argue that there is a character besides Pedro Romero that has no faults. On the other hand, if everyone was as perfect as Romero, the book would be totally boring. Brett would stick with Mike or Jake, there would be no conflict, and it would be nearly impossible to differentiate the characters. Without problems, what is the plot? What are we? I guess I should thank Hemingway for making his characters less than perfect. It makes for an interesting tale.

Nature's Role in "The Sun Also Rises"

          In class, part of what we discussed was how Hemingway uses nature in the The Sun Also Rises. After sharing Quaker style the different nature-specific passages that stuck out to us throughout chapters eleven, twelve, and thirteen, it was clear that nature is a large part of the message that Hemingway is trying to send in the novel. Similar to "Hills like White Elephants", nature serves a greater purpose than a simple description. Hemingway's inclusion of nature may provide hints as to the characters' innermost thoughts and desires or possibly what the reader should take away from the novel.
          Nature plays a key role in chapter twelve. Jake and Bill's fishing trip brought to the two characters to an almost alternate reality. In the passage below, Hemingway describes Jake's experience when he first starts fishing:
          "As I baited up, a trout shot up out of the white water into the falls and was carried down. Before I could finish baiting, another trout jumped at the falls, making the same lovely arc and disappearing into the water that was thundering down. I put on a good size sinker and dropped into the white water close to the edge of the timbers of the dam" (Hemingway, 124).


          Before the fishing trip, the entire novel takes place in cities and involves wild, city lifestyles. When the two friends escape from this possibly harmful way of life and take refuge in the warm air and beautiful water, Jake especially seems to be reborn. I think that this is a turning point for him as a character. He does not have Brett to be distracted by and has no alcohol to numb his feelings. Instead, he and Bill have a "bromance" moment and Jake finally seems temporarily happy. He even uses the word, "lovely". Who is this? Jake is characteristically cynical and suddenly he is using words like "lovely". It seems like nature represents life in the novel because it helps Jake to truly live again.  Unfortunately, Jake's character is one who is not living completely. He is stuck in a rut before and after the fishing trip. Jake is basically along for the ride and pines after Brett from afar. He is obviously in love with her but does nothing because he feels that he is insufficient. In this way, he is letting life pass him by. In contrast, this passage is a sort of recess for Jake's angst and I think that Hemingway wanted for the reader to realize the way that nature temporarily heals Jake.

I know how to lose stuff, too

Today in class, we talked about The Sun Also Rises, but we also talked about the poem "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop. After reading this poem, I looked around to see grins on my classmate's and even Ms. Lemon's faces, yet I couldn't help being surprised at this sight. I do agree it's a well-written poem, but it's not one that leaves me smiling. It's heart-breaking. It's beautiful. It's deeper than it first seems.

Bishop starts her poem by talking of losing things of little value and how it is not a disaster but is even to be expected. Yet as the poem goes on, the things she loses become larger thing, more sentimental, a bigger deal, arguably a disaster. Bishop writes of losing "places, and names, and where it was you meant / to travel" (Bishop 8-9). These are dreams she's losing. Dreams. Maybe it's just that I'm a senior and preparing to enter into that last stage before *cringe* adulthood. Maybe it's because we're hyper-sensitive at this time to find our passion and pursue it. Maybe it's because I've seen too many adults living their life in a job that's merely that: a job. It breaks my heart that this narrator has lost the places she dreamed of going, the people who meant so much to her at one time. Then she loses her mother's watch. It's unclear if her mother is alive or not. But upon hearing this line, I imagined it as the gift her mother had given her. It probably has tremendous value, especially if her mother has died. Then she writes of losing houses, cities, rivers, and a continent. If you have ever had to move, you know what a cause of stress it becomes. Perhaps she's been evicted, but even if she's moving of her own volition moving is stressful.

Then comes the biggest shift in the poem. She has lost "you."  I don't know who "you" is, but it's very clear to me that "you" was loved and "you" was important. It's so clear. The narrator describes "the joking voice, a gesture" (16). These are small things you only know on best friends or someone you're in love with. Yet how does Bishop end the poem? By saying that losing things is easy and saying it's not a disaster. I only agree with one of those statements.

How many times have I sent a text spilling my vulnerabilities and feelings only to end it with "haha", "LOL", or "or whatever"? Isn't that what Bishop is doing here? Only instead of an "or whatever," Bishop adds that nothing is a disaster to almost every stanza. Ms. Lemon so beautifully described the works from the confessionalist movement as "their lives were splattered all over the pages." And that is what's happening in the poem. Bishop opens up the gate guarding her house, yet bolts the door. She brings us in, and keeps us out.

So, Miss Elizabeth Bishop, I feel you. Girl, do I get it. Many times I've lost things, places, and people. But, let me tell you, it is ok for it to be a disaster. In the words of Victoria Erickson, "it's ok to shatter. You can't possibly hold more light or beauty unless you break first." So yeah, losing things may be inevitable. But you don't have to shove your distress down and try and convince yourself and everyone else that it doesn't matter. It's ok for it to be a disaster.

"Don't Talk Like a Fool"

Major Discoveries of the Day:

1. Jake is impotent (unlike the sun, his is not rising).
2. The Sun Also Rises is a war novel taking place post-war.
3. Brett may as well be a manic version of Daisy Miller

On Friday, we talked a lot about manhood. This actually tickles me for two reasons: 1) manhood does not really apply to us, and 2) I keep thinking of Mr. Croker’s dream about being a girl. Anyways, one point we did not discuss was repetition in this novel. Have you noticed it? Characters repeat themselves (or others) so much that I actually stopped keeping track. For instance, the phrase “Don’t talk like a fool” pops up on pages 30, 34, and 88. While the appearances of this phrase are farther apart, Jake says “Come on” six times within three pages and Bill says “daunted” nine times on page 79 (Hemingway 78-80). Hemingway even repeats descriptions! I cannot tell you how many times in Book II he noted Brett “wrinkling the corners of her eyes” (80, 81…). What does that even mean? Does she have crows’ feet?

We have a rule in singing. If you sing a phrase more than once, you cannot sing it the same way every time. If you are going to sing “Halo” by Beyonce, you better sing each “halooooo” with a different level of poignancy each time! How can we apply this principle to Hemingway? He is not singing to us, but perhaps, he wants us to notice the context of these repeated phrases to discern their importance to the text.

Consider the repeated phrase “Don’t talk like a fool”, which shows up on three different pages. On page 30, Brett says this to Jake after he accuses her of counting up all the men who drool over her. It pops out of nowhere in a playful scold. However, in contrast, on pages 34 and 88, Jake is the one who says this phrase. He first says it back to Brett when they are talking about his impotence. Brett starts to lament on how his inability to consummate their relationship is a punishment for her philandering. To this, he replies, “‘Don’t talk like a fool’” (34). He sarcastically throws her phrase back at her, but he seems to actually mean it. Later, he says it to Mike in the presence of Brett. The drunken Mike invited himself and Brett on Jake’s fishing trip and is annoyingly asking Jake over and over again if he minds. To this, Jake shortly replies, “‘Don’t talk like a fool’” (88). He does not say something patient or polite like “It’s no trouble at all” or “The more the merrier!” No, he tries to shut Mike up with a terse negative imperative. What can we make of this? My conclusion is that this phrase shows Jake’s true feelings about people. He wishes they would just stop going on and on like fools. As we have discussed, he is easily peeved, so it makes sense that the insensitive, drunken chattering of his peers would drive him a little mad. I cannot help but wonder if his temper will ever snap in the later parts of this novel. How much foolishness can one man take?

Frustration in Two Words: Hemingway's Ambiguity

Tonight's homework was to read Book I of The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway. Before opening this novel, the only words I had read written by Hemingway was the short story we read for homework, Hills Like White Elephants. While this story perplexed me due to its frustrating ambiguity, I appreciated and enjoyed Hemingway's style. As I opened The Sun Also Rises, I expected to be challenged, yet also enjoy the work.
We start out Book I of The Sun Also Rises with a look at the speaker's friend, Robert Cohn. After describing this friend in length, we finally learn the narrator's name, Jake. Robert Cohn and Jake meet on occasion, but I got the feeling that Jake does not seem to like or appreciate his friendship with Robert as much as Robert likes him. Jake describes Robert as a sort of lonely, lost, aspiring writer, who has high hopes and dreams that he will never achieve. Robert is always controlled by a woman, currently one named Frances. In one scene, Frances is saying awful things to Robert because he does not want to marry her, and Jake notes himself that rather than stand up for Robert, he just lets it happen, and eventually leaves the situation.
In Book I, a notable young woman named Brett is also introduced. Although first introduced quite ambiguously, we eventually learn that Brett and Jake are in love, but cannot be together. Brett is currently going through a divorce, and intends to marry some man named Michael, yet she does not love either of these men. It seems that Book I is introducing a struggle between Brett and Jake and themselves, on whether or not they should just give up and allow themselves to be together in complete true love or not.

I can already see Hemingway's ambiguous style through tonight's reading. It seems almost everything and everyone is introduced with some vague background that is to be understood until actually later explained. However, there are still some things left unexplained. There was some "funny story" about how Jake got wounded in the war, that he often thinks about and that he briefly talked about with Brett. This war wound, in addition to Count Mippipopolous's arrow wounds, are one of the motifs Mrs. Lemon told us to watch for. Furthermore, Jake's relationship with Brett is confusing because it seems their love is so deeply passionate, yet Brett claims she can never be with her true love, Jake.
I also noticed when I first began reading how different it was that Hemingway decided to start out talking about Robert Cohn, rather than introducing Jake, the protagonist speaker, first. Hemingway then moves into Jake's complicated life, introducing new characters, each with their own back story and history with Jake.

It seems that Hemingway's life at the time of writing this is very prevalent in the novel. The setting is in Paris, where Hemingway was living at the time. However, there is a conflict in the novel between people who like and dislike Paris. Robert claims to dislike it and wishes to travel the world, while Jake seems completely taken aback at this idea, and cannot imagine disliking or being unappreciative of all the beauty that Paris has to offer. As I noticed in the scene when Count Mippipopolous, Brett, and Jake were talking in Jake's flat, they talk about the count's values, another idea Mrs. Lemon told us to watch for.
This novel still leaves me with questions, that may be answered later, or only through careful reading and noticing of details. I wonder what Robert Cohn's significance is in the novel. I wonder why Hemingway gave his characters the lifestyle they have -- a seemingly lavish, partying, late-night-yet-work-the next-day lifestyle. Brett in and of herself is just one big ambiguity. I wonder how the mysterious character Harvey Stone will play into the novel. So far, Book I has set up a nice foundation, yet most definitely leaving the reader wanting and expecting more.

Hills Like Loop Writing?

            To ease into our Monday morning, we began class by hearing a final poetry recitation by Kristen Barrett. After Kristen recited “When You Are Old” by William Butler Yates, Mrs. Lemon gave us a brief biography of Yates. We learned that he was sickly and probably had something similar to pneumonia. Aware that death was fast approaching, Yates created a wild new way of seeking the world through his writing.

            Following our discussion of Yates, the class returned to loop writing and our poems of choice: “From Blossoms,” “Delight in Disorder,” and “The Sea.” In our focused free-writes this morning, Mrs. Lemon challenged us to approach our writing uninhibitedly and to start anew in a sense if necessary. We revisited our previous writings, selected lines from these writings, and brought it all together in either a paragraph or perhaps a poem. The decision was up to us. We then shared images from our writing “quaker style.” Reflecting on how we felt about the loop writing process, someone pointed out that it was like speed dating but with writing instead. We decided that it was conversational, argumentative, and not necessarily formal. Finally, we recognized that, through this process, our brain scattered in a multitude of directions, but we embraced this fact about ourselves.

            Our completion of the loop writing exercise led us to the bigger picture. We were informed that this process was ultimately the starting point of a personal essay. But there was a catch. The project was introduced to the class as “The Rumination Essay: Finding the Joy.” This was our chance to meditate on passages we created during loop writing and link them to make a greater story–a mix of creative and analytical writing. Then, we highlighted moments of our individual writings that we did not want to lose.

            After wrapping up our conversations regarding the personal essay, we turned to Ernest Hemingway’s “Hills Like White Elephants.” First of all, Mrs. Lemon gave us an overview of the important events in Hemingway’s life that ultimately shaped his writing. Born right at the turn of the century in 1899, Hemingway learned how to uniquely present the human psychology early in his writing career. Desperate to get to war to prove his manhood, Hemingway fought in World War I. After being injured and sent to a hospital in Italy, Hemingway met and fell in love with a British nurse. Soon enough, Hemingway healed and returned to America hoping his new love would follow. However, the British nurse sent a letter confessing that she was in love with someone else. Hemingway’s heart was shattered.

Ending our biography of Hemingway on such a heavy note, we decided to move to the story itself. The majority of the class was utterly confused by the cryptic story; however, we were able to bounce ideas and predictions off of one another only a few moments into our discussion. We pointed out Hemingway’s lack of naming his characters in this particular story seeing that we were only informed of the girl’s nickname which was “Jig” while the man was simply referred to as “the American.” Early into our discussion, we were asked the question, “What is the significance of the train?” A classmate brought up the idea of the setting of the train station being a crossroads of sorts. Something is lost or will be lost. After numerous possibilities and predictions such as abortion and lobotomy (thanks Kelly!) were thrown around, we decided that the elephant in the room was the girl’s pregnancy. Something interesting about Hemingway is the fact that he never calls abortion by name because it only makes it more real. To Hemingway, sadness and pain do not hold an antecedent. The baggage is ever so present in this story. It’s heavy either way–whether the girl has the operation or not. Then, another classmate pointed out the stark contrast between the man, aka the realist, and the more creative girl, aka the optimist. We pointed out the man’s lack of want of “anybody but you” (you meaning the girl). We decided that this was his final clue to the girl that he did not want anything to do with this baby. But really, it’s all open to interpretation.

Finally, we discussed the loaded ending. The conversation is the relationship in this case. At this point, the whole story shifts dramatically. Now, the girl feels “fine.” But oh how loaded the word “fine” really is! The girl begins to deaden herself emotionally. She lacks the enthusiasm and exploratory voice she possessed at the beginning of the story. Now, she fakes her feelings. Really, those feelings are a simple numbness and a sense of trauma. Maybe Hemingway left us even more confused than we were to begin with. I mean, after all, all I see is hills like white elephants. 

How can you relate?

Thursday in class, we spent our time reflecting on poems. We were required to memorize a poem which I think for some of us, who had not memorized a poem since about sophomore year, this was definitely a bit of a stretch for our brains. Mrs. Lemon asked the class to “discover or resurrect a poem that challenges you in some way”. In order to memorize our poems in an effective way, I personally found I had to understand my poem thoroughly. Our poems were each crafted with particular phrasing and organization and once I studied and analyzed my poem I definitely found myself with a greater understanding of my poem. This is something I think most of our class can relate to. As we discussed in class reciting a poem also causes the reciter to pay more mental attention to  rhythm and punctuation. The class then read and commented on our partner’s blog post about their respective poem. I found that doing this showed me how each person reads a poem differently. A person’s experiences and outlook affect their perspective and analysis of a poem. This idea ran into our next exercise in class.

We revisited the three poems: Delight in Disorder" by Robert Herrick; "The Sea" by Mary Oliver; and "From Blossoms" by Li Young Lee. We each picked a poem we wanted to delve into a little more and we started our loop writing on “finding the joy”. Our focused free write centered on finding a vivid image or moment that reminded each of us of something we had experienced. Just like I discussed earlier, each of us would find a different memory or experience within the poets’ writing. Then we wrote about a moment of utter delight we had experienced through a memory, story, book, movie, or travel which we were reminded of from our readings.

I came away from our class with better understanding of how poems, which originally one might not comprehend at all, can relate to anyone. The smallest detail or word can ignite someone’s personal experience and bring them an understanding of writing from a time different than their own.So next time you are confused on a poem or passage in a book, just stop and think "how can I relate"? 

"The Names" by Billy Collins

Always helpful to hear a poet on his craft, particularly with regard to the genesis of this poem.

"In a Disused Graveyard" by Robert Frost

               In Ms. Lemon's freshman year English class, I was often referred to as the girl with the odd fascination with death. As you might imagine, this was not exactly how I planned to brand myself upon entering the high school. However, having chosen my first outside reading novel about a serial killer and his...adventures, I must confess that I did, in fact, fit that bill. Three years later, I have memorized Robert Frost's "In a Disused Graveyard." I guess some things never change...

In a Disused Graveyard

Robert Frost

The living come with grassy tread

To read the gravestones on the hill;

The graveyard draws the living still,

But never anymore the dead.

The verses in it say and say: 

"The ones who living come today

To read the stones and go away

Tomorrow dead will come to stay."

So sure of death the marbles rhyme, 

Yet can't help marking all the time

How no one dead will seem to come. 

What is it men are shrinking from?

It would be easy to be clever 

And tell the stones: Men hate to die

And have stopped dying now forever.

I think they would believe the lie. 

               I discovered this poem just days ago, as I flipped through a book of Frost's poetry. I love it for two reasons. I shall outline below:

               I read the first line, and I am there. My family harbors a special interest in cemeteries, so I am truthful when I say that I have wandered for hours through acres upon acres of gravestones and obelisks. "The living come with grassy tread...." I read the first line, and I am walking up a slight hill, grass grazing my legs because let's face it, the city does not shove all of its resources into maintaining the land of the dead. In all reality, this simplistic first line holds just about all the reader needs to know in six little words. The use of the words "the living" creates a stark contrast between the graveyard's inhabitants and its visitors and seems to produce a sense of detachment in regards to the strangers. They walk with "grassy tread," most likely having to navigate through overgrown pathways.This is confirmed two lines later, as we learn that the graveyard is no longer used; it simply serves as a playground for bored and interested strangers to explore a community long gone. If you have ever explored these eerily peaceful cities, you can hear the crunch of the grass beneath your feet and how such a miniscule sound can announce to the earth your disruptive presence. With one line of a poem, the reader is introduced to this juxtaposition between the living and the dead and speculates that these "living" are not quite where they belong.

                The last five lines of this poem are fantastic. While I could write pages on just that last line of the poem, I must focus my attention on the most important word in the poem: "shrinking." The tombstones are personified, as they speak of the passing of people who will eventually join everyone else in the ground. The poem asks, "what is it men are shrinking from?" Why are people in such denial about where they will eventually land? Frost's choice of "shrinking" introduces the element of fear to the poem. The strangers peruse the tombstones out of curiosity, not only interested in what the stones themselves say but also in this mysterious idea of spending eternity under people's feet.  For fear of dying, we live in denial, nonchalantly wandering around cemeteries and at times, going as far as to convince ourselves that our own fates will be different. In the poem, it seems that the graveyard is being taken advantage of. It is used by "the living" as an outlet to explore and dip their toes into the Garden of Good and Evil. As the loved ones of those residing in the graveyard die themselves, those buried there fall anonymous, left to be judged by only what was inscribed upon their tombstone.

"Richard Cory" by 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.

Many moons passed as I skimmed through thousands of poems trying to find the perfect one. They all were beautiful poems, but didn’t quite fit my taste. Then, I came across “Richard Cory” by Edwin Arlington Robinson. I am a fan of poems with a twist at the end, and this one was the best.

This poem is a story that follows the man that everyone thinks is perfect and has a life of luxury, but no one notices what is on the inside. Richard Cory is a renaissance man; he is gorgeous, slim, and wealthy. He is simply admired by all. I thought the poem was going to be a love fest of Richard Cory until I read the last stanza… he shot himself?!

The anaphora in this poem is the first two lines of the second stanza, Robinson repeats the phrase “And he was always…” which signals that he in fact was NOT always doing what the author suggests. If he was always quietly arrayed, then he was definitely not really that way; that is simply what is shown on the outside. The poem was written in rhyme with a constant end rhyme that continued throughout the entire poem.

This poem relates back to a theme we covered last year in British Literature that we discovered through “The love song of J. Alfred Prufrock”: Preparing a face to meet the faces that you meet.

Richard Cory skillfully prepared the face: he showed the people on the pavement what they wanted to see, but that simply wasn’t who he was. We are all masters at portraying a fake face, especially in situations where we aren’t comfortable. I like to think this was Richard Cory, he was simply not comfortable living the perfect life. He longed to be much more than the Richard Cory everyone knew and admired. Just like Prufrock, he had an internal struggle of being someone and wanting to be someone else. Prufrock was socially awkward and unliked by women, but he wanted to be adventurous, dangerous, and a ladies man. The author doesn’t give much insight as to what Richard Cory wanted to be, which is the iceburg effect that we talked about in class. We desperately want to know what he is thinking internally, but it isn’t realistic to be given all the information.  All we know is the pain drove him to the point of wanting to die.

This poem is heavy, but the content is so rich.

"The Rainy Day" by Henry Longfellow

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,

But at every gust the dead leaves fall,

And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,  

But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,

And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;

Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all,

Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary.

______________________________________________________

As I scrambled to find a poem to memorize, Henry Longfellow's "The Rainy Day" immediately caught my eye. For me, rain connotes happy, peaceful memories. Just thinking about it, I can feel the soothing atmosphere and smell the crisp air after a heavy downpour. However, for many others, including Longfellow, rain connotes a certain melancholy, sadness or even grief. In his poem, Longfellow addresses his seemingly pessimistic attitude toward rainy days, but then gives his readers something to look forward to, a gleaming hope in the sunny days. 

In all three stanzas, the author deeply reflects on his own life. The reader gets broad insight into Longfellow's thoughts and feelings, much like a lyric poem. To me, it seems that the rainy day reminds Longfellow of his fleeting youth. He desperately clings on, but slowly the "dead leaves" will all fall until nothing remains and the tree is just bare. He knows he cannot return, yet his thoughts are congested with the past. Longfellow illustrates extreme sorrow and loneliness making readers anxious and quite frankly fearful about the time when their own "days are dark and dreary."

However, it is in the third stanza that we notice a sudden change in Longfellow's mood and even in his general attitude towards the "cold, and dark, and dreary" days of life. At this point, there is a major shift from pessimistic to optimistic. Longfellow essentially tells himself to stop complaining; there is always hope "behind the clouds." Perhaps this could also refer to heaven after death—behind the darkness of death, there hides the shimmering lights of heaven. Then, Longfellow decides to end his poem by saying, "Into each life some rain must fall / some days must be dark and dreary." Finally, he has accepted his fate. Finally, the author comes to see that the rain, however cold and dark and dreary it may be, is necessary for everyone. After all, it's the April showers that bring the May flowers. 

Perfect is Boring

         Harpeth Hall alumna, Bridget Bailey’s “Friendly Imperfections” initially stuck out to me because Madeline was my absolute favorite book as a child. As I continued to read the poem, I found that I related to Bailey’s recount of childhood ideals being reevaluated as one grows into adulthood. In Madeline, the twelve students at Madeline’s boarding school eat, brush their teeth, and even sleep in two straight lines. While the author of the Madeline books spends a great deal of time concentrating on the extreme order of Madeline’s and her friends’ lives, it seems interesting that the main character is Madeline, a girl who is noticeably intrepid and unconventional. In the story, Madeline comes to appreciate the crack in the ceiling because it resembles a rabbit. The reader and perhaps Bailey as well, grow to love Madeline for her bold, independent ways. Bailey writes that she/the speaker was so influenced by Madeline’s story that she found an “Iguana on the kitchen table” and a “Vulture in the cellophane”. 

A key point in “Friendly Imperfections” is when Bailey writes “Said the art teacher one day,/Unintentional likenesses must be/eradicated”. Thus, she speaker realizes that conformity is negative and that unconventionality and imperfection are increasingly more interesting than perfection. This was a major revelation for the speaker as she writes afterwards, “And the walls came tumbling down.” The speaker realizes that flaws and differences are to be celebrated and not condemned. She realizes that people like Madeline are so much more interesting than her classmates (sorry childhood characters) because she makes her own path. When Bailey writes that “the walls came tumbling down”, it seems likely that she was referring to the standards that society sets on people, especially women. When people stray from the probity that our society has established, such individuals face backlash and sometimes social exclusion. People feel confined by the pressure to be perfect and often fail to realize that imperfect people are usually the most interesting and enjoyable to be around.

My mom said a few years ago that she read Madeline to me when I was little because Madeline was tough. She was no push over. I think that if we can see the world through Bailey’s and Madeline’s view that we will be much better off than before. Imperfections and originality are to be celebrated. If we make mistakes along the way, it will be alright because it means that we are truly living. 

"Friendly Imperfections"

by Bridget Bailey

When I was young

In Madeline I read

Of a ceiling crack that had the habit 

Of sometimes looking like

a rabbit.

I found a fine menagerie instead: 

Iguana on the kitchen table,

Scuff-mark Alligator,

Vulture in the cellophane

Like clouds but better

Because they stuck around,

The oaken door

home to Hound.

Said the art teacher one day,

Something's not quite right. 

Unintentional likenesses must be 

eradicated. 

And the walls came tumbling down.

"Tears, Idle Tears" by Lord Alfred Tennyson

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,

Tears from the depth of some divine despair

Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,

In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,

And thinking of the days that are no more.

         Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,

That brings our friends up from the underworld,

Sad as the last which reddens over one

That sinks with all we love below the verge;

So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

         Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns

The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds

To dying ears, when unto dying eyes

The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;

So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

         Dear as remember'd kisses after death,

And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd

On lips that are for others; deep as love,

Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;

O Death in Life, the days that are no more!

We have touched Lord Alfred Tennyson’s poetry before, and each time we read on of his poems I was captivated by his lyricism. I absolutely adore rhyme in poetry, and since it seemed like Tennyson often incorporated rhyme in his works, I decided to explore more of his poetry. “Tears, Idle Tears”  from The Princess instantly drew me in; but when I re-read it, I was astonished to find that it had no rhyme, the first aspect of a poem that I usually notice. This is the first poem without rhyme of any sort that has stuck with me; therefore, I just had to dig deeper into it.

Each stanza describes a different aspect of the days that have passed: first sad and fresh, then sad and strange, then dear and sweet and deep. The most striking of each pairing is the description in the second stanza. Here, I feel that the poem takes a turn to the unusual, and yet it remains completely relatable. Our dearest memories of past days resurrect friends who have left us, and we remember these moments fondly. However, once we awaken from the reverie of remembering, we are left with a sense of emptiness as we recall that all those friends, that all those memories of glittering bliss and comfort are only memories.

The last line of the second stanza says describes the lost days as “so sad, so fresh.”   I love how Tennyson describes the days that have long passed as fresh. Other poets usually choose to discuss the past as incorrigibly lost in the seas of time, but Tennyson perfectly present the delicate nature of precious times in the past. He presents the best times of the past as fresh as the rising sun, but sadly disappearing along with the setting sun. This ties into the larger meaning of the poem: that the past can remain fresh with us, that friends who have left us can live within us through memories, and that even in the pure felicity of life there is the inevitable figure of death and the ghosts of the past standing beside us. The delicacy with which Tennyson describes the dull pain of nostalgia is completely relatable, and beautifully done. 

"Nothing Gold Can Stay" by Robert Frost

Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold, 

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour. 

Then leaf subsides to leaf. 

So Eden sank to grief. 

So dawn goes down to day. 

Nothing gold can stay.

     I absolutely love this poem. When I learned that we were going to have to memorize a poem, I immediately knew what poem I was going to memorize. I first read "Nothing Gold Can Stay" when I read The Outsiders, a coming-of-age novel by S.E. Hinton. I remembered certain lines of the poem, but it challenged me in that I didn't know what it exactly meant or how it related to me. As I've gotten older I have begun to understand what Frost is saying. However, I wonder if he is challenging life, ultimately saying that "you don't know what you have until it's gone." Life is fleeting, brief. Beautiful things come and go, but they never stay. To simply put it, he is telling readers to enjoy the moment and the little things, because the most wonderful moments come to an end. 

     "Nothing Gold Can Stay" is an eight line poem, and while it may seem short, it is hidden with many complexities. This poem is written in blank verse, with a rhyme scheme (aabbccdd) that makes it sound a bit more lighthearted. The rhythm of the poem suggests the speaker's tone which ultimately is nostalgic, sentimental, and regretful. Such nostalgia is present through the metaphors of nature that Frost uses to allude to a bigger theme.

     The lines "Her early leaf's a flower / But only so an hour" resonates with me because I think the speaker is expressing that something beautiful is temporary.  These lines express that a flower has grown from a seed, to bud, into a beautiful blossom, but it's beauty is so short. When the flower dies, "Eden sank to grief." In this line Frost is alluding to the Garden of Eden, the place where life is born, and as it says in the bible, it is a place where God would allow people to live forever. "Eden sank to grief," because the flower died; it wasn't immortal. The flowers are personified in a way that is often overlooked. They symbolize the fragile nature of life, how  the things most elegant, never stay. 

   The blossoms are not the only images in the poem that suggest the view that life is fleeting. Frost uses the color gold to describe the nature. Gold is something precious, and in relation to nature, something that last only a short while. Frost describes this rarity when he writes, "So dawn goes down to day. / Nothing gold can stay." Yes, he is describing a sunset, but he is alluding to time and life. A sunset lasts for such a short time in the morning, until it is replaced by the blue sky. Nature itself is golden, it's beauty is fleeting, and one can miss it. This extraordinary, golden moment, will be gone before one can truly appreciate it. 

     In addition to the complexities of life and death, the shift in the poem may be overlooked by a cursory reader. I think the shift in the poem begins in the fourth line with the word "But." Until this point, the reader has imagined the growth of nature, and it's alluring capabilities. I think that this turn has significance in the poem because it rejects the beauty and simplistic descriptions that precede it in previous lines. 

     "Nothing Gold Can Stay" has had a profound affect on my life and I think it relates to this time in our lives. Since I am at a point in my life where change is ahead, I have become sentimental and nostalgic, longing for the days when life was easier, not as complex. I understand that life is changing, and new paths, schools, and futures are ahead of us. To me, I feel like it has gone too fast, as I remember the first time I stepped on campus at Harpeth Hall, just six years ago. Ultimately I think Frost is getting at the point that life that is fleeting and short-lived. The things that are most beautiful, last the shortest. The most precious moments are the most brief. Life is fragile, and no one immortal. Frost is telling the readers to stay gold. In the end, enjoy the little things because if you don't stop and look around, you may miss it.

When You are Old by William Bulter Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

            William Butler Yeats was the quintessential hopeless romantic. His first love was Maud Gonne, a fan of his poetry but not of his incessant marriage proposals. She ended up marrying someone else, became a widow, and still refused to marry Yeats! Perhaps just to spite her, he then proposed to her daughter—who rejected him as well. Finally, he married Miss George Hyde-Less and had two children. I wonder if she ever knew of his philandering in the past?

            Anyways, Yeats’s romanticism is very prevalent in his poetry, which is why I chose to recite and analyze his love poem, “When You Are Old”. I find romantic poetry to be very thought-provoking and relatable. In particular, I was touched by the range of tones existing in this piece and Yeats’s neat rhyme scheme (“abba”) that frames each stanza nicely. Even though the poem takes a somber tone by its end, the comfortable rhyme scheme makes each stanza feel neatly packaged like Yeats is embracing the words in a consuming hug. 

            In the beginning of the poem, Yeats starts off with a tone of nostalgia. He paints a soothing picture of an elderly person relaxing by the fire and reminiscing on the past. Since we know Yeats is a romantic, we can safely deduce he—or some other romantic—is speaking to a lover.  We are introduced to a recurring theme of the poem, polysyndeton, which keeps us hanging from one line to the next. The overuse of the conjunction “and” gives the impression that the poem is acting as a train of thought. We also can see the rhyme scheme come into play.

            Moving on to the second verse, Yeats talks about how many people view his love. His subtle use of alliteration, “glad grace,” draws attention to the perceived elegance of his beloved. In addition, he focuses on how these people cherish her outward appearance, her beauty “with love false and true”. To me, false love implies some of these admirers may have harbored jealousy towards his love or for some reason, Yeats does not feel the admirers’ love holds value. Suddenly, in the third line, Yeats shifts from the general community’s perception of his lover to “one man”; we shift from a broader thought to a more private one. Yeats describes how this one man loved more than just his lover’s outward appearance; he loved her “pilgrim soul” or her inner beauty and “the sorrows” that showed on her face as she traversed through life. In other words, he loved the human part of her. Quite beautifully, Yeats draws the reader into a more personal experience. Due to this personal insight into the one man’s psyche, we can assume Yeats is in fact the “one man”.

            At last in the final stanza, Yeats fully transitions to a more somber, regretful tone. He personifies Love by saying it fled to the mountains and hid himself among the stars. Since we have already deduced Yeats is the lover in the poem speaking to his beloved, we can also conclude that Yeats is the Love that ran away in the end. Yeats whimsical synecdoche for the night sky closes the poem on a serene note. Instead of facing his true feelings, Yeats disappeared into the vast background.

           

Some One by Walter de la Mare

Some one came knocking

At my wee, small door;

Someone came knocking;

I'm sure-sure-sure;

I listened, I opened,

I looked to left and right,

But nought there was a stirring

In the still dark night;

Only the busy beetle

Tap-tapping in the wall,

Only from the forest

The screech-owl's call,

Only the cricket whistling

While the dewdrops fall,

So I know not who came knocking,

At all, at all, at all.

    Some One by Walter de la Mare is actually quite a simple poem. The story is straightforward: a person goes to answer a knock at the door but no one is there. This initial simplicity though is one of my favorite things about it. The rhythm and feelings this poem provides insinuates a deeper meaning than is obvious at first. The challenge of this poem was to pinpoint those feelings to discover that meaning. Overall, the poem gives the sense of loneliness and possibly paranoia. The person thinks they hear something, but find that they are alone in a collective forest of sounds. This slow realization of lonesomeness is especially seen in the last two lines of the poem that read, “So I know not who came knocking,/At all, at all, at all.” This repetition reflects back to the earlier repetition in the first part of the poem and furthers the feeling of isolation. I have even interpreted this poem as loneliness is the “person” who is knocking on the door and, when the narrator opens it, the outside exemplifies it with all the distant sounds of the forest.

        Walter de la Mare is most known for his children’s poetry as well as his horror stories. I think this poem is a marriage between the two. The rhyme and rhythm of this poem feels like the typical child’s poem, but the paranoia and darkness of the poem gives the impression of something more menacing. Despite the childish structure, I do think this poem can relate the most to adults since the meaning shown is one that is much darker than is seen at first glance. To me, poems are all about the feelings that they give the reader, and I think that is the reason I liked this poem so much.

Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare

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.

Sonnet 116 is about love in its most ideal, perfect form. The first four lines reveal the poet's pleasure in love that is constant and strong, and will not "alter when it alteration finds." Insinuating that any love that does change for shallow circumstances or one’s vicissitudes is not a true, pure love. The poet states that love's actual worth cannot be known – it remains a unattainable truth. The ending reaffirms the perfect nature of love that is unshakable throughout time and remains so "ev'n to the edge of doom", or death. In the final couplet, Shakespeare declares that, if he is mistaken about the constant, unmovable nature of perfect love, which he sees as common fact, then he never wrote a word or love never existed.

Shakespeare wrote this poem to extricate the complicated meaning around love. He uses simply, monosyllable words to describe the purity of love. There is nothing too complicated about this poem, it is a common Shakespearean couplet. He attempts to take away the onerous implications of love and strip it down to its simplest, most perfect form.

Keeping all of the above in mind, I would argue that lines 5-7 “O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,/ That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;/It is the star to every wandering bark,” are the most important series of words in this sonnet. Shakespeare is attempting to put a definition to this abstract idea of love, but I feel he sums up the most integral parts of love. Love is indeed an "ever-fix'd mark" which will survive any crisis, no matter how beaten, love stands strong. Although many think love is a fleeting, unattainable entity, it is actually a resilient connection that can help any wandering soul find his or her place. If you look carefully at the poem, Shakespeare never categorizes the type of love he is describing. Although many would assume it would be romantic love; I believe Shakespeare is referring to any love that gives someone comfort and security, no matter if it is a love to a person, place, or thing. Even in the last line where he states “nor no man ever loved”, he does not specify loving a woman. 

"Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

           

            I fell in love with this poem the very first time I read it last year.   Since then, I have revisited the poem on several occasions.  Her words are so beautiful.  Each time I read the poem, I feel comforted by Mary Oliver’s message.  She gently conveys the idea that we should give up our guilt, let go of our sins.  The universe is forgiving.  Despite the grief in our lives, we can all find comfort. 

This free verse poem uses such simple language, and yet it is packed with incredibly rich imagery.  I love her phraseologies “the soft animal of your body” and “the clear pebbles of the rain.”  She is able to communicate her emotion so elegantly in these metaphors.

I recently took note of this sentence as well: “Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, /are heading home again.” At first, this line did not seem particularly significant to me, but with further contemplation, I recognized a complexity.  Although I am a mere dilettante in the avian field, I do know that wild geese do not always “fly home” in the same direction.  When it gets cold, birds fly southwards, and when it is warm, birds migrate northwards.  Mary Oliver does not define “home” for the birds; instead, she leaves their destination ambiguous.  This adds an interesting complexity to the overall meaning of the poem.  We might not know where home is, for ourselves or for the wild geese, and that is okay.  In fact, it is natural. We still have our place in “the family of things.”