Poetry Unit Review American 2011

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Natalie Sharp
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1 Poetic Devices: 1. Alliteration 2. Apostrophe 3. Assonance 4. Catalog 5. Conceit 6. Consonance 7. End rhyme 8. Free verse 9. Hyperbole 10. Imagery (auditory, gustatory, olfactory, tactile, visual) 11. Irony 12. Metaphor 13. Meter 14. Onomatopoeia 15. Paradox 16. Personification 17. Repetition 18. Rhyme scheme 19. Simile 20. Slant rhyme 21. Synecdoche 22. Theme 23. True rhyme 24. Understatement Poems: 1. Baca, I am offering this poem 2. Bradstreet, Verses Upon the Burning of Our House 3. Bradstreet, To My Dear and Loving Husband 4. Bradstreet, The Author to her Book 5. Bradstreet, Before the Birth of One of Her Children 6. Collins, Introduction to Poetry 7. Dickinson, This is my Letter to the World 8. Dickinson, Hope is the thing with feathers 9. Dickinson, Because I could not stop for Death 10. Dickinson, There is a certain slant of Light 11. Dickinson, Much Madness is Divinest Sense 12. Dickinson, Success is counted sweetest 13. Dickinson, I heard a fly buzz when I died 14. Dickinson, I taste a liquor never brewed 15. Donne, Death, Be Not Proud 16. Marlowe, The Passionate Shepherd to His Love 17. Taylor, Huswifery 18. Whitman, A Noiseless Patient Spider 19. Whitman, O Captain, My Captain! 20. Whitman, When I heard the Learn d Astronomer 21. Whitman, I hear America Singing Types of Connections: 1. Text-to-Self: between what you're reading and your personal experience 2. Text-to-World: between what you're reading and an event in the world (your family, school, neighborhood, city, state, world) 3. Text-to-Text: between what you're reading and any other story you have read or heard (including the one you re currently reading )

2 I am offering this poem (Jimmy Santiago Baca) I am offering this poem to you, since I have nothing else to give. Keep it like a warm coat, when winter comes to cover you, or like a pair of thick socks the cold cannot bite through, I love you, I have nothing else to give you, so it is a pot full of yellow corn to warm your belly in the winter, it is a scarf for your head, to wear over your hair, to tie up around your face, I love you, Keep it, treasure it as you would if you were lost, needing direction, in the wilderness life becomes when mature; and in the corner of your drawer, tucked away like a cabin or a hogan in dense trees, come knocking, and I will answer, give you directions, and let you warm yourself by this fire, rest by this fire, and make you feel safe, I love you, It's all I have to give, and it's all anyone needs to live, and to go on living inside, when the world outside no longer cares if you live or die; remember, I love you. Verses Upon the Burning of our House (Anne Bradstreet) In silent night when rest I took, For sorrow near I did not look, I waken'd was with thund'ring noise And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice. That fearful sound of "fire" and "fire," Let no man know is my Desire. I starting up, the light did spy, And to my God my heart did cry To straighten me in my Distress And not to leave me succourless. Then coming out, behold a space The flame consume my dwelling place. And when I could no longer look, I blest his grace that gave and took, That laid my goods now in the dust. Yea, so it was, and so 'twas just. It was his own; it was not mine. Far be it that I should repine, He might of all justly bereft But yet sufficient for us left. When by the Ruins oft I past My sorrowing eyes aside did cast And here and there the places spy Where oft I sate and long did lie. Here stood that Trunk, and there that chest, There lay that store I counted best, My pleasant things in ashes lie And them behold no more shall I. Under the roof no guest shall sit, Nor at thy Table eat a bit. No pleasant talk shall 'ere be told Nor things recounted done of old. No Candle 'ere shall shine in Thee, Nor bridegroom's voice ere heard shall bee. In silence ever shalt thou lie. Adieu, Adieu, All's Vanity. Then straight I 'gin my heart to chide: And did thy wealth on earth abide, Didst fix thy hope on mouldring dust, The arm of flesh didst make thy trust? Raise up thy thoughts above the sky That dunghill mists away may fly. Thou hast a house on high erect Fram'd by that mighty Architect, With glory richly furnished Stands permanent, though this be fled. It's purchased and paid for too By him who hath enough to do. A price so vast as is unknown, Yet by his gift is made thine own. There's wealth enough; I need no more. Farewell, my pelf; farewell, my store. The world no longer let me love; My hope and Treasure lies above. The Author to Her Book (Anne Bradstreet) Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain, Who after birth did'st by my side remain, Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true, Who thee abroad exposed to public view, Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge, Where errors were not lessened (all may judge). At thy return my blushing was not small, My rambling brat (in print) should mother call. I cast thee by as one unfit for light, The visage was so irksome in my sight, Yet being mine own, at length affection would Thy blemishes amend, if so I could. I washed thy face, but more defects I saw, And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw. I stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet, Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet. In better dress to trim thee was my mind, But nought save home-spun cloth, i' th' house I find. In this array, 'mongst vulgars may'st thou roam. In critic's hands, beware thou dost not come, And take thy way where yet thou art not known. If for thy father askt, say, thou hadst none; And for thy mother, she alas is poor, Which caused her thus to send thee out of door.

3 To My Dear and Loving Husband (Anne Bradstreet) If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee. If ever wife was happy in a man, Compare with me, ye women, if you can. I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold Or all the riches that the East doth hold. My love is such that Rivers canneot quench, Nor ought but love from thee give recompetence. Thy love is such I can no way repay. The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray. Then while we live, in love let's so persever That when we live no more, we may live ever. Before the Birth of One of Her Children (Anne Bradstreet) All things within this fading world hath end, Adversity doth still our joys attend; No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet, But with death's parting blow are sure to meet. The sentence past is most irrevocable, A common thing, yet oh, inevitable. How soon, my Dear, death may my steps attend, How soon't may be thy lot to lose thy friend, We both are ignorant, yet love bids me These farewell lines to recommend to thee, That when the knot's untied that made us one, I may seem thine, who in effect am none. And if I see not half my days that's due, What nature would, God grant to yours and you; The many faults that well you know I have Let be interred in my oblivious grave; If any worth or virtue were in me, Let that live freshly in thy memory And when thou feel'st no grief, as I no harmes, Yet love thy dead, who long lay in thine arms, And when thy loss shall be repaid with gains Look to my little babes, my dear remains. And if thou love thyself, or loved'st me, These O protect from stepdame's injury. And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse, With some sad sighs honor my absent hearse; And kiss this paper for thy dear love's sake, Who with salt tears this last farewell did take. Introduction to Poetry (Billy Collins) I ask them to take a poem and hold it up to the light like a color slide or press an ear against its hive. I say drop a mouse into a poem and watch him probe his way out, or walk inside the poem's room and feel the walls for a light switch. I want them to waterski across the surface of a poem waving at the author's name on the shore. But all they want to do is tie the poem to a chair with rope and torture a confession out of it. They begin beating it with a hose to find out what it really means. This is my letter to the World (Emily Dickinson) This is my letter to the World That never wrote to Me -- The simple News that Nature told -- With tender Majesty Her Message is committed To Hands I cannot see -- For love of Her -- Sweet -- countrymen -- Judge tenderly -- of Me Hope is the thing with feathers (Emily Dickinson) "Hope" is the thing with feathers-- That perches in the soul-- And sings the tune without the words-- And never stops--at all-- And sweetest--in the Gale--is heard-- And sore must be the storm-- That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm-- I've heard it in the chillest land-- And on the strangest Sea-- Yet, never, in Extremity, It asked a crumb--of Me. 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 labor and my leisure too, For His Civility -- We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess -- in the Ring -- We passed the Fields 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 --

4 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 -- There s a certain slant of Light (Emily Dickinson) There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons -- That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes -- Heavenly Hurt, it gives us -- We can find no scar, But internal difference, Where the Meanings, are -- None may teach it -- Any -- 'Tis the Seal Despair -- An imperial affliction Sent us of the Air -- When it comes, the Landscape listens -- Shadows -- hold their breath -- When it goes, 'tis like the Distance On the look of Death -- Much Madness is Divinest Sense (Emily Dickinson) Much Madness is divinest Sense -- To a discerning Eye -- Much Sense -- the starkest Madness -- 'Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail -- Assent -- and you are sane -- Demur -- you're straightway dangerous -- And handled with a Chain -- Success is counted sweetest (Emily Dickinson) Success is counted sweetest By those who ne'er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple host Who took the flag today Can tell the definition, So clear, of victory As he, defeated, dying, On whose forbidden ear The distant strains of triumph Break agonized and clear! I heard a Fly buzz when I died (Emily Dickinson) I heard a Fly buzz -- when I died -- The Stillness in the Room Was like the Stillness in the Air -- Between the Heaves of Storm -- The Eyes around -- had wrung them dry -- And Breaths were gathering firm For that last Onset -- when the King Be witnessed -- in the Room -- I willed my Keepsakes -- Signed away What portion of me be Assignable -- and then it was There interposed a Fly -- With Blue -- uncertain stumbling Buzz -- Between the light -- and me -- And then the Windows failed -- and then I could not see to see -- I taste a liquor never brewed (Emily Dickinson) I taste a liquor never brewed -- From Tankards scooped in Pearl -- Not all the Vats upon the Rhine Yield such an Alcohol! Inebriate of Air -- am I -- And Debauchee of Dew -- Reeling -- thro endless summer days -- From inns of Molten Blue -- When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee Out of the Foxglove's door -- When Butterflies -- renounce their "drams" -- I shall but drink the more! Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats -- And Saints -- to windows run -- To see the little Tippler Leaning against the -- Sun -- Death, Be Not Proud (John Donne) Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. Thou'art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy'or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

5 The Passionate Shepherd to his Love (Christopher Marlowe) Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountain yields. And we will sit upon rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant poises, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle; A gown made of the finest wool Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold; A belt of straw and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs; And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love. The shepherds's swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my love. Huswifery (Edward Taylor) Make me, O Lord, thy Spinning Wheele compleat; Thy Holy Worde my Distaff make for mee. Make mine Affections thy Swift Flyers neate, And make my Soule thy holy Spoole to bee. My Conversation make to be thy Reele, And reele the yarn thereon spun of thy Wheele. Make me thy Loome then, knit therein this Twine: And make thy Holy Spirit, Lord, winde quills: Then weave the Web thyselfe. The yarn is fine. Thine Ordinances make my Fulling Mills. Then dy the same in Heavenly Colours Choice, All pinkt with Varnish't Flowers of Paradise. A Noiseless, Patient Spider (Walt Whitman) A NOISELESS, patient spider, I mark d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated; Mark d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding, It launch d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself; Ever unreeling them ever tirelessly speeding them. And you, O my Soul, where you stand, Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres, to connect them; Till the bridge you will need, be form d till the ductile anchor hold; Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul. O Captain, my Captain! (Walt Whitman) O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a- crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. Then cloath therewith mine Understanding, Will, Affections, Judgment, Conscience, Memory; My Words and Actions, that their shine may fill My wayes with glory and thee glorify. Then mine apparell shall display before yee That I am Cloathd in Holy robes for glory.

6 When I Heard the Learn d Astronomer (Walt Whitman) WHEN I heard the learn d astronomer; When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me; When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them; When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room, How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick; Till rising and gliding out, I wander d off by myself, In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, Look d up in perfect silence at the stars. I hear America Singing (Walt Whitman) I HEAR America singing, the varied carols I hear; Those of mechanics each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong; The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work; The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck; The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench the hatter singing as he stands; The wood-cutter s song the ploughboy s, on his way in the morning, or at the noon intermission, or at sundown; The delicious singing of the mother or of the young wife at work or of the girl sewing or washing Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else; The day what belongs to the day At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs.

Name. This is my letter to the world. This is my letter to the world. 1. What three adjectives might best describe the tone/mood?

Name. This is my letter to the world. This is my letter to the world. 1. What three adjectives might best describe the tone/mood? Name This is my letter to the world This is my letter to the World, That never wrote to Me The simple news that Nature told With tender majesty Her Message is committed To Hands I cannot see For love of