Senior AP English
Mr. Ortiz
September 2010
Course Description: The purpose of this class is two-fold: first, it is designed to offer seniors an opportunity to read several significant works in American or English literature. Our main focus on these works will be formalist in nature, i.e., we will be exploring texts primarily in regard to their compositional excellence. This will require a working knowledge of the elements that contribute to the aesthetic quality of a literary work. Concepts such as tone, imagery, diction, plot, prosody, irony, tragedy, comedy, point of view, and voice will receive particularly close attention as we explore how formal qualities shape literary works and literary history.
We will also study the humane values that such works often express. The rich interplay between the formal literary qualities of a work and its political, religious, or philosophical insights will be at the core of class discussion. Our emphasis on narrative structure will also insure that the compelling nature of the texts we study will reach as many students as possible.
The writing assignments in this class will offer each student the opportunity to become a more fluent and insightful writer. Particular time will be given to the thesis statement, i.e., the central controlling judgment at the heart of a successful essay. In this way, the reading and writing parts of this course complement each other: close reading will facilitate compositions of depth and precision. Writing assignments not turned in on the due date (excluding illness or emergencies) will receive a failing grade with no chance of a make-up for that paper.
Students will also keep a Literary Journal that they will be required to write in three times a week. Some entries will be in-class assignments, free-writing periods, annotations of a passage or chapter, brain-storming, and other methods of exploring the composition process. This will allow students to write without some of the pressures of immediate evaluation, and foster a sense that the writing process is a fluid, dynamic activity that should be creative and supple.
Writing assignments will be organized to facilitate three goals: writing to understand a text, writing to explain a text to the reader, and writing to evaluate the text according to generic, historical, and philosophical considerations.
The seminar format of the class is extremely important to a mature study of literature. Attentive participation in the class discussion will be account for 15% of the student’s quarter grade each term. Students who fail to comport themselves with maturity in the seminar will be asked to leave.
Given the nature of our reading assignments, I hope each student in the seminar views the course as an introduction to the college-level study of literary texts that can enrich one’s life no matter what career one ultimately follows. Aesthetic beauty as found in literature is a subject that no single course can exhaustively study. The techniques of literary analysis we use this year are in fact a means to an end: the contemplation of works of verbal beauty that show forth luminously the dignity of the human person.
Texts:
Paradise Lost, John Milton
Antigone, Sophocles
The Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro
Hamlet, Shakespeare
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare
Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad
Old School, Tobias Wolff
Peace, Richard Bausch
The Cellist of Sarajevo, Steven Galloway
In Addition, throughout the year we will read and discuss several works of classical literary theory:
Poetics, Aristotle
Ion, Plato
Republic, books 2, 3, 10, Plato
The Art of Poetry, Horace
On the Sublime, Longinus
Weekly Assignment Schedule: There will be a typed, formal essay due approximately every Friday. Length will be 2 pages in the fall; and 4-5 pages starting in January.
Monday: Discussion of work studied in seminar setting. AP terminology handout for incorporation into student writing.
Tuesday: Timed in-class essay on topics discussed in class and on readings assigned for homework
Wednesday: Peer Evaluation of in-class essays based on controlling thesis, on tone, logical development, use of supporting detail from text, and command of the basic elements of effective composition (with direct reference to Ellsworth’s English Simplified). Evaluation of papers that demonstrate a wide-ranging, effectively used vocabulary—both critical and literary—will also be a part of this process.
Thursday: Discussion of work studied in seminar setting; rewrites due for both in class essays and formal written papers.
Friday: Reading aloud of formal written papers, and defense of those papers based on critiques in class from peers and teacher.
Our reading, writing, and discussion of each work will focus on:
1. How do details of tone, metaphor, imagery create characterization?
2. How is the story told? What is theme, and how do narratives develop them?
3. How do stylistic concerns shape the meaning of themes?
4. How do symbolism and other textual details reflect values and embody historical/literary/philosophical judgments?
5. How does diction in the work change the meaning of characters, action, and themes?
6. Does the work employ irony? How? On the level of dialog, scene, chapter, or act?
7. How does the issue of voice shape the work? Are there competing voices? Is there a main narrative voice? Is that narrator reliable? If not, how do we know he or she is not? What are the thematic implications of an unreliable narrator?
8. Does the work use allusion as a major structuring device?
9. Does the work employ flashbacks or other narrative devices? What are the implications of such devices?
10. In what way does the beginning and ending of a work change the meaning of the whole piece?
Reading Schedule by Month:
September: Old School, Heart of Darkness, Great Gatsby
October: Aristotle’s Poetics, Antigone, Hamlet
November: Paradise LostDecember: Paradise Lost
January: Remains of the Day
February: Peace
March: Lyric Poems
April: The Cellist of Sarajevo
May: Review Concepts and Terminology
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Second Keats' Letter to John Taylor June 11 1820
My dear Taylor,
In reading over the proof of St. Agnes' Eve since I left Fleet street I was struck with what appears to me an alteration in the 7th Stanza very much for the worse the passage I mean stands thus
"her maiden eyes incline Still on the floor, while many a sweeping train Pass by--"
Twas originally written
"her maiden eyes divine Fix'd on the floor saw many a sweeping train Pass by--
My meaning is quite destroyed in the alteration. I do not use train for concourse of passers by but for [Skits is crossed out by Keats] Skirts sweeping along the floor.
In the first Stanza my copy reads--2nd line
"bitter chill it was"
to avoid the echo cold in the next line.
ever yours sincerely
John Keats
In reading over the proof of St. Agnes' Eve since I left Fleet street I was struck with what appears to me an alteration in the 7th Stanza very much for the worse the passage I mean stands thus
"her maiden eyes incline Still on the floor, while many a sweeping train Pass by--"
Twas originally written
"her maiden eyes divine Fix'd on the floor saw many a sweeping train Pass by--
My meaning is quite destroyed in the alteration. I do not use train for concourse of passers by but for [Skits is crossed out by Keats] Skirts sweeping along the floor.
In the first Stanza my copy reads--2nd line
"bitter chill it was"
to avoid the echo cold in the next line.
ever yours sincerely
John Keats
Keats' Letter to John Taylor
Hampstead, February 27th, 1818
Hampstead, 27 Feby
My dear Taylor -
Your alteration strikes me as being a great Improvement - And now I will attend to the punctuations you speak of - The comma should be at soberly, and in the other passage, the Comma should follow quiet. I am extremely indebted to you for this attention, and also for your after admonitions. It is a sorry thing for me that any one should have to overcome prejudices in reading my verses - that affects me more than any hypercriticism on any particular passage - In Endymion, I have most likely but moved into the go-cart from the leading-strings - In poetry I have a few axioms, and you will see how far I am from their centre.
1st. I think poetry should surprise by a fine excess, and not by singularity; It should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
2d. Its touches of beauty should never be half-way, thereby making the reader breathless, instead of content. The rise, the progress, the setting of Imagery should, like the sun, seem natural to him, shine over him, and set soberly, although in magnificence, leaving him in the luxury of twilight. But it is easier to think what poetry should be, than to write it - And this leads me to another axiom - That if poetry comes not as naturally as the leaves to a tree, it had better not come at all. - However, it may be with me, I cannot help looking into new countries with 'O for a Muse of Fire to ascend!' If Endymion serves me as a pioneer, perhaps I ought to be content - I have great reason to be content, for thank God I can read, and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths; and I have I am sure many friends, who, if I fail, will attribute any change in my life and temper to humbleness rather than pride - to a cowering under the wings of great poets, rather than to a bitterness that I am not appreciated. I am anxious to get Endymion printed that I may forget it and proceed. I have copied the 3rd Book and begun the 4th.
Your sincere and obliged friend,
John Keats
Hampstead, 27 Feby
My dear Taylor -
Your alteration strikes me as being a great Improvement - And now I will attend to the punctuations you speak of - The comma should be at soberly, and in the other passage, the Comma should follow quiet. I am extremely indebted to you for this attention, and also for your after admonitions. It is a sorry thing for me that any one should have to overcome prejudices in reading my verses - that affects me more than any hypercriticism on any particular passage - In Endymion, I have most likely but moved into the go-cart from the leading-strings - In poetry I have a few axioms, and you will see how far I am from their centre.
1st. I think poetry should surprise by a fine excess, and not by singularity; It should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
2d. Its touches of beauty should never be half-way, thereby making the reader breathless, instead of content. The rise, the progress, the setting of Imagery should, like the sun, seem natural to him, shine over him, and set soberly, although in magnificence, leaving him in the luxury of twilight. But it is easier to think what poetry should be, than to write it - And this leads me to another axiom - That if poetry comes not as naturally as the leaves to a tree, it had better not come at all. - However, it may be with me, I cannot help looking into new countries with 'O for a Muse of Fire to ascend!' If Endymion serves me as a pioneer, perhaps I ought to be content - I have great reason to be content, for thank God I can read, and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths; and I have I am sure many friends, who, if I fail, will attribute any change in my life and temper to humbleness rather than pride - to a cowering under the wings of great poets, rather than to a bitterness that I am not appreciated. I am anxious to get Endymion printed that I may forget it and proceed. I have copied the 3rd Book and begun the 4th.
Your sincere and obliged friend,
John Keats
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Keats: Inspiration, Vocation, Craft
*31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821
*The poetry of Keats is characterised by sensual imagery, most notably in the series of odes--short lyric poems on a lofty topic
*John Gibson Lockhart wrote in Blackwoods Magazine
To witness the disease of any human understanding, however feeble, is distressing; but the spectacle of an able mind reduced to a state of insanity is, of course, ten times more afflicting. It is with such sorrow as this that we have contemplated the case of Mr John Keats. [...] He was bound apprentice some years ago to a worthy apothecary in town. But all has been undone by a sudden attack of the malady [...] For some time we were in hopes that he might get off with a violent fit or two; but of late the symptoms are terrible. The phrenzy of the "Poems" was bad enough in its way; but it did not alarm us half so seriously as the calm, settled, imperturbable drivelling idiocy of Endymion. [...] It is a better and a wiser thing to be a starved apothecary than a starved poet; so back to the [apothecary] shop Mr John, back to ‘plasters, pills, and ointment boxes’.
*This winter of 1818, though troubled, marks the beginning of Keats's annus mirabilis in which he wrote his most mature work. He had been greatly inspired by a series of recent lectures by Hazlitt on English poets and poetic identity. Keats composed five of his six great odes there in April and May and, although it is debated in which order they were written, Ode to Psyche starts the series.
*Published THREE books of poetry in his life: POEMS (1817); ENDYMION; A POETIC ROMANCE (1818), and LAMIA, ISABELLA, THE EVE OF ST. AGNES, AND OTHER POEMS (1820)
*Letters and poem drafts suggest that Keats first met Frances (Fanny) Brawne between September and November 1818.
* On 13 September 1820, Keats and Joseph Severn, a painter friend, left for Gravesend and four days later boarded the sailing brig The Maria Crowther. Keats wrote his final revisions of Bright Star aboard the ship. The journey was a minor catastrophe – storms broke out followed by a dead calm that slowed the ship’s progress. When it finally docked in Naples, the ship was held in quarantine for ten days because of a suspected outbreak of cholera in Britain. Keats reached Rome on November 14 by which time all hope of a warmer climate had evaporated.
*1882, Swinburne wrote in the Encyclopedia Britannica that "the Ode to a Nightingale, [is] one of the final masterpieces of human work in all time and for all ages". Vendler at Harvard says the odes "are a group of works in which the English language find ultimate embodiment".[59] Professor Bate declared of To Autumn: "Each generation has found it one of the most nearly perfect poems in English" and M. R. Ridley claimed the ode "is the most serenely flawless poem in our language."
Written In The Cottage Where Burns Was Born
By John Keats
This mortal body of a thousand days
Now fills, O Burns, a space in thine own room,
Where thou didst dream alone on budded bays,
Happy and thoughtless of thy day of doom!
My pulse is warm with thine old Barley-bree,
My head is light with pledging a great soul,
My eyes are wandering, and I cannot see,
Fancy is dead and drunken at its goal;
Yet can I stamp my foot upon thy floor,
Yet can I ope thy window-sash to find
The meadow thou hast tramped o'er and o'er --
Yet, can I think of thee till thought is blind, --
Yet can I gulp a bumper to thy name, --
O smile among the shades, for this is fame!
*Written July 18, 1818.
To Charles Crowden Clark
Oft have you seen a swan superbly frowning,
And with proud breast his own white shadow crowning;
He slants his neck beneath the waters bright
So silently, it seems a beam of light
Come from the galaxy: anon he sports,--
With outspread wings the Naiad Zephyr courts,
Or ruffles all the surface of the lake
In striving from its crystal face to take
Some diamond water drops, and them to treasure
In milky nest, and sip them off at leisure.
But not a moment can he there insure them,
Nor to such downy rest can he allure them;
For down they rush as though they would be free,
And drop like hours into eternity.
Just like that bird am I in loss of time,
Whene'er I venture on the stream of rhyme;
With shatter'd boat, oar snapt, and canvass rent,
I slowly sail, scarce knowing my intent;
Still scooping up the water with my fingers,
In which a trembling diamond never lingers.
By this, friend Charles, you may full plainly see
Why I have never penn'd a line to thee:
Because my thoughts were never free, and clear,
And little fit to please a classic ear;
Because my wine was of too poor a savour
For one whose palate gladdens in the flavour
Of sparkling Helicon:--small good it were
To take him to a desert rude, and bare.
Who had on Baiae's shore reclin'd at ease,
While Tasso's page was floating in a breeze
That gave soft music from Armida's bowers,
Mingled with fragrance from her rarest flowers:
Small good to one who had by Mulla's stream
Fondled the maidens with the breasts of cream;
Who had beheld Belphoebe in a brook…
…With many else which I have never known.
Thus have I thought; and days on days have flown
Slowly, or rapidly--unwilling still
For you to try my dull, unlearned quill.
Nor should I now, but that I've known you long;
That you first taught me all the sweets of song:
The grand, the sweet, the terse, the free, the fine;
What swell'd with pathos, and what right divine:
Spenserian vowels that elope with ease,
And float along like birds o'er summer seas;
Miltonian storms, and more, Miltonian tenderness;
Michael in arms, and more, meek Eve's fair slenderness.
Who read for me the sonnet swelling loudly
Up to its climax and then dying proudly?
Who found for me the grandeur of the ode,
Growing, like Atlas, stronger from its load?
Who let me taste that more than cordial dram,
The sharp, the rapier-pointed epigram?
Shew'd me that epic was of all the king,
Round, vast, and spanning all like Saturn's ring?
You too upheld the veil from Clio's beauty,
And pointed out the patriot's stern duty;
The might of Alfred, and the shaft of Tell;
The hand of Brutus, that so grandly fell
Upon a tyrant's head. Ah! had I never seen,
Or known your kindness, what might I have been?
What my enjoyments in my youthful years,
Bereft of all that now my life endears?
And can I e'er these benefits forget?
And can I e'er repay the friendly debt?
No, doubly no;--yet should these rhymings please,
I shall roll on the grass with two-fold ease:
For I have long time been my fancy feeding
With hopes that you would one day think the reading
Of my rough verses not an hour misspent;
Should it e'er be so, what a rich content!
Some weeks have pass'd since last I saw the spires
In lucent Thames reflected:--warm desires
To see the sun o'er peep the eastern dimness,
And morning shadows streaking into slimness
Across the lawny fields, and pebbly water;
To mark the time as they grow broad, and shorter;
To feel the air that plays about the hills,
And sips its freshness from the little rills;
To see high, golden corn wave in the light
When Cynthia smiles upon a summer's night,
And peers among the cloudlet's jet and white,
As though she were reclining in a bed
Of bean blossoms, in heaven freshly shed.
No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures
Than I began to think of rhymes and measures:
The air that floated by me seem'd to say
"Write! thou wilt never have a better day."
And so I did. When many lines I'd written,
Though with their grace I was not oversmitten,
Yet, as my hand was warm, I thought I'd better
Trust to my feelings, and write you a letter.
Such an attempt required an inspiration
Of a peculiar sort,--a consummation;--
Which, had I felt, these scribblings might have been
Verses from which the soul would never wean:
But many days have past since last my heart
Was warm'd luxuriously by divine Mozart;
By Arne delighted, or by Handel madden'd;
Or by the song of Erin pierc'd and sadden'd:
What time you were before the music sitting,
And the rich notes to each sensation fitting.
Since I have walk'd with you through shady lanes
That freshly terminate in open plains,
And revel'd in a chat that ceased not
When at night-fall among your books we got:
No, nor when supper came, nor after that,--
Nor when reluctantly I took my hat;
No, nor till cordially you shook my hand
Mid-way between our homes:--your accents bland
Still sounded in my ears, when I no more
Could hear your footsteps touch the grav'ly floor.
Sometimes I lost them, and then found again;
You chang'd the footpath for the grassy plain.
In those still moments I have wish'd you joys
That well you know to honour:--"Life's very toys
With him," said I, "will take a pleasant charm;
It cannot be that ought will work him harm."
These thoughts now come o'er me with all their might:--
Again I shake your hand,--friend Charles, good night.
September, 1816.
*The poetry of Keats is characterised by sensual imagery, most notably in the series of odes--short lyric poems on a lofty topic
*John Gibson Lockhart wrote in Blackwoods Magazine
To witness the disease of any human understanding, however feeble, is distressing; but the spectacle of an able mind reduced to a state of insanity is, of course, ten times more afflicting. It is with such sorrow as this that we have contemplated the case of Mr John Keats. [...] He was bound apprentice some years ago to a worthy apothecary in town. But all has been undone by a sudden attack of the malady [...] For some time we were in hopes that he might get off with a violent fit or two; but of late the symptoms are terrible. The phrenzy of the "Poems" was bad enough in its way; but it did not alarm us half so seriously as the calm, settled, imperturbable drivelling idiocy of Endymion. [...] It is a better and a wiser thing to be a starved apothecary than a starved poet; so back to the [apothecary] shop Mr John, back to ‘plasters, pills, and ointment boxes’.
*This winter of 1818, though troubled, marks the beginning of Keats's annus mirabilis in which he wrote his most mature work. He had been greatly inspired by a series of recent lectures by Hazlitt on English poets and poetic identity. Keats composed five of his six great odes there in April and May and, although it is debated in which order they were written, Ode to Psyche starts the series.
*Published THREE books of poetry in his life: POEMS (1817); ENDYMION; A POETIC ROMANCE (1818), and LAMIA, ISABELLA, THE EVE OF ST. AGNES, AND OTHER POEMS (1820)
*Letters and poem drafts suggest that Keats first met Frances (Fanny) Brawne between September and November 1818.
* On 13 September 1820, Keats and Joseph Severn, a painter friend, left for Gravesend and four days later boarded the sailing brig The Maria Crowther. Keats wrote his final revisions of Bright Star aboard the ship. The journey was a minor catastrophe – storms broke out followed by a dead calm that slowed the ship’s progress. When it finally docked in Naples, the ship was held in quarantine for ten days because of a suspected outbreak of cholera in Britain. Keats reached Rome on November 14 by which time all hope of a warmer climate had evaporated.
*1882, Swinburne wrote in the Encyclopedia Britannica that "the Ode to a Nightingale, [is] one of the final masterpieces of human work in all time and for all ages". Vendler at Harvard says the odes "are a group of works in which the English language find ultimate embodiment".[59] Professor Bate declared of To Autumn: "Each generation has found it one of the most nearly perfect poems in English" and M. R. Ridley claimed the ode "is the most serenely flawless poem in our language."
Written In The Cottage Where Burns Was Born
By John Keats
This mortal body of a thousand days
Now fills, O Burns, a space in thine own room,
Where thou didst dream alone on budded bays,
Happy and thoughtless of thy day of doom!
My pulse is warm with thine old Barley-bree,
My head is light with pledging a great soul,
My eyes are wandering, and I cannot see,
Fancy is dead and drunken at its goal;
Yet can I stamp my foot upon thy floor,
Yet can I ope thy window-sash to find
The meadow thou hast tramped o'er and o'er --
Yet, can I think of thee till thought is blind, --
Yet can I gulp a bumper to thy name, --
O smile among the shades, for this is fame!
*Written July 18, 1818.
To Charles Crowden Clark
Oft have you seen a swan superbly frowning,
And with proud breast his own white shadow crowning;
He slants his neck beneath the waters bright
So silently, it seems a beam of light
Come from the galaxy: anon he sports,--
With outspread wings the Naiad Zephyr courts,
Or ruffles all the surface of the lake
In striving from its crystal face to take
Some diamond water drops, and them to treasure
In milky nest, and sip them off at leisure.
But not a moment can he there insure them,
Nor to such downy rest can he allure them;
For down they rush as though they would be free,
And drop like hours into eternity.
Just like that bird am I in loss of time,
Whene'er I venture on the stream of rhyme;
With shatter'd boat, oar snapt, and canvass rent,
I slowly sail, scarce knowing my intent;
Still scooping up the water with my fingers,
In which a trembling diamond never lingers.
By this, friend Charles, you may full plainly see
Why I have never penn'd a line to thee:
Because my thoughts were never free, and clear,
And little fit to please a classic ear;
Because my wine was of too poor a savour
For one whose palate gladdens in the flavour
Of sparkling Helicon:--small good it were
To take him to a desert rude, and bare.
Who had on Baiae's shore reclin'd at ease,
While Tasso's page was floating in a breeze
That gave soft music from Armida's bowers,
Mingled with fragrance from her rarest flowers:
Small good to one who had by Mulla's stream
Fondled the maidens with the breasts of cream;
Who had beheld Belphoebe in a brook…
…With many else which I have never known.
Thus have I thought; and days on days have flown
Slowly, or rapidly--unwilling still
For you to try my dull, unlearned quill.
Nor should I now, but that I've known you long;
That you first taught me all the sweets of song:
The grand, the sweet, the terse, the free, the fine;
What swell'd with pathos, and what right divine:
Spenserian vowels that elope with ease,
And float along like birds o'er summer seas;
Miltonian storms, and more, Miltonian tenderness;
Michael in arms, and more, meek Eve's fair slenderness.
Who read for me the sonnet swelling loudly
Up to its climax and then dying proudly?
Who found for me the grandeur of the ode,
Growing, like Atlas, stronger from its load?
Who let me taste that more than cordial dram,
The sharp, the rapier-pointed epigram?
Shew'd me that epic was of all the king,
Round, vast, and spanning all like Saturn's ring?
You too upheld the veil from Clio's beauty,
And pointed out the patriot's stern duty;
The might of Alfred, and the shaft of Tell;
The hand of Brutus, that so grandly fell
Upon a tyrant's head. Ah! had I never seen,
Or known your kindness, what might I have been?
What my enjoyments in my youthful years,
Bereft of all that now my life endears?
And can I e'er these benefits forget?
And can I e'er repay the friendly debt?
No, doubly no;--yet should these rhymings please,
I shall roll on the grass with two-fold ease:
For I have long time been my fancy feeding
With hopes that you would one day think the reading
Of my rough verses not an hour misspent;
Should it e'er be so, what a rich content!
Some weeks have pass'd since last I saw the spires
In lucent Thames reflected:--warm desires
To see the sun o'er peep the eastern dimness,
And morning shadows streaking into slimness
Across the lawny fields, and pebbly water;
To mark the time as they grow broad, and shorter;
To feel the air that plays about the hills,
And sips its freshness from the little rills;
To see high, golden corn wave in the light
When Cynthia smiles upon a summer's night,
And peers among the cloudlet's jet and white,
As though she were reclining in a bed
Of bean blossoms, in heaven freshly shed.
No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures
Than I began to think of rhymes and measures:
The air that floated by me seem'd to say
"Write! thou wilt never have a better day."
And so I did. When many lines I'd written,
Though with their grace I was not oversmitten,
Yet, as my hand was warm, I thought I'd better
Trust to my feelings, and write you a letter.
Such an attempt required an inspiration
Of a peculiar sort,--a consummation;--
Which, had I felt, these scribblings might have been
Verses from which the soul would never wean:
But many days have past since last my heart
Was warm'd luxuriously by divine Mozart;
By Arne delighted, or by Handel madden'd;
Or by the song of Erin pierc'd and sadden'd:
What time you were before the music sitting,
And the rich notes to each sensation fitting.
Since I have walk'd with you through shady lanes
That freshly terminate in open plains,
And revel'd in a chat that ceased not
When at night-fall among your books we got:
No, nor when supper came, nor after that,--
Nor when reluctantly I took my hat;
No, nor till cordially you shook my hand
Mid-way between our homes:--your accents bland
Still sounded in my ears, when I no more
Could hear your footsteps touch the grav'ly floor.
Sometimes I lost them, and then found again;
You chang'd the footpath for the grassy plain.
In those still moments I have wish'd you joys
That well you know to honour:--"Life's very toys
With him," said I, "will take a pleasant charm;
It cannot be that ought will work him harm."
These thoughts now come o'er me with all their might:--
Again I shake your hand,--friend Charles, good night.
September, 1816.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
"The Quaker Graveyard in Nantucket"
The Quaker Graveyard in Nantucket
by Robert Lowell
(For Warren Winslow, Dead At Sea)
Let man have dominion over the fishes of the sea and
the fowls of the air and the beasts and the whole earth,
and every creeping creature that moveth upon the earth.
I
A brackish reach of shoal off Madaket--
The sea was still breaking violently and night
Had steamed into our North Atlantic Fleet,
When the drowned sailor clutched the drag-net. Light
Flashed from his matted head and marble feet,
He grappled at the net
With the coiled, hurdling muscles of his thighs:
The corpse was bloodless, a botch of reds and whites,
Its open, staring eyes
Were lustreless dead-lights
Or cabin-windows on a stranded hulk
Heavy with sand. We weight the body, close
Its eyes and heave it seaward whence it came,
Where the heel-headed dogfish barks its nose
On Ahab's void and forehead; and the name
Is blocked in yellow chalk.
Sailors, who pitch this portent at the sea
Where dreadnaughts shall confess
Its hell-bent deity,
When you are powerless
To sand-bag this Atlantic bulwark, faced
By the earth-shaker, green, unwearied, chaste
In his steel scales: ask for no Orphean lute
To pluck life back. The guns of the steeled fleet
Recoil and then repeat
The hoarse salute.
II
Whenever winds are moving and their breath
Heaves at the roped-in bulwarks of this pier,
The terns and sea-gulls tremble at your death
In these home waters. Sailor, can you hear
The Pequod's sea wings, beating landward, fall
Headlong and break on our Atlantic wall
Off 'Sconset, where the yawing S-boats splash
The bellbuoy, with ballooning spinnakers,
As the entangled, screeching mainsheet clears
The blocks: off Madaket, where lubbers lash
The heavy surf and throw their long lead squids
For blue-fish? Sea-gulls blink their heavy lids
Seaward. The winds' wings beat upon the stones,
Cousin, and scream for you and the claws rush
At the sea's throat and wring it in the slush
Of this old Quaker graveyard where the bones
Cry out in the long night for the hurt beast
Bobbing by Ahab's whaleboats in the East.
III
All you recovered from Poseidon died
With you, my cousin, and the harrowed brine
Is fruitless on the blue beard of the god,
Stretching beyond us to the castles in Spain,
Nantucket's westward haven. To Cape Cod
Guns, cradled on the tide,
Blast the eelgrass about a waterclock
Of bilge and backwash, roil the salt and sand
Lashing earth's scaffold, rock
Our warships in the hand
Of the great God, where time's contrition blues
Whatever it was these Quaker sailors lost
In the mad scramble of their lives. They died
When time was open-eyed,
Wooden and childish; only bones abide
There, in the nowhere, where their boats were tossed
Sky-high, where mariners had fabled news
Of IS, the whited monster. What it cost
Them is their secret. In the sperm-whale's slick
I see the Quakers drown and hear their cry:
"If God himself had not been on our side,
If God himself had not been on our side,
When the Atlantic rose against us, why,
Then it had swallowed us up quick."
IV
This is the end of the whaleroad and the whale
Who spewed Nantucket bones on the thrashed swell
And stirred the troubled waters to whirlpools
To send the Pequod packing off to hell:
This is the end of them, three-quarters fools,
Snatching at straws to sail
Seaward and seaward on the turntail whale,
Spouting out blood and water as it rolls,
Sick as a dog to these Atlantic shoals:
Clamavimus, O depths. Let the sea-gulls wail
For water, for the deep where the high tide
Mutters to its hurt self, mutters and ebbs.
Waves wallow in their wash, go out and out,
Leave only the death-rattle of the crabs,
The beach increasing, its enormous snout
Sucking the ocean's side.
This is the end of running on the waves;
We are poured out like water. Who will dance
The mast-lashed master of Leviathans
Up from this field of Quakers in their unstoned graves?
V
When the whale's viscera go and the roll
Of its corruption overruns this world
Beyond tree-swept Nantucket and Wood's Hole
And Martha's Vineyard, Sailor, will your sword
Whistle and fall and sink into the fat?
In the great ash-pit of Jehoshaphat
The bones cry for the blood of the white whale,
The fat flukes arch and whack about its ears,
The death-lance churns into the sanctuary, tears
The gun-blue swingle, heaving like a flail,
And hacks the coiling life out: it works and drags
And rips the sperm-whale's midriff into rags,
Gobbets of blubber spill to wind and weather,
Sailor, and gulls go round the stoven timbers
Where the morning stars sing out together
And thunder shakes the white surf and dismembers
The red flag hammered in the mast-head. Hide,
Our steel, Jonas Messias, in Thy side.
VI
OUR LADY OF WALSINGHAM
There once the penitents took off their shoes
And then walked barefoot the remaining mile;
And the small trees, a stream and hedgerows file
Slowly along the munching English lane,
Like cows to the old shrine, until you lose
Track of your dragging pain.
The stream flows down under the druid tree,
Shiloah's whirlpools gurgle and make glad
The castle of God. Sailor, you were glad
And whistled Sion by that stream. But see:
Our Lady, too small for her canopy,
Sits near the altar. There's no comeliness
at all or charm in that expressionless
Face with its heavy eyelids. As before,
This face, for centuries a memory,
Non est species, neque decor,
Expressionless, expresses God: it goes
Past castled Sion. She knows what God knows,
Not Calvary's Cross nor crib at Bethlehem
Now, and the world shall come to Walsingham.
VII
The empty winds are creaking and the oak
splatters and splatters on the cenotaph,
The boughs are trembling and a gaff
Bobs on the untimely stroke
Of the greased wash exploding on a shoal-bell
In the old mouth of the Atlantic. It's well;
Atlantic, you are fouled with the blue sailors,
sea-monsters, upward angel, downward fish:
Unmarried and corroding, spare of flesh
Mart once of supercilious, wing'd clippers,
Atlantic, where your bell-trap guts its spoil
You could cut the brackish winds with a knife
Here in Nantucket, and cast up the time
When the Lord God formed man from the sea's slime
And breathed into his face the breath of life,
And blue-lung'd combers lumbered to the kill.
The Lord survives the rainbow of His will.
© 2010, Academy of American Poets. All Rights Reserved.
by Robert Lowell
(For Warren Winslow, Dead At Sea)
Let man have dominion over the fishes of the sea and
the fowls of the air and the beasts and the whole earth,
and every creeping creature that moveth upon the earth.
I
A brackish reach of shoal off Madaket--
The sea was still breaking violently and night
Had steamed into our North Atlantic Fleet,
When the drowned sailor clutched the drag-net. Light
Flashed from his matted head and marble feet,
He grappled at the net
With the coiled, hurdling muscles of his thighs:
The corpse was bloodless, a botch of reds and whites,
Its open, staring eyes
Were lustreless dead-lights
Or cabin-windows on a stranded hulk
Heavy with sand. We weight the body, close
Its eyes and heave it seaward whence it came,
Where the heel-headed dogfish barks its nose
On Ahab's void and forehead; and the name
Is blocked in yellow chalk.
Sailors, who pitch this portent at the sea
Where dreadnaughts shall confess
Its hell-bent deity,
When you are powerless
To sand-bag this Atlantic bulwark, faced
By the earth-shaker, green, unwearied, chaste
In his steel scales: ask for no Orphean lute
To pluck life back. The guns of the steeled fleet
Recoil and then repeat
The hoarse salute.
II
Whenever winds are moving and their breath
Heaves at the roped-in bulwarks of this pier,
The terns and sea-gulls tremble at your death
In these home waters. Sailor, can you hear
The Pequod's sea wings, beating landward, fall
Headlong and break on our Atlantic wall
Off 'Sconset, where the yawing S-boats splash
The bellbuoy, with ballooning spinnakers,
As the entangled, screeching mainsheet clears
The blocks: off Madaket, where lubbers lash
The heavy surf and throw their long lead squids
For blue-fish? Sea-gulls blink their heavy lids
Seaward. The winds' wings beat upon the stones,
Cousin, and scream for you and the claws rush
At the sea's throat and wring it in the slush
Of this old Quaker graveyard where the bones
Cry out in the long night for the hurt beast
Bobbing by Ahab's whaleboats in the East.
III
All you recovered from Poseidon died
With you, my cousin, and the harrowed brine
Is fruitless on the blue beard of the god,
Stretching beyond us to the castles in Spain,
Nantucket's westward haven. To Cape Cod
Guns, cradled on the tide,
Blast the eelgrass about a waterclock
Of bilge and backwash, roil the salt and sand
Lashing earth's scaffold, rock
Our warships in the hand
Of the great God, where time's contrition blues
Whatever it was these Quaker sailors lost
In the mad scramble of their lives. They died
When time was open-eyed,
Wooden and childish; only bones abide
There, in the nowhere, where their boats were tossed
Sky-high, where mariners had fabled news
Of IS, the whited monster. What it cost
Them is their secret. In the sperm-whale's slick
I see the Quakers drown and hear their cry:
"If God himself had not been on our side,
If God himself had not been on our side,
When the Atlantic rose against us, why,
Then it had swallowed us up quick."
IV
This is the end of the whaleroad and the whale
Who spewed Nantucket bones on the thrashed swell
And stirred the troubled waters to whirlpools
To send the Pequod packing off to hell:
This is the end of them, three-quarters fools,
Snatching at straws to sail
Seaward and seaward on the turntail whale,
Spouting out blood and water as it rolls,
Sick as a dog to these Atlantic shoals:
Clamavimus, O depths. Let the sea-gulls wail
For water, for the deep where the high tide
Mutters to its hurt self, mutters and ebbs.
Waves wallow in their wash, go out and out,
Leave only the death-rattle of the crabs,
The beach increasing, its enormous snout
Sucking the ocean's side.
This is the end of running on the waves;
We are poured out like water. Who will dance
The mast-lashed master of Leviathans
Up from this field of Quakers in their unstoned graves?
V
When the whale's viscera go and the roll
Of its corruption overruns this world
Beyond tree-swept Nantucket and Wood's Hole
And Martha's Vineyard, Sailor, will your sword
Whistle and fall and sink into the fat?
In the great ash-pit of Jehoshaphat
The bones cry for the blood of the white whale,
The fat flukes arch and whack about its ears,
The death-lance churns into the sanctuary, tears
The gun-blue swingle, heaving like a flail,
And hacks the coiling life out: it works and drags
And rips the sperm-whale's midriff into rags,
Gobbets of blubber spill to wind and weather,
Sailor, and gulls go round the stoven timbers
Where the morning stars sing out together
And thunder shakes the white surf and dismembers
The red flag hammered in the mast-head. Hide,
Our steel, Jonas Messias, in Thy side.
VI
OUR LADY OF WALSINGHAM
There once the penitents took off their shoes
And then walked barefoot the remaining mile;
And the small trees, a stream and hedgerows file
Slowly along the munching English lane,
Like cows to the old shrine, until you lose
Track of your dragging pain.
The stream flows down under the druid tree,
Shiloah's whirlpools gurgle and make glad
The castle of God. Sailor, you were glad
And whistled Sion by that stream. But see:
Our Lady, too small for her canopy,
Sits near the altar. There's no comeliness
at all or charm in that expressionless
Face with its heavy eyelids. As before,
This face, for centuries a memory,
Non est species, neque decor,
Expressionless, expresses God: it goes
Past castled Sion. She knows what God knows,
Not Calvary's Cross nor crib at Bethlehem
Now, and the world shall come to Walsingham.
VII
The empty winds are creaking and the oak
splatters and splatters on the cenotaph,
The boughs are trembling and a gaff
Bobs on the untimely stroke
Of the greased wash exploding on a shoal-bell
In the old mouth of the Atlantic. It's well;
Atlantic, you are fouled with the blue sailors,
sea-monsters, upward angel, downward fish:
Unmarried and corroding, spare of flesh
Mart once of supercilious, wing'd clippers,
Atlantic, where your bell-trap guts its spoil
You could cut the brackish winds with a knife
Here in Nantucket, and cast up the time
When the Lord God formed man from the sea's slime
And breathed into his face the breath of life,
And blue-lung'd combers lumbered to the kill.
The Lord survives the rainbow of His will.
© 2010, Academy of American Poets. All Rights Reserved.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
FINAL EXAM REVIEW
The final exam will have three essays:
1. If you could instantly memorize one of the six titles we read this year, which one would you memorize? Give FIVE substantial reasons largely based on the structure and themes of the work to support your answer.
2. I will choose a poem from the blog for you to write a two page essay on. This essay must have a clear thesis statement, and examine the relationship between the poem's form--imagery, diction, tone--and its meaning.
3. Choose one of the six books we read which you believe has the most literary value from the perspective of its style. After explaining this style, its major characteristics, examine how it relates to the meaning of the work as a whole.
1. If you could instantly memorize one of the six titles we read this year, which one would you memorize? Give FIVE substantial reasons largely based on the structure and themes of the work to support your answer.
2. I will choose a poem from the blog for you to write a two page essay on. This essay must have a clear thesis statement, and examine the relationship between the poem's form--imagery, diction, tone--and its meaning.
3. Choose one of the six books we read which you believe has the most literary value from the perspective of its style. After explaining this style, its major characteristics, examine how it relates to the meaning of the work as a whole.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Rate these poems!
Day in Park
She jumps and skips all day,
Oh how she loves to play.
All these birds sing loud,
Today the robin is proud.
Trees cast shadows over the ground,
She kneels and hums a lovely sound.
Music plays in the park,
Playful dogs run and bark.
What a wonderful day,
If only she could say,
The love for her he would return.
But now her heart does burn.
V
THE SUN just touched the morning;
The morning, happy thing,
Supposed that he had come to dwell,
And life would be all spring.
She felt herself supremer,— 5
A raised, ethereal thing;
Henceforth for her what holiday!
Meanwhile, her wheeling king
Trailed slow along the orchards
His haughty, spangled hems, 10
Leaving a new necessity,—
The want of diadems!
The morning fluttered, staggered,
Felt feebly for her crown,—
Her unanointed forehead 15
Henceforth her only one.
The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
From a longer poem
Age saw two quiet children
Go loving by at twilight,
He knew not whether homeward,
Or outward from the village,
Or (chimes were ringing) churchward,
He waited (they were strangers)
Till they were out of hearing
To bid them both be happy.
"Be happy, happy, happy,
And seize the day of pleasure."
The age-long theme is Age's.
'Twas Age imposed on poems
Their gather-roses burden
To warn against the danger
That overtaken lovers
From being overflooded
With happiness should have it.
And yet not know they have it.
But bid life seize the present?
It lives less in the present
Than in the future always,
And less in both together
Than in the past. The present
Is too much for the senses,
Too crowding, too confusing—
Too present to imagine.
On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be.
On the day the world ends
Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas,
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry night.
All I can hear is howling
Screeching
They sound like you
did this lonely night
when we held each
other and cried.
I've never tasted tears
like
yours.
They taste like rolled cigarettes
hanging off the tongue
like other things
that you told me.
The Bible on the table
vibrated with us
like Satan does behind
the windowsill. He's standing
with the bats
holding clubs and watching
my forehead warily.
"It's cold", he mouths,
and I agree.
Cold like the sweat
on your back when you
fell asleep.
I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.
Not in July or any month
have I had the pleasure--if it is a pleasure--
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
I am more likely to be found
in a quiet room like this one--
a painting of a woman on the wall,
a bowl of tangerines on the table--
trying to manufacture the sensation
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
There is little doubt
that others have been fishing
on the Susquehanna,
rowing upstream in a wooden boat,
sliding the oars under the water
then raising them to drip in the light.
But the nearest I have ever come to
fishing on the Susquehanna
was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia
when I balanced a little egg of time
in front of a painting
in which that river curled around a bend
under a blue cloud-ruffled sky,
dense trees along the banks,
and a fellow with a red bandanna
sitting in a small, green
flat-bottom boat
holding the thin whip of a pole.
That is something I am unlikely
ever to do, I remember
saying to myself and the person next to me.
Then I blinked and moved on
to other American scenes
of haystacks, water whitening over rocks,
even one of a brown hare
who seemed so wired with alertness
I imagined him springing right out of the frame.
She jumps and skips all day,
Oh how she loves to play.
All these birds sing loud,
Today the robin is proud.
Trees cast shadows over the ground,
She kneels and hums a lovely sound.
Music plays in the park,
Playful dogs run and bark.
What a wonderful day,
If only she could say,
The love for her he would return.
But now her heart does burn.
V
THE SUN just touched the morning;
The morning, happy thing,
Supposed that he had come to dwell,
And life would be all spring.
She felt herself supremer,— 5
A raised, ethereal thing;
Henceforth for her what holiday!
Meanwhile, her wheeling king
Trailed slow along the orchards
His haughty, spangled hems, 10
Leaving a new necessity,—
The want of diadems!
The morning fluttered, staggered,
Felt feebly for her crown,—
Her unanointed forehead 15
Henceforth her only one.
The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
From a longer poem
Age saw two quiet children
Go loving by at twilight,
He knew not whether homeward,
Or outward from the village,
Or (chimes were ringing) churchward,
He waited (they were strangers)
Till they were out of hearing
To bid them both be happy.
"Be happy, happy, happy,
And seize the day of pleasure."
The age-long theme is Age's.
'Twas Age imposed on poems
Their gather-roses burden
To warn against the danger
That overtaken lovers
From being overflooded
With happiness should have it.
And yet not know they have it.
But bid life seize the present?
It lives less in the present
Than in the future always,
And less in both together
Than in the past. The present
Is too much for the senses,
Too crowding, too confusing—
Too present to imagine.
On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be.
On the day the world ends
Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas,
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry night.
All I can hear is howling
Screeching
They sound like you
did this lonely night
when we held each
other and cried.
I've never tasted tears
like
yours.
They taste like rolled cigarettes
hanging off the tongue
like other things
that you told me.
The Bible on the table
vibrated with us
like Satan does behind
the windowsill. He's standing
with the bats
holding clubs and watching
my forehead warily.
"It's cold", he mouths,
and I agree.
Cold like the sweat
on your back when you
fell asleep.
I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.
Not in July or any month
have I had the pleasure--if it is a pleasure--
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
I am more likely to be found
in a quiet room like this one--
a painting of a woman on the wall,
a bowl of tangerines on the table--
trying to manufacture the sensation
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
There is little doubt
that others have been fishing
on the Susquehanna,
rowing upstream in a wooden boat,
sliding the oars under the water
then raising them to drip in the light.
But the nearest I have ever come to
fishing on the Susquehanna
was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia
when I balanced a little egg of time
in front of a painting
in which that river curled around a bend
under a blue cloud-ruffled sky,
dense trees along the banks,
and a fellow with a red bandanna
sitting in a small, green
flat-bottom boat
holding the thin whip of a pole.
That is something I am unlikely
ever to do, I remember
saying to myself and the person next to me.
Then I blinked and moved on
to other American scenes
of haystacks, water whitening over rocks,
even one of a brown hare
who seemed so wired with alertness
I imagined him springing right out of the frame.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
"White Goddess" by Robert Graves
The White Goddess
All saints revile her, and all sober men
Ruled by the God Apollo's golden mean -
In scorn of which we sailed to find her
In distant regions likeliest to hold her
Whom we desired above all things to know,
Sister of the mirage and echo.
It was a virtue not to stay,
To go our headstrong and heroic way
Seeking her out at the volcano's head,
Among pack ice, or where the track had faded
Beyond the cavern of the seven sleepers:
Whose broad high brow was white as any leper's,
Whose eyes were blue, with rowan-berry lips,
With hair curled honey-coloured to white hips.
The sap of Spring in the young wood a-stir
Will celebrate with green the Mother,
And every song-bird shout awhile for her;
But we are gifted, even in November
Rawest of seasons, with so huge a sense
Of her nakedly worn magnificence
We forget cruelty and past betrayal,
Heedless of where the next bright bolt may fall.
All saints revile her, and all sober men
Ruled by the God Apollo's golden mean -
In scorn of which we sailed to find her
In distant regions likeliest to hold her
Whom we desired above all things to know,
Sister of the mirage and echo.
It was a virtue not to stay,
To go our headstrong and heroic way
Seeking her out at the volcano's head,
Among pack ice, or where the track had faded
Beyond the cavern of the seven sleepers:
Whose broad high brow was white as any leper's,
Whose eyes were blue, with rowan-berry lips,
With hair curled honey-coloured to white hips.
The sap of Spring in the young wood a-stir
Will celebrate with green the Mother,
And every song-bird shout awhile for her;
But we are gifted, even in November
Rawest of seasons, with so huge a sense
Of her nakedly worn magnificence
We forget cruelty and past betrayal,
Heedless of where the next bright bolt may fall.
"Just Now" by Peter Campion
Just Now
by Peter Campion
a ladybug, its carapace blown open
so a translucent trace of orange gleams
from its body, has ascended link by link
the smudgy silver curve of my watch band.
It must have helicoptered past the sill
while I was slumped here squinting in the paper
at the ashen packaging another bombing's
made of a minivan. Made available
in the photo like the homeless in a poem.
The pain is far away. But then for moments
utterly clear: molten metal guttering
down from the Milky Way to fall on us.
And sometimes, God, it lands with all its will.
My spluttered prayer for it to hold its distance:
how ludicrous to blurt it from this comfort.
Still it impels itself from me. Please stay
away from me. Please stay away from this
insectile soul who only weeks ago
was wind and shit and jasmine leaves and rain.
by Peter Campion
a ladybug, its carapace blown open
so a translucent trace of orange gleams
from its body, has ascended link by link
the smudgy silver curve of my watch band.
It must have helicoptered past the sill
while I was slumped here squinting in the paper
at the ashen packaging another bombing's
made of a minivan. Made available
in the photo like the homeless in a poem.
The pain is far away. But then for moments
utterly clear: molten metal guttering
down from the Milky Way to fall on us.
And sometimes, God, it lands with all its will.
My spluttered prayer for it to hold its distance:
how ludicrous to blurt it from this comfort.
Still it impels itself from me. Please stay
away from me. Please stay away from this
insectile soul who only weeks ago
was wind and shit and jasmine leaves and rain.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Diction
Diction
Some ways to think about word choice— and sound really smart while you're figuring it out!
Purpose: When analyzing the style of either prose or poetry, the opportunity to show off what you know about diction (an author’s word choice) frequently appears. These notes are meant to give you a framework and a vocabulary so that you can analyze and discuss matters of diction with confidence and precision.
When this matters: Whenever you need to do any of the following:
Discuss or analyze how “the language” of a passage or poem achieves some effect.
Analyze the “techniques” or “poetic devices” used to achieve some effect.
Literal
Formal
Answer a question that specifically mentions the word “diction.”
Figurative
Two Axes: The term “diction” covers a lot of ground, but here is a somewhat simplified way to approach it. Consider analyzing the diction according to where it falls along the two main axes: (1) Levels of formality, and (2) Literal vs. Figurative, or Connotative vs. Denotative, content.
Informal
(1) Levels of formality
Diction can usually be described as one of three “levels” of style:
High or Formal: Dignified, elevated, and perhaps impersonal. Elaborate, or sophisticated vocabulary. In some cases, “high style” can refer to grammar, or syntax, that has been manipulated for an artistic effect—that is, the grammar calls attention to itself. Polysyllabic.
Middle or Neutral: Follows rules of grammar and uses common, unexceptional vocabulary. Think Strunk and White. Grammar and vocabulary is meant to be transparent, easily understood.
Low or Informal: Plain language of everyday use, including slang, jargon, vulgarity, and dialect. Monosyllabic.
(2) Literal vs. Figurative (Denotative vs. Connotative) content
In addition to falling somewhere on the above axis, an author’s word choice will fall somewhere on a scale between the two poles of denotation, a word’s dictionary meaning, or connotation, the more metaphorical or poetic usage of words.
The word itself may be rich with connotations (associated contexts or multiple meanings), and/or the way the word is used may invite consideration beyond the literal, as in a pun or double entendre. And sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar.
How to talk about
Levels of Formality
One thing that is really impressive is having a large bank of words that you know that you can use to characterize the different kinds of diction. You can use this stuff when fashioning terribly impressive thesis statements—even from simple observations! That is what the following notes are for. Many of these descriptors can be used to describe syntax as well as diction.
High, Formal Style
Cultured Learned Pretentious Archaic Scholarly Pedantic Ornate Elegant Flowery, etc.
Middle, Neutral Style
Unadorned Plain Detached Simple, etc.
Low, Informal Style
Abrupt Terse Laconic Homespun Colloquial Vulgar Slang Jargon, etc.
How to talk about
Connotation
Language can also fall somewhere on the following scale. Few word choices are purely denotative, of course, but they are connotative to varying degrees. Speak of a passage as being “highly connotative” or "largely denotative" (or figurative / literal).
Denotative or Literal Language
Exact Journalistic Straightforward
Connotative or Figurative Language
Poetic Lyrical Symbolic Metaphoric Obscure Sensuous Grotesque Picturesque
How to talk about
Everything Else
Abstract/Concrete and/or General/Specific
In addition, an author’s language will fall somewhere on a scale between the poles of abstract and concrete language. That is, do they write about stuff you can hold in your hands (concrete), or stuff you can only hold in your heads (abstract)?
The Music
Do the words sound nice? If so, you can talk about the euphony of the passage.. If it sounds harsh, talk about cacophony and the relationship to meaning. Here is also your opportunity to talk about rhyme, rhythm, onomatopoeia, alliteration, assonance, etc.
Figures of Speech
You know all these, right? Personification, Metaphor, Paradox, Alliteration, etc.
Quiz: if you notice a lot of this, is the word choice more "denotative" or "connotative"?
What else can you think of?
Still More
Ad infinitum
How do I use this great new vocabulary to craft smart topic sentences?
First: Don’t respond to a prompt by saying that the author “uses diction.” You are saying nothing if you say that. Everyone who writes or speaks uses “word choice”—your job is to characterize that word choice.
What I suggest: A convoluted, excruciating, five-step process.
Step One: Levels of Formality
“Do” a close reading on the passage, first identifying any unusual or characteristic words. If there are none, you are probably reading something with a “middle style.”
If words stand out, you should be able to decide whether the passage leans to the high or low styles. If so, pick a snazzy vocab word to describe what kind of high or low diction it is.
Step Two: Connotation
Examine how the words appear to be used—do they seem to be used like poetry, with lots of external, thematic meanings attached, or are they more literal, like a straightforward action story?
Once you decide which way it leans, connotative or denotative, pick some vocab words that characterize the diction more specifically.
Step Three: Everything else
Ask yourself about abstraction/ concreteness, what figures of speech you see, and the sounds of the language.
Step Four: Purpose
Sit back for a moment and ask yourself what purpose the word choice appears to be fulfilling.
For example, you can always say that it sets a tone—just make sure you have some words ready to describe that tone.
Also consider whether the word choice is having an effect on character, symbol/theme, setting, etc.
Step Five: The topic sentence. Let’s play Madlibs!!!
FORMULA: In [name of work], [Author] writes in a [connotation] [level of formality] style. His/her use of [connotation vocab] and [level of formality vocab] language [achieves x purpose].
EXAMPLE: In "Letter from Birmingham Jail," Martin Luther King, Jr., writes in a relatively denotative formal style. His intellectual vocabulary contributes to a dignity of tone, while the lack of euphemism underscores the seriousness of his intention.
from: http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:NSwQ09JVRbgJ:www.astabowen.com/DictionAnalysis.0109.doc+prose+analysis+examples&cd=10&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us
Some ways to think about word choice— and sound really smart while you're figuring it out!
Purpose: When analyzing the style of either prose or poetry, the opportunity to show off what you know about diction (an author’s word choice) frequently appears. These notes are meant to give you a framework and a vocabulary so that you can analyze and discuss matters of diction with confidence and precision.
When this matters: Whenever you need to do any of the following:
Discuss or analyze how “the language” of a passage or poem achieves some effect.
Analyze the “techniques” or “poetic devices” used to achieve some effect.
Literal
Formal
Answer a question that specifically mentions the word “diction.”
Figurative
Two Axes: The term “diction” covers a lot of ground, but here is a somewhat simplified way to approach it. Consider analyzing the diction according to where it falls along the two main axes: (1) Levels of formality, and (2) Literal vs. Figurative, or Connotative vs. Denotative, content.
Informal
(1) Levels of formality
Diction can usually be described as one of three “levels” of style:
High or Formal: Dignified, elevated, and perhaps impersonal. Elaborate, or sophisticated vocabulary. In some cases, “high style” can refer to grammar, or syntax, that has been manipulated for an artistic effect—that is, the grammar calls attention to itself. Polysyllabic.
Middle or Neutral: Follows rules of grammar and uses common, unexceptional vocabulary. Think Strunk and White. Grammar and vocabulary is meant to be transparent, easily understood.
Low or Informal: Plain language of everyday use, including slang, jargon, vulgarity, and dialect. Monosyllabic.
(2) Literal vs. Figurative (Denotative vs. Connotative) content
In addition to falling somewhere on the above axis, an author’s word choice will fall somewhere on a scale between the two poles of denotation, a word’s dictionary meaning, or connotation, the more metaphorical or poetic usage of words.
The word itself may be rich with connotations (associated contexts or multiple meanings), and/or the way the word is used may invite consideration beyond the literal, as in a pun or double entendre. And sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar.
How to talk about
Levels of Formality
One thing that is really impressive is having a large bank of words that you know that you can use to characterize the different kinds of diction. You can use this stuff when fashioning terribly impressive thesis statements—even from simple observations! That is what the following notes are for. Many of these descriptors can be used to describe syntax as well as diction.
High, Formal Style
Cultured Learned Pretentious Archaic Scholarly Pedantic Ornate Elegant Flowery, etc.
Middle, Neutral Style
Unadorned Plain Detached Simple, etc.
Low, Informal Style
Abrupt Terse Laconic Homespun Colloquial Vulgar Slang Jargon, etc.
How to talk about
Connotation
Language can also fall somewhere on the following scale. Few word choices are purely denotative, of course, but they are connotative to varying degrees. Speak of a passage as being “highly connotative” or "largely denotative" (or figurative / literal).
Denotative or Literal Language
Exact Journalistic Straightforward
Connotative or Figurative Language
Poetic Lyrical Symbolic Metaphoric Obscure Sensuous Grotesque Picturesque
How to talk about
Everything Else
Abstract/Concrete and/or General/Specific
In addition, an author’s language will fall somewhere on a scale between the poles of abstract and concrete language. That is, do they write about stuff you can hold in your hands (concrete), or stuff you can only hold in your heads (abstract)?
The Music
Do the words sound nice? If so, you can talk about the euphony of the passage.. If it sounds harsh, talk about cacophony and the relationship to meaning. Here is also your opportunity to talk about rhyme, rhythm, onomatopoeia, alliteration, assonance, etc.
Figures of Speech
You know all these, right? Personification, Metaphor, Paradox, Alliteration, etc.
Quiz: if you notice a lot of this, is the word choice more "denotative" or "connotative"?
What else can you think of?
Still More
Ad infinitum
How do I use this great new vocabulary to craft smart topic sentences?
First: Don’t respond to a prompt by saying that the author “uses diction.” You are saying nothing if you say that. Everyone who writes or speaks uses “word choice”—your job is to characterize that word choice.
What I suggest: A convoluted, excruciating, five-step process.
Step One: Levels of Formality
“Do” a close reading on the passage, first identifying any unusual or characteristic words. If there are none, you are probably reading something with a “middle style.”
If words stand out, you should be able to decide whether the passage leans to the high or low styles. If so, pick a snazzy vocab word to describe what kind of high or low diction it is.
Step Two: Connotation
Examine how the words appear to be used—do they seem to be used like poetry, with lots of external, thematic meanings attached, or are they more literal, like a straightforward action story?
Once you decide which way it leans, connotative or denotative, pick some vocab words that characterize the diction more specifically.
Step Three: Everything else
Ask yourself about abstraction/ concreteness, what figures of speech you see, and the sounds of the language.
Step Four: Purpose
Sit back for a moment and ask yourself what purpose the word choice appears to be fulfilling.
For example, you can always say that it sets a tone—just make sure you have some words ready to describe that tone.
Also consider whether the word choice is having an effect on character, symbol/theme, setting, etc.
Step Five: The topic sentence. Let’s play Madlibs!!!
FORMULA: In [name of work], [Author] writes in a [connotation] [level of formality] style. His/her use of [connotation vocab] and [level of formality vocab] language [achieves x purpose].
EXAMPLE: In "Letter from Birmingham Jail," Martin Luther King, Jr., writes in a relatively denotative formal style. His intellectual vocabulary contributes to a dignity of tone, while the lack of euphemism underscores the seriousness of his intention.
from: http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:NSwQ09JVRbgJ:www.astabowen.com/DictionAnalysis.0109.doc+prose+analysis+examples&cd=10&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us
Connecting Technique to Meaning
Text Analysis Questions
All text analysis questions, whether on the language or literature exam, require students to (1) identify devices and techniques of language, and (2) explain their effect. Usually (though not always), the effect is stated in one question and left to the student on the other. For example, the first text analysis question on the literature exam indicates that the effect of the prose passage is "comic;" students are asked to write an essay analyzing how the author produces that effect. Then, on the second text analysis question, a poem, the instructions read:
...taking into consideration the title of the poem, analyze how the poetic devices convey the speaker's attitude toward the sinking of the ship.
In this case, the student must determine and describe what the speaker's "attitude" is and then identify specific "poetic devices" that convey that attitude.
Similarly, Question 1 of the language exam instructs, "...write an essay in which you analyze the rhetorical strategies President Lincoln used to achieve his purpose." The first step is to explain what that purpose is, then which strategies he employs to achieve it. On Question 2, the effect is stated: Woolf conveys "the lasting significance of these moments from her past;" the student's task is to "analyze how Woolf uses language" to convey this purpose or significance.
The instructions on all of these essay questions emphasize that simply listing techniques, devices, or elements of language is only half the task, just as describing the effect or attitude is only half. The focus is on the interaction of language and meaning, form and content. Students must explain how the author achieves a specific effect or purpose. Students must develop that focus as they write their essays with specific references to the text, regardless of whether that instruction is stated explicitly in the essay question.
from: http://apcentral.collegeboard.com/apc/members/courses/teachers_corner/22321.html#name3
All text analysis questions, whether on the language or literature exam, require students to (1) identify devices and techniques of language, and (2) explain their effect. Usually (though not always), the effect is stated in one question and left to the student on the other. For example, the first text analysis question on the literature exam indicates that the effect of the prose passage is "comic;" students are asked to write an essay analyzing how the author produces that effect. Then, on the second text analysis question, a poem, the instructions read:
...taking into consideration the title of the poem, analyze how the poetic devices convey the speaker's attitude toward the sinking of the ship.
In this case, the student must determine and describe what the speaker's "attitude" is and then identify specific "poetic devices" that convey that attitude.
Similarly, Question 1 of the language exam instructs, "...write an essay in which you analyze the rhetorical strategies President Lincoln used to achieve his purpose." The first step is to explain what that purpose is, then which strategies he employs to achieve it. On Question 2, the effect is stated: Woolf conveys "the lasting significance of these moments from her past;" the student's task is to "analyze how Woolf uses language" to convey this purpose or significance.
The instructions on all of these essay questions emphasize that simply listing techniques, devices, or elements of language is only half the task, just as describing the effect or attitude is only half. The focus is on the interaction of language and meaning, form and content. Students must explain how the author achieves a specific effect or purpose. Students must develop that focus as they write their essays with specific references to the text, regardless of whether that instruction is stated explicitly in the essay question.
from: http://apcentral.collegeboard.com/apc/members/courses/teachers_corner/22321.html#name3
Multiple-Choice Tips
•The Multiple Choice section makes up 45% of exam grade (Essay is 55%)
•You have 60 minutes to answer questions regarding 4-5 passages. That's 12-15 minutes per passage. Bring a watch to keep track of the time.
•Choose the passage that seems easiest to you. Choose a passage that seems hardest to you. Do the easy one first; save the hard one for last.
•You are not penalized for leaving a question blank. (In fact, don't be afraid to skip a passage entirely)
•You should aim to correctly answer 40-45 questions out of the 55 total questions.
•Since you can write on the test, when you come across an question you are unsure of, mark it, skip it and go back to it later. Remember, if you can answer 40-45 correctly, you can leave 10-15 unanswered.
from: http://englsh.wikispaces.com/Multiple+Choice+Review
•You have 60 minutes to answer questions regarding 4-5 passages. That's 12-15 minutes per passage. Bring a watch to keep track of the time.
•Choose the passage that seems easiest to you. Choose a passage that seems hardest to you. Do the easy one first; save the hard one for last.
•You are not penalized for leaving a question blank. (In fact, don't be afraid to skip a passage entirely)
•You should aim to correctly answer 40-45 questions out of the 55 total questions.
•Since you can write on the test, when you come across an question you are unsure of, mark it, skip it and go back to it later. Remember, if you can answer 40-45 correctly, you can leave 10-15 unanswered.
from: http://englsh.wikispaces.com/Multiple+Choice+Review
Writing Tips
Writing Tips
•Brainstorm, but quickly. You don't have a lot of time. Stick to simple outlines, lists or webs. Nothing too fancy.
•Do not summarize. The test writers are quite familiar with the works they are asking you about. Instead, assume your audience is familiar with the piece, and focus on analysis.
•Keep your intros brief and free of BS. Do not DO NOT waste time praising the author or the piece. This is irrelevant to your purpose. Instead, begin your essay by directly addressing the work, provide a clear thesis, and move quickly into your analysis. Avoid announcing your intentions ("This essay will..."); instead, just do it!
Example Introductions:
Standard Example (Paper score=8)
In his epic poem, Paradise Lost, John Milton retells the biblical story of Eve's succumbing to the appealing arguments of Satan. As the story is slowly recounted, the speech of both Eve and Satan reveal their underlying characters through a variety of literary techniques. Through diction, imagery, and tense shift, Eve is exposed as a morally weak individual and Satan is exposed as a manipulator "replete with guile."
Creative Example (Paper score=8)
Fidelity. A word one will never hear on the modern-day Jerry Springer show for both its ludicrous definition and polysyllabic nature. Certain less-than-reputable areas of the media will have people believe that faithfullness and monogamy mean nothing, and everyone falls "victim" to cheating on his or her loved "one." John Donne, however, was apparently centuries ahead of his time then, endorsing such practices in "The Indifferent." The narrator rallies for multiple partners for all, while expressing his views on women — that one is no different than any other (with the exception of the naive faithful and the realistic unfaithful) and men should therefore love indiscriminately. Donne develops his arguments using clever wit, a wide range of knowledge and figurative language.
Extra Important Notes:
Remember your audience. Your audience here is specific: high school teachers and college professors. Your awareness of this should guide your writing. Avoid conversational language, abbreviations, doodles, etc. Keep it academic and professional.
Write in an active voice. For example:
Passive: The dog was run over by the car.
Active: The car ran over the dog.
Work to ensure your paragraphs are connected and smoothly transition into each other. Here are a few good transitional words to consider (after, also, although, as a result, before, but, consequently, doubtless, eventually, finally, furthermore, hence, however, next, on the other hand, perhaps, similarly, therefore, yet)
Quick notes:
•— Avoid Point of View Shifts (don't use you your, we, us, our)
•— Avoid Logical Absolutes (don't say "everybody knows," etc.)
•— Do not use a word if you are unsure of its meaning.
•— Use strong verbs. Instead of "The author shows how..." try "The author demonstrates how..." or "The author illustrates how..."
from: http://englsh.wikispaces.com/AP+Literature+Exam+Review
•Brainstorm, but quickly. You don't have a lot of time. Stick to simple outlines, lists or webs. Nothing too fancy.
•Do not summarize. The test writers are quite familiar with the works they are asking you about. Instead, assume your audience is familiar with the piece, and focus on analysis.
•Keep your intros brief and free of BS. Do not DO NOT waste time praising the author or the piece. This is irrelevant to your purpose. Instead, begin your essay by directly addressing the work, provide a clear thesis, and move quickly into your analysis. Avoid announcing your intentions ("This essay will..."); instead, just do it!
Example Introductions:
Standard Example (Paper score=8)
In his epic poem, Paradise Lost, John Milton retells the biblical story of Eve's succumbing to the appealing arguments of Satan. As the story is slowly recounted, the speech of both Eve and Satan reveal their underlying characters through a variety of literary techniques. Through diction, imagery, and tense shift, Eve is exposed as a morally weak individual and Satan is exposed as a manipulator "replete with guile."
Creative Example (Paper score=8)
Fidelity. A word one will never hear on the modern-day Jerry Springer show for both its ludicrous definition and polysyllabic nature. Certain less-than-reputable areas of the media will have people believe that faithfullness and monogamy mean nothing, and everyone falls "victim" to cheating on his or her loved "one." John Donne, however, was apparently centuries ahead of his time then, endorsing such practices in "The Indifferent." The narrator rallies for multiple partners for all, while expressing his views on women — that one is no different than any other (with the exception of the naive faithful and the realistic unfaithful) and men should therefore love indiscriminately. Donne develops his arguments using clever wit, a wide range of knowledge and figurative language.
Extra Important Notes:
Remember your audience. Your audience here is specific: high school teachers and college professors. Your awareness of this should guide your writing. Avoid conversational language, abbreviations, doodles, etc. Keep it academic and professional.
Write in an active voice. For example:
Passive: The dog was run over by the car.
Active: The car ran over the dog.
Work to ensure your paragraphs are connected and smoothly transition into each other. Here are a few good transitional words to consider (after, also, although, as a result, before, but, consequently, doubtless, eventually, finally, furthermore, hence, however, next, on the other hand, perhaps, similarly, therefore, yet)
Quick notes:
•— Avoid Point of View Shifts (don't use you your, we, us, our)
•— Avoid Logical Absolutes (don't say "everybody knows," etc.)
•— Do not use a word if you are unsure of its meaning.
•— Use strong verbs. Instead of "The author shows how..." try "The author demonstrates how..." or "The author illustrates how..."
from: http://englsh.wikispaces.com/AP+Literature+Exam+Review
Monday, April 26, 2010
from "How Fiction Works" by James Wood
Free indirect style is at its most powerful when hardly visible or audible: "Ted watched the orchestra through stupid tears." In my example, the word "stupid" marks the sentence as written in the free indirect style. Remove it, and we have standard reported thought: "Ted watched the orchestra through tears." The addition of the word "stupid" raises the question: Whose word is this? It's unlikely that I would want to call my character stupid merely for listening to some music in a concert hall. No, in a marvelous alchemical transfer, the word now belongs partly to Ted. He is listening to the music and crying, and is embarassed--we can imagine him furiously rubbing his eyes--that he has allowed these "stupid" tears to fall. Convert it back to first-person speech, and we have this: "Stupid to be crying at this silly piece of Brahms," he thought." But this example is several words longer, and we have lost the complicated presence of the author.
thesis
In Anita Desai's novel FASTING, FEASTING subtle details that emphasize the exchange-student Arun's extreme discomfort during a typical American past time--going to the beach--dramatize his struggle to adapt to an unknown world.
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