Poetry+Grade+12+Level+2

= Poetry Grade 12 Level 2 = [] media type="custom" key="6952667" width="110" height="110" align="right"

DAY ONE
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Before you read our first poem or start this unit, I want to explore with you what your experience with poetry has been. Tell us about how you have studied poetry before, what poems you remember, what you did with those poems and whether or not you liked them. Tell us anything else that seems relevant about your study of poetry. You will be sharing your written responses with the class, so keep that in mind as you write. 300 words minimum media type="custom" key="10408438"

DAY TWO
First, we are going to read our quickTopics to the class.

media type="youtube" key="RTZrPVqR0D8" height="345" width="420"
 * Then,** we are going to **watch** this video. **Write** some questions in your Dialogue Journal as your read it. **Think** about it for a minute. Then, we will **discuss** it as a class.

Homework: Write a 350 word interpretation of Collins's poem. Proofread it, edit it, and be ready to type it into your **blog** tomorrow.

[|**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. media type="youtube" key="iNRBiCKkSmo" height="315" width="420"

DAY THREE
Copy your homework into your blog.


 * How To Read a Poem (Three Things)**

1. Read the poem all the way through without stopping. 2. Read the poem again with your __Dialogue Journal__ opened, and write questions you have about the poem. The questions could be about individual words. Or, the questions could be about ideas or images or allusions in the poem. The questions could be about who the speaker is, about the tone or about the person to whom the speaker is talking. I call this //the interrogation.// 3. Read the poem AT LEAST one ore time, so you can //investigate// the answers to the questions you have and draw some conclusions. You may want to use google or the dictionary or wikipedia to research some concepts in the poem that you do not understand. Do not use wikipedia to research the poem itself. That is cheating.

I can’t imagine that anyone could construct an interpretation of a poem without reading it AT LEAST three times.





**A Study of Reading Habits** Philip Larkin

When getting my nose in a book Cured most things short of school, It was worth ruining my eyes To know I could still keep cool, And deal out the old right hook To dirty dogs twice my size.

Later, with inch-thick specs, Evil was just my lark: Me and my cloak and fangs Had ripping times in the dark. The women I clubbed with sex! I broke them up like meringues.

Don't read much now: the dude Who lets the girl down before The hero arrives, the chap Who's yellow and keeps the store, Seems far too familiar. Get stewed: Books are a load of crap. Homework: Read the poem above and do a dialogue journal for it.

LITERARY TERMS
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DAY FOUR
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Students will write in their blogs answering the question: //What is poetry?// Students may use the internet to investigate the definition of poetry. But, they must site their sources. Use APA Style. Minimum of 30 words.



**The Second Coming**

Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Homework: Download and Read

** DAY FIVE **
media type="youtube" key="TrLfVpu0esA" height="315" width="420"
 * Listen to this song by U2 and write an interpretation of in in your blog. **
 * 1. Who is speaking? **
 * 2. Who is that person speaking to? **
 * 3. What is the speaker saying to the other person? **

And love is not the easy thing

The only baggage you can bring...

And love is not the easy thing...

The only baggage you can bring

Is all that you can't leave behind

And if the darkness is to keep us apart

And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off

And if your glass heart should crack

And for a second you turn back

Oh no, be strong

Walk on, walk on

What you got they can’t steal it

No they can’t even feel it

Walk on, walk on...

Stay safe tonight

You're packing a suitcase for a place none of us has been

A place that has to be believed to be seen

You could have flown away

A singing bird in an open cage

Who will only fly, only fly for freedom

Walk on, walk on

What you've got they can't deny it

Can’t sell it, can’t buy it

Walk on, walk on

Stay safe tonight

And I know it aches

And your heart it breaks

And you can only take so much

Walk on, walk on

Home... hard to know what it is if you’ve never had one

Home... I can’t say where it is but I know I'm going home

That's where the hurt is

I know it aches

How your heart it breaks

And you can only take so much

Walk on, walk on

Leave it behind

You've got to leave it behind

All that you fashion

All that you make

All that you build

All that you break

All that you measure

All that you steal

All this you can leave behind

All that you reason

All that you sense

All that you speak

All you dress up

All that you scheme...


 * Homework: Finish writing your blog on WALK ON.**

media type="youtube" key="e5F4-250ScQ" height="315" width="420" Maybe this is forever Forever fades away Like a rocket ascending into space Could you not be sad? Could you not break down? After all, I won't let go 'Till you're safe and sound 'Till you're safe and sound There's beauty in release There's no one left to please but you and me
 * DAY SIX **
 * Listen to this song by Sheryl Crow and write an interpretation of in in your blog. **
 * 1. Who is speaking? (Are there multiple voices?) **
 * 2. Who is that person speaking to? (Are they talking to each other?) **
 * 3. What is the speaker saying to the other person? **
 * 4. Use at least three examples from the lyrics to prove your point. (Quote the lyrics.) **

I don't blame you for quitting I know you really tried If only you could hang on through the night Cause I don't want to be lonely I don't want to be scared And all our friends are waiting there Until you're safe and sound Until you're safe and sound There's beauty in release There's no one left to please but you and me

Until you're safe and sound...

Feel like I could've held on Feel like I could've let go Feel like I could've helped you Feel like I could've changed you Feel like I could've held on Feel like I could've hurt you Feel like I was a stranger Feel like I was an angel Feel like I was a hero Feel like I was a zero Feel like I could've touched you Feel like I could've sealed you Feel like I could've held you Feel like I could've moved you Feel like I should've healed you Feel like I could've told you Feel like I should've told you Feel like I could've loved you Feel like I could've loved you Feel like I really loved you Feel like I really loved you... Feel like I could've saved you...


 * Homework: Finish writing your blog on SAFE AND SOUND.**

media type="youtube" key="zelvaxvTaUk" height="315" width="420" Your heart's on the loose You rolled them seven's with nothing to lose This ain't no place for the weary kind
 * DAY SEVEN **
 * Listen to THE WEARY KIND song by **
 * by [|Ryan Bingham] and [|T-Bone Burnett]**
 * and write an interpretation of in in your blog. **
 * 1. Who is speaking? **
 * 2. Who is that person speaking to? **
 * 3. What is the speaker saying to the other person? **
 * 4. Use at least three examples from the lyrics to prove your point. (Quote the lyrics.) **

You called all your shots Shooting 8 ball at the corner truck stop Somehow this don't feel like home anymore

And this ain't no place for the weary kind This ain't no place to lose your mind This ain't no place to fall behind Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try

Your body aches Playing your guitar and sweating out the hate The days and the nights all feel the same

Whiskey has been a thorn in your side It doesn't forget The highway that calls for your heart inside

And this ain't no place for the weary kind This ain't no place to lose your mind This ain't no place to fall behind Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try

Your lover's warm kiss Is too damn far from your fingertips You are the man that ruined her world

Your heart's on the loose You rolled them seven's with nothing to lose And this ain't no place for the weary kind


 * Homework: Finish writing your blog on THE WEARY KIND.**

Listen to the podcast:media type="file" key="Philip Shultz (short podcast).mp3" width="240" height="20" media type="youtube" key="KXX7V9Ajw-w" height="315" width="560"
 * DAY EIGHT **

=The god of loneliness=

by [|Philip Schultz] May 5, 2008
It’s a cold Sunday February morning and I’m one of eight men waiting for the doors of Toys R Us to open in a mall on the eastern tip of Long Island. We’ve come for the Japanese electronic game that’s so hard to find. Last week, I waited three hours for a store in Manhattan to disappoint me. The first today, bundled in six layers, I stood shivering in the dawn light reading the new Aeneid translation, which I hid when the others came, stamping boots and rubbing gloveless hands, joking about sacrificing sleep for ungrateful sons. “My boy broke two front teeth playing hockey,” a man wearing shorts laughs. “This is his reward.” My sons will leap into my arms, remember this morning all their lives. “The game is for my oldest boy, just back from Iraq,” a man in overalls says from the back of the line. “He plays these games in his room all day. I’m not worried, he’ll snap out of it, he’s earned his rest.” These men fix leaks, lay foundations for other men’s dreams without complaint. They’ve been waiting in the cold since Aeneas founded Rome on rivers of blood. Virgil understood that death begins and never ends, that it’s the god of loneliness. Through the window, a clerk shouts, “We’ve only five.” The others seem not to know what to do with their hands, tuck them under their arms, or let them hang, naked and useless. Is it because our hands remember what they held, the promises they made? I know exactly when my boys will be old enough for war. Soon three of us will wait across the street at Target, because it’s what men do for their sons.

Read more [|http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2008/05/05/080505po_poem_schultz#ixzz1a7O46Nr0]

=DAY NINE (10/18)=

Test on Terms

Blog Share

Homework: Read and do a dialogue journal on **Ode on a Grecian Urn**

= **DAY TEN (10/19)** =

IN THE JOURNAL/BLOG: What is happening in this poem? 40 words minimum. **Ode on a Grecian Urn** by John Keats

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? what maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal--yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty'--that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

DAY ELEVEN (10/20)
Read the following downloadable doc for homework:

Then read all your blogs on poetry and choose the one that you will transform into an extended essay on a poem.

IN THE JOURNAL/BLOG: Write an explication of "In the Waiting Room." No less than 300 words. **In the Waiting Room** by Elizabeth Bishop

In Worcester, Massachusetts, I went with Aunt Consuelo to keep her dentist's appointment and sat and waited for her in the dentist's waiting room. It was winter. It got dark early. The waiting room was full of grown-up people, arctics and overcoats, lamps and magazines. My aunt was inside what seemed like a long time and while I waited I read the National Geographic (I could read) and carefully studied the photographs: the inside of a volcano, black, and full of ashes; then it was spilling over in rivulets of fire. Osa and Martin Johnson dressed in riding breeches, laced boots, and pith helmets. A dead man slung on a pole --"Long Pig," the caption said. Babies with pointed heads wound round and round with string; black, naked women with necks wound round and round with wire like the necks of light bulbs. Their breasts were horrifying. I read it right straight through. I was too shy to stop. And then I looked at the cover: the yellow margins, the date. Suddenly, from inside, came an oh! of pain --Aunt Consuelo's voice-- not very loud or long. I wasn't at all surprised; even then I knew she was a foolish, timid woman. I might have been embarrassed, but wasn't. What took me completely by surprise was that it was me: my voice, in my mouth. Without thinking at all I was my foolish aunt, I--we--were falling, falling, our eyes glued to the cover of the National Geographic, February, 1918.

I said to myself: three days and you'll be seven years old. I was saying it to stop the sensation of falling off the round, turning world. into cold, blue-black space. But I felt: you are an I, you are an Elizabeth, you are one of them. Why should you be one, too? I scarcely dared to look to see what it was I was. I gave a sidelong glance --I couldn't look any higher-- at shadowy gray knees, trousers and skirts and boots and different pairs of hands lying under the lamps. I knew that nothing stranger had ever happened, that nothing stranger could ever happen.

Why should I be my aunt, or me, or anyone? What similarities-- boots, hands, the family voice I felt in my throat, or even the National Geographic and those awful hanging breasts-- held us all together or made us all just one? How--I didn't know any word for it--how "unlikely". . . How had I come to be here, like them, and overhear a cry of pain that could have got loud and worse but hadn't?

The waiting room was bright and too hot. It was sliding beneath a big black wave, another, and another.

Then I was back in it. The War was on. Outside, in Worcester, Massachusetts, were night and slush and cold, and it was still the fifth of February, 1918.



** DAY TWELVE **
IN THE JOURNAL/BLOG: Choose one line from this poem to analyze and do so in 100 words or less.

Dylan Thomas
 * Do not go gentle into that good night **

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

[|http://www.uvm.edu/~sgutman/You_Can_Read_A_Poem.html]

DAY THIRTEEN
IN THE JOURNAL/BLOG: Write a response that interprets these two poems by contrasting them. By William Blake
 * The Lamb **

Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight; Softest clothing, wooly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, Little Lamb, I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For he calls himself a Lamb. He is meek, and he is mild; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee! Little Lamb, God bless thee!


 * The Tyger ** by William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?



Before I workout, I do a warm-up. I stretch, so I don't hurt myself. I don't want you to hurt yourself either, so I have placed this link to a series of stretches and warm-ups. [|Stretches & Warm-ups]

[[image:rimbaud.jpg width="107" height="147" link="http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/1268"]]
**A Season in Hell** by Arthur Rimbaud Translated by Bertrand Mathieu

A while back, if I remember right, my life was one long party where all hearts were open wide, where all wines kept flowing.

One night, I sat Beauty down on my lap.—And I found her galling.—And I roughed her up.

I armed myself against justice.

I ran away. O witches, O misery, O hatred, my treasure's been turned over to you!

I managed to make every trace of human hope vanish from my mind. I pounced on every joy like a ferocious animal eager to strangle it.

I called for executioners so that, while dying, I could bite the butts of their rifles. I called for plagues to choke me with sand, with blood. Bad luck was my god. I stretched out in the muck. I dried myself in the air of crime. And I played tricks on insanity.

And Spring brought me the frightening laugh of the idiot.

So, just recently, when I found myself on the brink of the final squawk! it dawned on me to look again for the key to that ancient party where I might find my appetite once more.

Charity is that key.—This inspiration proves I was dreaming!

"You'll always be a hyena etc. . . ," yells the devil, who'd crowned me with such pretty poppies. "Deserve death with all your appetites, your selfishness, and all the capital sins!"

Ah! I've been through too much:-But, sweet Satan, I beg of you, a less blazing eye! and while waiting for the new little cowardly gestures yet to come, since you like an absence of descriptive or didactic skills in a writer, let me rip out these few ghastly pages from my notebook of the damned.





**Lot's Wife** Anna Akhmatova Translated by Max Hayward and Stanley Kunitz

And the just man trailed God's shining agent, over a black mountain, in his giant track, while a restless voice kept harrying his woman: "It's not too late, you can still look back

at the red towers of your native Sodom, the square where once you sang, the spinning-shed, at the empty windows set in the tall house where sons and daughters blessed your marriage-bed."

A single glance: a sudden dart of pain stitching her eyes before she made a sound. . . Her body flaked into transparent salt, and her swift legs rooted to the ground.

Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem too insignificant for our concern? Yet in my heart I never will deny her, who suffered death because she chose to turn.

(The reference is to Lot’s wife in the Bible, Genesis 19:26)

L

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media type="file" key="06 Be Still My Beating Heart.m4a" width="300" height="50" **Recueillement** Charles Baudelaire

Sois sage, ô ma Douleur, et tiens-toi plus tranquille. Tu réclamais le Soir; il descend; le voici: Une atmosphère obscure enveloppe la ville, Aux uns portant la paix, aux autres le souci.

Pendant que des mortels la multitude vile, Sous le fouet du Plaisir, ce bourreau sans merci, Va cueillir des remords dans la fête servile, Ma Douleur, donne-moi la main; viens par ici,

Loin d'eux. Vois se pencher les défuntes Années, Sur les balcons du ciel, en robes surannées; Surgir du fond des eaux le Regret souriant;

Le soleil moribond s'endormir sous une arche, Et, comme un long linceul traînant à l'Orient, Entends, ma chère, entends la douce Nuit qui marche.

-TRANSLATIONS-

Meditation

Be quiet and more discreet, O my Grief. You cried out for the Evening; even now it falls: A gloomy atmosphere envelops the city, Bringing peace to some, anxiety to others.

While the vulgar herd of mortals, under the scourge Of Pleasure, that merciless torturer, Goes to gather remorse in the servile festival, My Grief, give me your hand; come this way

Far from them. See the dead years in old-fashioned gowns Lean over the balconies of heaven; Smiling Regret rise from the depths of the waters;

The dying Sun fall asleep beneath an arch, and Listen, darling, to the soft footfalls of the Night That traits off to the East like a long winding-sheet.

— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)

Meditation

Be good, my Sorrow: hush now: settle down. You sighed for dusk, and now it comes: look there! A denser atmosphere obscures the town, To some restoring peace, to others care.

While the lewd multitude, like hungry beasts, By pleasure scourged (no thug so fierce as he!) Go forth to seek remorse among their feasts — Come, take my hand; escape from them with me.

From balconies of sky, around us yet, Lean the dead years in fashions that have ceased. Out of the depth of waters smiles Regret.

The sun sinks moribund beneath an arch, And like a long shroud rustling from the East, Hark, Love, the gentle Night is on the march.

— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)

Self-Communion

Rest still, lie quiet, be chastened, O my Grief, Who summoned evening. Lo, it falls! The air Deepens as dusk receives the town in fief, Bringing content to some, to others care. While the base herds of mortals seek relief Under the lash of hangman Pleasure where Timeless, Remorse crowns passions that are brief, Grief, O my grief, your hand; let us repair

Far hence, aloof. Behold the spent Years press On Heaven's high balconies in old-world dress; Regret rise from the waters, smiling bright; Under an arch, the sun die somnolent, And shroud-like, trailing to the orient, Hark, Love, my love, how softly steals the Night.

— Jacques LeClercq, Flowers of Evil (Mt Vernon, NY: Peter Pauper Press, 1958)

Meditation

Calm down, my Sorrow, we must move with care. You called for evening; it descends, it's here. The town is coffined in its atmosphere, bringing relief to some, to others care.

Now while the common multitude strips bare, feels pleasure's cat o' nine tails on its back, and fights off anguish at the great bazaar, give me your hand, my Sorrow. Let's stand back;

back from these people! Look, the dead years dressed in old clothes crowd the balconies of the sky. Regret emerges smiling from the sea,

the sick sun slumbers underneath an arch, and like a shroud strung out from east to west, listen, my Dearest, hear the sweet night march!

— Robert Lowell, from Marthiel & Jackson Matthews, eds., The Flowers of Evil (NY: New Directions, 1963)

Recueillement

lie still, my Dolour; let thy tossing cease. didst call for Night: 'tis falling now: for see! bearing to some her care, to some her peace, the evening robes the town with mystery.

while all the herd in vulgar revelries, 'neath Pleasure's lash, that falls implacably, now runs to cull remorse from vanities, my Dolour, give thy hand and come with me

to ways apart. lo, all our years gone by, in robes outworn, bend from the balconied sky: from waters deep arise our Joys deceased:

the sun is dying now beneath an arch: and, like a long shroud trailing from the east, — hark, dear! — Night softly starts her shadowy march.

— Lewis Piaget Shanks, Flowers of Evil (New York: Ives Washburn, 1931)

Meditation

Be wise, O my Sorrow, be calmer. You implored the evening; it falls; here it is: A dusky air surrounds the town, Bringing peace to some, worry to others.

Whilst the worthless crowd of humanity, Lashed by Pleasure, that merciless torturer, Go to gather remorse in slavish rejoicing, Give me your hand, my Sorrow; come with me,

Far from them. See the dead years leaning, In worn-out clothing, on the balconies of the skies; See how Regret, grinning, rises from the deep waters;

The dying sun goes to sleep in an archway, And, like a long shroud dragging from the East, Hear, O my dear one, hear the soft night coming.

— Geoffrey Wagner, Selected Poems of Charles Baudelaire (NY: Grove Press, 1974) Literary term of the day presentation. Homework: Download and read

**September 1, 1939** W.H. Auden

I sit in one of the dives On Fifty-second Street Uncertain and afraid As the clever hopes expire Of a low dishonest decade: Waves of anger and fear Circulate over the bright And darkened lands of the earth, Obsessing our private lives; The unmentionable odour of death Offends the September night.

Accurate scholarship can Unearth the whole offence From Luther until now That has driven a culture mad, Find what occurred at Linz, What huge imago made A psychopathic god: I and the public know What all schoolchildren learn, Those to whom evil is done Do evil in return.

Exiled Thucydides knew All that a speech can say About Democracy, And what dictators do, The elderly rubbish they talk To an apathetic grave; Analysed all in his book, The enlightenment driven away, The habit-forming pain, Mismanagement and grief: We must suffer them all again.

Into this neutral air Where blind skyscrapers use Their full height to proclaim The strength of Collective Man, Each language pours its vain Competitive excuse: But who can live for long In an euphoric dream; Out of the mirror they stare, Imperialism's face And the international wrong.

Faces along the bar Cling to their average day: The lights must never go out, The music must always play, All the conventions conspire To make this fort assume The furniture of home; Lest we should see where we are, Lost in a haunted wood, Children afraid of the night Who have never been happy or good.

The windiest militant trash Important Persons shout Is not so crude as our wish: What mad Nijinsky wrote About Diaghilev Is true of the normal heart; For the error bred in the bone Of each woman and each man Craves what it cannot have, Not universal love But to be loved alone.

From the conservative dark Into the ethical life The dense commuters come, Repeating their morning vow; "I will be true to the wife, I'll concentrate more on my work," And helpless governors wake To resume their compulsory game: Who can release them now, Who can reach the deaf, Who can speak for the dumb?

All I have is a voice To undo the folded lie, The romantic lie in the brain Of the sensual man-in-the-street And the lie of Authority Whose buildings grope the sky: There is no such thing as the State And no one exists alone; Hunger allows no choice To the citizen or the police; We must love one another or die.

Defenceless under the night Our world in stupor lies; Yet, dotted everywhere, Ironic points of light Flash out wherever the Just Exchange their messages: May I, composed like them Of Eros and of dust, Beleaguered by the same Negation and despair, Show an affirming flame. Literary term of the day presentation.

Homework: Download and view-

**The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock** T. S. Eliot

S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero, Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question… Oh, do not ask, "What is it?" Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, And seeing that it was a soft October night, Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate; Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?" Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— [They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"] My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin— [They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"] Do I dare Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all— Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room. So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all— The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all— Arms that are braceleted and white and bare [But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!] Is it perfume from a dress That makes me so digress? Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. And should I then presume? And how should I begin?

. . . ..

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? …

I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . ..

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep… tired… or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet—and here's no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while, To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question, To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"— If one, settling a pillow by her head, Should say: "That is not what I meant at all. That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— And this, and so much more?— It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say: "That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all."

. . . ..

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old… I grow old… I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Homework: Re-read and choose one poem from this poetry unit to study and write about.

** ESSAY ON A POEM **

You are going to write an essay in the form of a "superblog" on a poem we studied. It will be 400-600 words long. That’s 5-7 paragraphs.

This approach will require you to **read the poem** and then **interpret it** by **closely examining “the text of the poem.”** You will look at what the title means, what the words mean, investigate why they are arranged as they are, how the different parts of the poem relate to the whole poem and how figures of speech* affect the meaning of the poem.


 * figures of speech are metaphors, similes, symbolism, personification, imagery, etc.

You will NOT be discussing feelings, thoughts and experiences from your life. You will only be discussing the poem. You will also NOT be discussing the poet’s life, only the poem. You do NOT need to, nor should you do any research on the poem you choose.

PARAGRAPH ONE: (Introduction) State what the poem means. Here is an example. //The poem, [|“The Road Not Taken”] by Robert Frost is about a person who is making a decision.// Then, explain what your reasons are for thinking that the poem means what you say it means. Here is an example. //The reason the poem is about a decision is because Frost is writing about a person who is standing at a fork in the road. The road is a symbol of for this person’s journey in life. If the person goes down one road, his life will be different than if he goes down the other.//

PARAGRAPH TWO: Explain your first reason for thinking that the poem means what you say it means. Here is an example. //In the first stanza the speaker in the poem says, “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,” In this quotation, the word “diverged” means split and “the roads” are symbols for options in life. This means the speaker is standing at a fork in the road. He has to decide which way to go.// Notice how I quoted the poem. You should do this too.

PARAGRAPH THREE: Explain your second reason for thinking that the poem means what you say it means. Here is an example. //The poem’s speaker describes how he or she looks down both roads, but can’t decide what to do. He or she says, “Though as for the passing there/Had worn them really about the same,” which means he is having a hard time making up his mind. Both roads are good options.//

PARAGRAPH FOUR: Explain your third reason for thinking that the poem means what you say it means. Here is another example. //The speaker finally makes a decision in the third stanza when he says, “I kept the first for another day.” This shows that he chose the second road. And he knows that he probably won’t get to go down the first road or path in life if he takes the second. You can see this when he says, “Yet knowing how way leads onto way,/I doubted if I should ever come back.”//

PARAGRAPH FIVE: (Conclusion) Restate what the poem means. Here is an example. //The poem, “The Road Not Taken” presents a picture a moment when this speaker is having a hard time deciding which way to go in life, because he is confronted by two options that seem equal.// Then, make a concluding statement about the meaning of the poem. Here is an example. //The speaker then makes a decision and predicts that it will make “all the difference.” He knows that this decision with affect the rest of his life.//

FORMAT REQUIRMENTS: •Your rough blog needs to have a title that is not the title of the poem. •Your rough blog should have 400-600 words. •Your rough blog should have a thesis statement. •You should indent paragraphs. •Your blog draft should have at least three reasons to support your thesis.

Your blog draft will be graded on the following areas: 1. Idea/topic development-Thesis statement 2. Organization-paragraph structure 3. Details/examples/quotations 4. Language and style-vocabulary and sentence structure 5. Grammar 6. Spelling, capitalization, punctuation and formatting.


 * DO __NOT__ USE THE INTERNET TO LOOK UP WHAT A POEM MEANS**
 * FOR THIS ESSAY. This is not a research paper.**

//All students will workshop their poems.//

** NARROW YOUR THESIS **




Click here for [|thesis help.]

Writing The Introduction
[|http://www.esc.edu/esconline/across_esc/writerscomplex.nsf/3cc42a422514347a8525671d0049f395/b92d6149cc49534e852569c30069f8b2?OpenDocument#introductions]

Writing Body Paragraphs
When your write your body paragraphs, you have to quote the poem that you have chosen frequently. How does one do this properly? Here are some things to keep in mind: •You aught to have at least three body paragraphs. •Plan them so they are in an order that makes the most sense. •Each body paragraph should have a topic sentence. •Each body paragraph should have a concluding sentence. •Each body paragraph needs to have at least one quotation. Two is better. •Each time you include a quotation, you need to introduce it and explain it. •Every body paragraph needs to have evidence that relates back to your thesis.

Writing the Concluding Sentence
One of the toughest things to do when you are writing your body paragraph is to write a concluding sentence to your body paragraphs. There is no easy solution to this problem, but here are some ideas.

You do not //always// need to have a concluding sentence to each body paragraph in your essay. But you usually do, or it will not seem to be finished. Your concluding sentence, sometimes called a closing sentence, will serve as a transition to the next paragraph.

Here are some things you can try:


 * 1) Re-write your topic sentence.
 * 2) Wrap-up, close, finish or paraphrase your whole paragraph in that sentence by reviewing the details and ideas.
 * 3) You can summarize your paragraph by touching on the key ideas that are included in it, but summaries are usually lame.
 * 4) Remember that your concluding sentences are supposed to encapsulate the subtopic of your paragraph, so concentrate on the ideas in that paragraph to get your concluding sentence right.
 * 5) Writers of formal essays do not usually use quotations in their concluding sentences, but this sometimes works.
 * 6) Making predictions, suggestions or asking questions sometimes works too.

Here are some things you should not do:


 * 1) Do not use the words "In closing."
 * 2) Do not use the words "In conclusion."
 * 3) Do not repeat something you already said.
 * 4) Do not introduce a new idea.
 * 5) Do not confuse the reader.

All writing requires trial and error, so start early, experiment and revise. If you think I spent too much time writing about how to write one kind of sentence, without even giving you any concrete formula about how to get it done, you are right. There //is// no formula, and I //am// overly concerned with writing, but I //am// an English teacher. [|Concluding sentence.pdf]

Homework: Read Hamlet Act One, Scene One. Use iTunes U to download the podcast for help.

Writing Your Conclusion
[|http://www.esc.edu/esconline/across_esc/writerscomplex.nsf/3cc42a422514347a8525671d0049f395/b92d6149cc49534e852569c30069f8b2?OpenDocument#conclusions] Homework: Read Hamlet Act One, Scene Two. Use iTunes U to download the podcast for help.

media type="custom" key="11105086"

=DESE FRAMEWORKS ADDRESSED= GENERAL STANDARD 3:ORAL PRESENTATION 3.17 Deliver formal presentations for particular audiences using clear enunciation and appropriate organization, gestures, tone, and vocabulary. 3.18 Create an appropriate scoring guide to evaluate final presentations.

GENERAL STANDARD 14: Poetry Students will identify, analyze, and apply knowledge of the themes, structure, and elements of poetry and provide evidence from the text to support their understanding.

14.6 Analyze and evaluate the appropriateness of diction and imagery (controlling images, figurative language, understatement, overstatement, irony, paradox). For example, students examine poems to explore the relationship between the literal and the figurative in Mark Strand’s “Keeping Things Whole,” Elinor Wylie’s “Sea Lullaby,” Louis MacNeice’s “Prayer Before Birth,” Margaret Walker’s “Lineage,” A.E. Housman’s “To an Athlete Dying Young,” W.H. Auden’s “Unknown Citizen,” Emily Dickinson’s “I Taste a Liquor Never Brewed,” and Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ozymandias.” They report their findings to the class, compare observations, and set guidelines for further study.

GENERAL STANDARD 15: Style and Language Students will identify and analyze how an author’s words appeal to the senses, create imagery, suggest mood, and set tone and provide evidence from the text to support their understanding. 15.9 Identify, analyze, and evaluate an author’s use of rhetorical devices in persuasive argument. 15.10 Analyze and compare style and language across significant cross-cultural literary works. For example, students compose essays in which they analyze and compare figurative language in a variety of selections from works such as The Epic of Gilgamesh, The Odyssey, The Hebrew Bible, The New Testament, The Bhagavad-Gita, The Analects of Confucius, and The Koran.

GENERAL STANDARD 19: Writing Students will write with a clear focus, coherent organization, and sufficient detail.

For imaginative/literary writing:* 19.28 Write well-organized stories or scripts with an explicit or implicit theme, using a variety of literary techniques. 19.29 Write poems using a range of forms and techniques. For informational/expository writing: 19.30 Write coherent compositions with a clear focus, objective presentation of alternate views, rich detail, well-developed paragraphs, and logical argumentation. For example, students compose an essay for their English and American history classes on de Toqueville’s observations of American life in the 1830s, examining whether his characterization of American society is still applicable today.

GENERAL STANDARD 20: Consideration of Audience and Purpose Students will write for different audiences and purposes.

20.6 Use effective rhetorical techniques and demonstrate understanding of purpose, speaker, audience, and form when completing expressive, persua­ sive, or literary writing assignments.

GENERAL STANDARD 21: Revising Students will demonstrate improvement in organization, content, paragraph development, level of detail, style, tone, and word choice (diction) in their compositions after revising them.

21.9 Revise writing to improve style, word choice, sentence variety, and subtlety of meaning after rethinking how well questions of purpose, audience, and genre have been addressed. For example, after rethinking how well they have handled matters of style, meaning, and tone from the perspective of the major rhetorical elements, graduating seniors revise a formal letter to their school committee, detail­ ing how they have benefited from the education they have received in the district and offering suggestions for improving the educational experience of future students.

GENERAL STANDARD 22: Standard English Conventions Students will use knowledge of standard English conventions in their writing, revising, and editing.

22.10 Use all conventions of standard English when writing and editing.

GENERAL STANDARD 23: Organizing Ideas in Writing Students will organize ideas in writing in a way that makes sense for their purpose.

23.14 Organize ideas for emphasis in a way that suits the purpose of the writer. For example, students select a method of giving emphasis (most important information first or last, most important idea has the fullest or briefest presentation) when supporting a thesis about characterization in Edwin Arlington Robinson’s narrative poems, “Richard Corey” and “Miniver Cheevy.” Or students use one of five methods (comparison and contrast, illustration, classification, definition, analysis) of organizing their ideas in exposition as determined by the needs of their topic. 23.15 Craft sentences in a way that supports the underlying logic of the ideas. For example, after writing a critical essay, students examine each sentence to determine whether the placement of phrases or dependent clauses supports the emphasis they desire in the sentence and in the paragraph as a whole.

GENERAL STANDARD 24: Research* Students will gather information from a variety of sources, analyze and evaluate the quality of the information they obtain, and use it to answer their own questions.