I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes
_____________________________
Reaction: I was surprise since "God" seems to be a female in this poem and that was really the only thing that stood out.
Meaning: As for the meaning. I got two. The first is that "God" is actually the child's mother or she sees her mother as God because parents usually control lives of their children until they get older. Another one that I thought is that "God" was actually a female God and the child in the poem was praying as if asking for guidance. Either way, her answer is always "yes, yes, yes" meaning that she has control over her life and no one else.
Technique: free verse
Thursday, March 25, 2010
White-Eyes by Mary Oliver
In winter
all the singing is in
the tops of the trees
where the wind-bird
with its white eyes
shoves and pushes
among the branches.
Like any of us
he wants to go to sleep,
but he's restless—
he has an idea,
and slowly it unfolds
from under his beating wings
as long as he stays awake
But his big, round music, after all,
is too breathy to last.
So, it's over.
In the pine-crown
he makes his nest,
he's done all he can.
I don't know the name of this bird,
I only imagine his glittering beak
tucked in a white wing
while the clouds—
which he has summoned
from the north—
which he has taught
to be mild, and silent—
thicken, and begin to fall
into the world below
like stars, or the feathers
of some unimaginable bird
that loves us,
that is asleep now, and silent—
that has turned itself
into snow.
__________________________________
Reaction: Not surprise because by the title it seemed as if the author was going to connect the poem to some sort of nature or natural event.
Meaning: I interpret the bird in the story to be a spirit of the Goddess of Earth (but that is base on my religion) and how she is always watching over the Earth and its animals and the humans. I also believe that the poem is talking about the beginning of how earth was created.
Technique: free verse
all the singing is in
the tops of the trees
where the wind-bird
with its white eyes
shoves and pushes
among the branches.
Like any of us
he wants to go to sleep,
but he's restless—
he has an idea,
and slowly it unfolds
from under his beating wings
as long as he stays awake
But his big, round music, after all,
is too breathy to last.
So, it's over.
In the pine-crown
he makes his nest,
he's done all he can.
I don't know the name of this bird,
I only imagine his glittering beak
tucked in a white wing
while the clouds—
which he has summoned
from the north—
which he has taught
to be mild, and silent—
thicken, and begin to fall
into the world below
like stars, or the feathers
of some unimaginable bird
that loves us,
that is asleep now, and silent—
that has turned itself
into snow.
__________________________________
Reaction: Not surprise because by the title it seemed as if the author was going to connect the poem to some sort of nature or natural event.
Meaning: I interpret the bird in the story to be a spirit of the Goddess of Earth (but that is base on my religion) and how she is always watching over the Earth and its animals and the humans. I also believe that the poem is talking about the beginning of how earth was created.
Technique: free verse
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Hate Poem by Julie Sheehan
I hate you truly. Truly I do.
Everything about me hates everything about you.
The flick of my wrist hates you.
The way I hold my pencil hates you.
The sound made by my tiniest bones were they trapped
in the jaws of a moray eel hates you.
Each corpuscle singing in its capillary hates you.
Look out! Fore! I hate you.
The blue-green jewel of sock lint I’m digging
from under by third toenail, left foot, hates you.
The history of this keychain hates you.
My sigh in the background as you explain relational databases
hates you.
The goldfish of my genius hates you.
My aorta hates you. Also my ancestors.
A closed window is both a closed window and an obvious
symbol of how I hate you.
My voice curt as a hairshirt: hate.
My hesitation when you invite me for a drive: hate.
My pleasant “good morning”: hate.
You know how when I’m sleepy I nuzzle my head
under your arm? Hate.
The whites of my target-eyes articulate hate. My wit
practices it.
My breasts relaxing in their holster from morning
to night hate you.
Layers of hate, a parfait.
Hours after our latest row, brandishing the sharp glee of hate,
I dissect you cell by cell, so that I might hate each one
individually and at leisure.
My lungs, duplicitous twins, expand with the utter validity
of my hate, which can never have enough of you,
Breathlessly, like two idealists in a broken submarine.
______________________________________
Reaction: Not surprising, I was expecting this
Meaning: The author is making a list that she hates and used it to describe how much poetry she hates, despite writing it. She may targeting people who hate poetry and was able to make a list of other things that people can hate so the reader can relate.
Technique: free verse
Everything about me hates everything about you.
The flick of my wrist hates you.
The way I hold my pencil hates you.
The sound made by my tiniest bones were they trapped
in the jaws of a moray eel hates you.
Each corpuscle singing in its capillary hates you.
Look out! Fore! I hate you.
The blue-green jewel of sock lint I’m digging
from under by third toenail, left foot, hates you.
The history of this keychain hates you.
My sigh in the background as you explain relational databases
hates you.
The goldfish of my genius hates you.
My aorta hates you. Also my ancestors.
A closed window is both a closed window and an obvious
symbol of how I hate you.
My voice curt as a hairshirt: hate.
My hesitation when you invite me for a drive: hate.
My pleasant “good morning”: hate.
You know how when I’m sleepy I nuzzle my head
under your arm? Hate.
The whites of my target-eyes articulate hate. My wit
practices it.
My breasts relaxing in their holster from morning
to night hate you.
Layers of hate, a parfait.
Hours after our latest row, brandishing the sharp glee of hate,
I dissect you cell by cell, so that I might hate each one
individually and at leisure.
My lungs, duplicitous twins, expand with the utter validity
of my hate, which can never have enough of you,
Breathlessly, like two idealists in a broken submarine.
______________________________________
Reaction: Not surprising, I was expecting this
Meaning: The author is making a list that she hates and used it to describe how much poetry she hates, despite writing it. She may targeting people who hate poetry and was able to make a list of other things that people can hate so the reader can relate.
Technique: free verse
Thursday, March 18, 2010
The Summer Day by Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
_________________________________________
Reaction: Surprising once I got to the end. Other then that, just trying to go with the flow of the poem
Meaning: The person is questioning the world. Why we are here and who created the grasshopper. The author wants us to stop what we are doing and take time to sit back and wonder about our lives and the other lives, weather they are human or not. I believe the author really wants us to question what God (or in my case the Gods) has in mind for us and the other creatures he created on earth. The grasshopper can represents one's life, maybe even the readers life. The author is also reminding us that everything on earth will die eventually and that since we only have one life, what do we plan to do with it.
Technique: free verse
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
_________________________________________
Reaction: Surprising once I got to the end. Other then that, just trying to go with the flow of the poem
Meaning: The person is questioning the world. Why we are here and who created the grasshopper. The author wants us to stop what we are doing and take time to sit back and wonder about our lives and the other lives, weather they are human or not. I believe the author really wants us to question what God (or in my case the Gods) has in mind for us and the other creatures he created on earth. The grasshopper can represents one's life, maybe even the readers life. The author is also reminding us that everything on earth will die eventually and that since we only have one life, what do we plan to do with it.
Technique: free verse
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
This Moment by Eavan Boland
A neighbourhood.
At dusk.
Things are getting ready
to happen
out of sight.
Stars and moths.
And rinds slanting around fruit.
But not yet.
One tree is black.
One window is yellow as butter.
A woman leans down to catch a child
who has run into her arms
this moment.
Stars rise.
Moths flutter.
Apples sweeten in the dark.
_________________________________
Reaction: Open minded and thinking and trying to go along with the poem
Meaning: I believe this poem is trying to teach us to cherish every moment of our lives. Because every moment is important and it will only happen this way once.
Techniques: free verse
At dusk.
Things are getting ready
to happen
out of sight.
Stars and moths.
And rinds slanting around fruit.
But not yet.
One tree is black.
One window is yellow as butter.
A woman leans down to catch a child
who has run into her arms
this moment.
Stars rise.
Moths flutter.
Apples sweeten in the dark.
_________________________________
Reaction: Open minded and thinking and trying to go along with the poem
Meaning: I believe this poem is trying to teach us to cherish every moment of our lives. Because every moment is important and it will only happen this way once.
Techniques: free verse
The Dead by Susan Mitchell
At night the dead come down to the river to drink.
They unburden themselves of their fears,
their worries for us. They take out the old photographs.
They pat the lines in our hands and tell our futures,
which are cracked and yellow.
Some dead find their way to our houses.
They go up to the attics.
They read the letters they sent us, insatiable
for signs of their love.
They tell each other stories.
They make so much noise
they wake us
as they did when we were children and they stayed up
drinking all night in the kitchen.
_______________________________________
Reaction: I was very excited when I saw the title and read it, with an open mind. I enjoyed reading it.
Meaning: The dead may be a poem describing what happens after death. That weather it's a love one or not they are always there. We just don't know it, but they continue doing what they do and we continue doing what we do. The author may believe that death is the same as life. There is no heaven and there is no hell. After life is eternal life called death.
Techniques: free verse
They unburden themselves of their fears,
their worries for us. They take out the old photographs.
They pat the lines in our hands and tell our futures,
which are cracked and yellow.
Some dead find their way to our houses.
They go up to the attics.
They read the letters they sent us, insatiable
for signs of their love.
They tell each other stories.
They make so much noise
they wake us
as they did when we were children and they stayed up
drinking all night in the kitchen.
_______________________________________
Reaction: I was very excited when I saw the title and read it, with an open mind. I enjoyed reading it.
Meaning: The dead may be a poem describing what happens after death. That weather it's a love one or not they are always there. We just don't know it, but they continue doing what they do and we continue doing what we do. The author may believe that death is the same as life. There is no heaven and there is no hell. After life is eternal life called death.
Techniques: free verse
The End and the Beginning by Wislawa Szymborska
After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won't
straighten themselves up, after all.
Someone has to push the rubble
to the side of the road,
so the corpse-filled wagons
can pass.
Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.
Someone has to drag in a girder
to prop up a wall,
Someone has to glaze a window,
rehang a door.
Photogenic it's not,
and takes years.
All the cameras have left
for another war.
We'll need the bridges back,
and new railway stations.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up.
Someone, broom in hand,
still recalls the way it was.
Someone else listens
and nods with unsevered head.
But already there are those nearby
starting to mill about
who will find it dull.
From out of the bushes
sometimes someone still unearths
rusted-out arguments
and carries them to the garbage pile.
Those who knew
what was going on here
must make way for
those who know little.
And less than little.
And finally as little as nothing.
In the grass that has overgrown
causes and effects,
someone must be stretched out
blade of grass in his mouth
gazing at the clouds.
________________________________
Reaction: Surprising and the last two stanzas surprised me even more and the ending left me confused.
Meaning: I believe the end of the war has to do with ourselves and how we fight for something. For example, students every year will have (most likely) at least one teacher they hate. They may view that current class as a "war zone". When the school year ends, so does the war. But during the summer, that student has time to celebrate but also needs time to pick up pieces before September comes. Then when the new school year comes, the student may have a very good teacher or another bad teacher. So I believe, depending what we consider a "war zone" we have to be taught that someday it will end, but we will always have to clean it up.
Techniques: free verse
someone has to clean up.
Things won't
straighten themselves up, after all.
Someone has to push the rubble
to the side of the road,
so the corpse-filled wagons
can pass.
Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.
Someone has to drag in a girder
to prop up a wall,
Someone has to glaze a window,
rehang a door.
Photogenic it's not,
and takes years.
All the cameras have left
for another war.
We'll need the bridges back,
and new railway stations.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up.
Someone, broom in hand,
still recalls the way it was.
Someone else listens
and nods with unsevered head.
But already there are those nearby
starting to mill about
who will find it dull.
From out of the bushes
sometimes someone still unearths
rusted-out arguments
and carries them to the garbage pile.
Those who knew
what was going on here
must make way for
those who know little.
And less than little.
And finally as little as nothing.
In the grass that has overgrown
causes and effects,
someone must be stretched out
blade of grass in his mouth
gazing at the clouds.
________________________________
Reaction: Surprising and the last two stanzas surprised me even more and the ending left me confused.
Meaning: I believe the end of the war has to do with ourselves and how we fight for something. For example, students every year will have (most likely) at least one teacher they hate. They may view that current class as a "war zone". When the school year ends, so does the war. But during the summer, that student has time to celebrate but also needs time to pick up pieces before September comes. Then when the new school year comes, the student may have a very good teacher or another bad teacher. So I believe, depending what we consider a "war zone" we have to be taught that someday it will end, but we will always have to clean it up.
Techniques: free verse
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