Presentation on theme: "POETRY IN THE NEXT WEEKS WE SHALL LEARN VARIOUS STYLES AND FORMS OF POETRY. WE WILL ALSO DISCUSS RHYTHM, RHYME, AND METER."— Presentation transcript:
POETRY IN THE NEXT WEEKS WE SHALL LEARN VARIOUS STYLES AND FORMS OF POETRY. WE WILL ALSO DISCUSS RHYTHM, RHYME, AND METER.
THE COUPLET THERE WAS A LITTLE BOY A HE HAD HIS FAVORITE TOY A I WISH I COULD PLAY B BUT HE DIED TODAY B A STANZA OR POEM CONSISTING OF 2 RHYMING LINES.
EPITAPH FOR SOMEONE OR OTHER Naked I came, naked I leave the scene, And naked was my pastime in between.
BLANK VERSE AND LO I SAW THEREA THAT MAN UPON THE HILL B SPEAK TO ME THAT I C MIGHT FALL BACKD UNRHYMED LINES OF ANY METER
DECEMBER 27, 1966 Night sweat: my temperature spikes to 102 At 5 A.M.--a classic symptom--and, Awake and shaken by an ague, I Peep out a western window at the worn Half-dollar of the moon, couched in the rose And purple medium of air above The little, distant mountains, a black line Of gentle ox humps, flanked by greeny lights Where a still empty highway goes. In Christmas week, The stars flash ornamentally with the Pure come-on of a possibility Of peace beyond all reason, of the spheres Engaged in an adagio saraband Of perfect mathematic to set an Example for the earthly, who abide In vales of breakdown out of warranty, The unrepairable complaint that rattles us To death. Tonight, though, it is almost worth the price-- High stakes, and the veiled dealer vends bad cards-- To see the moon so silver going west, So ladily serene because so dead, So closely tailed by her consort of stars, So far above the feverish, shivering Nightwatchman pressed against the falling glass
HAIKU I WALK TO YOU NOW (5) AS VULNERABLE AS EVER (7) DADDY I’M SORRY (5) A JAPANESE FORM CONSISTING OF UNRHYMED LINES OF 5,7, AND 5 SYLLABLES.
HAIKU Easter guard tower Glints in sunset; convicts rest Like lizards on rocks. The piano man Is stingy at 3 am His songs drop like plum. Morning sun slants cell. Drunks stagger like cripple flies On Jailhouse floor. To write a clues song is to regiment riots and pluck gems from graves. A bare pecan tree Slips a pencil shadow down A moonlit snow slope. The falling snow flakes Can not blunt the hard aches nor Match the steel stillness. Under moon shadows A tall boy flashes knife and Slices star bright ice. In the August grass Struck by the last rays of sun The cracked teacup screams. Making jazz swing in Seventeen syllables AIN’T No square poet’s job.
COMMON MEASURE YOUR SUCH A LITTLE TOAD (A) LITTLE BROTHER OF MINE (B) I’LL SEE YOU IN HEAVEN SOMEDAY (C) WHERE WE BOTH SHALL DINE (B) A QUATRAIN STANZA RHYMING ABCB
THE WIFE OF WINTER’S TALE She lies by the man her husband in the high white bed, their breathing through the dry dark farm, his head near her head. But far from the farm in the hills, under the moon’s strange stare, the wolves in hardest December cry out through the frozen air. The farm sleeps dark on its slope, the woman lies by the man, buy she is not with him there, not under his breath or his hand but out in the far clear cold hills where he may not go, where she and her glistening lover race over a murderous snow.
SONNETS GENERALLY A 14 LINE POEM OF VARIOUS RHYMING PATTERNS.
ITALIAN SONNET A 14 LINE POEM WITH THE RHYME PATTERN: ABBAABBA CDECDE I DON’T LIKE YOU A SO I REFUSE TO PLAY B I’LL GO HOME AND LOCK MYSELF AWAY B I DON’T LIKE YOU A YOU DON’T LOOK LIKE I DO A FROM ME AND MINE I WON’T STRAY B WON’T CHANGE WHAT I DO DAY-TO-DAY B BUT YOU- I DON’T LIKE YOU A YOUR NOT LIKE ME C SO I WON’T BE YOUR FRIEND D I REFUSE TO GO ALONG E WHAT’S GOOD ABOUT YOU I CAN’T SEE C IT WILL BE THIS WAY UNTIL THE END D SAME TUNE, SAME RHYTHM, SAME SONG E
THE AGED LOVER DISCOURSES IN THE FLAT STYLE There are, perhaps, who passion gives a grace, Who fuse and part as dancers on the stage, But that is not for me, not at my age, Not with my bony shoulders and fat face. Yet in my clumsiness I found a place And use for passion: With it I ignore My gaucheries and yours, and feel no more The awkwardness of the absurd embrace. It is a pact men make, and seal in flesh, To be so busy with their own desires Their loves may be as busy with their own, And not in union. Though the two enmesh Like gears in motion, each with each conspires To be at once together and alone.
ENGLISH SONNET A 14 LINE POEM WITH THE RHYME SCHEME: ABAB CDCD EFEF GG Greasy. Oily. Brownish, yellow skin A Two days old on a picnic table B Do I dare? Is it a sin? A I wouldn’t even think of it if I were able B To find my own food. I can’t though. C The flies will leave; if I rush in D Don’t look at me. Don’t judge me so. C It’s a rat race, a mouse can’t win. D I’ll take it away, into the trees E My first meal in over three days F I hide my hunger where no one sees E I’ll be where your conscience won’t pay F I’ll eat your fried chicken-what you won’t G Do you ever think about me-I’ll bet you don’t G
LYING ON A BRIDGE We saw anchored worlds in a shallow stream. The current tugged at clouds, the sun, our face. And while we stared, as though into a dream, The stream moved on; the anchors kept their place. Even the white rose thorned into your hair Stayed there, though its refracted, scattered aura Circled your abstract face, like snow in air; Then the rose fell onto that gentle water, Shattering our faces with their mirror. But sun And clouds, and all their height and depth of light, Could not feel so involved, nor watch when one Bloom touched that current and waltzed it out of sight. Though rising, we saw how all things float in space: The stars and clouds, ourselves, each other’s face.
ENVELOPE SONNET A 14 LINE POEM WITH THE RHYME SCHEME: ABBACDDC EFGEFG LOOK AT ME--LOOK, LOOK, LOOK- A AREN’T I PRETTY? AREN’T I CUTE? B DON’T I MAKE YOU WANT TO PUKE? B PRETTY AS A PICTURE, SMART AS A BOOK A EVERY BOY DREAMS OF ME AT NIGHT C EVERY GIRL WANTS MY HAIR D I’M PERFECT, WITHOUT A CARE D TO NOT BE ME--WHAT A TERRIBLE PLIGHT! C LOOK AT ME. LOOK-LOOK--PLEASE E I’LL DO ANYTHING SO YOU WILL F EVERYTHING I HAVE-YOU’VE SEEN IT G TELL ME I’M PRETTY--PUT ME AT EASE E I SWEAR IF YOU DON’T I’LL KILL F MYSELF--I MEAN IT. G
THE RURAL CARRIER STOPS TO KILL A NINE-FOOT COTTONMOUTH Lord God, I saw the son-of-a-bitch uncoil In the road ahead of me, uncoil and squirm For the ditch, squirm a hell of a long time. Missed him with the car. When I got back to him, he was All But gone, nothing left on the road but the tip-end Of his tail, and that disappearing into Johnson grass. I leaned over the ditch and saw him, balled up now, hiss. I aimed for the mouth and shot him. And shot him again. The I got a good strong stick and dragged him out. He was long and evil, thick as the top of my arm. There are things in this world a man can’t look at without Wanting to kill. Don’t ask me why. I was clam Enough, I thought. But I felt my spine Squirm suddenly. I admit it. It was mine.
ENGLISH QUINTET A FIVE LINE STANZA OR POEM RHYMING ABABB I ADORE YOUR DARK, SMOOTH SKIN (A) YOU ARE THE BEST LOVER BY FAR (B) THEY NEED NOT POINT OUT MY SIN (A) I CAN BARELY FIT IN MY OWN CAR (B) BUT YOU ARE MY JULIET, MY HERSHEY BAR (B)
EIGHTH AIR FORCE If, in an odd angle of the hutment, A puppy laps the water from a can Of flowers, and the drunk sergeant shaving Whistles O Paradiso!--Shall I say that man Is not as men have said: a wolf to man? The other murderers troop in yawning; Three of them play Pitch, one sleeps, and one Lies counting missions, lies there sweating Till even his heart beats: One; One; One. O murderers! …Still, this is how it’s done: This is a war….But since these play, before they die, Like puppies with their puppy; since, a man, I did as these have done, but did not die-- I will content the people as I can And give up these to them: Behold the man! I have suffered, in a dream, because of him, Many things; for this last saviour, man, I have lied as I lie now. But what is lying? Men wash their hands, in blood as best they can: I find no fault in his just man.
MISC QUINTET FIVE LINE STANZAS OF VARIABLE RHYME SCHEMES LITTLE BOYS ON THE PLAYGROUND PUSHING EACH OTHER SPITTING AT THE GIRLS WISHING THEY’D SPIT BACK
FIRST LESSON Lie back, daughter, let your head Be tipped back in the cup of my hand. Gently, and I will hold you. Spread Your arms wide, lie out on the stream And look high at the gulls. A dead- Man’s float is face down. You will dive and swim soon enough where this tidewater ebbs to the sea. Daughter, believe me, when you tire on the long thrash to your island, lie up, and survive. As you float now, where I held you And let go, remember when fear cramps your hear heart what I told you: lie gently and wide to the light-year stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.
RISPETTO A POEM OF 2 RHYMING QUATRAINS RHYMING: ABAB CDDC EVERY DAY I DRINK (A) WATER TO QUENCH MY THIRST (B) REALLY I THINK (A) I SHOULD START WITH BLOOD FIRST (B) THEN I COULD FEEL (C) SOMEONE ELSE FLOWING THROUGH ME (D) THEN WOULD I TRULY BE (D) REAL? (C)
OH NO If you wander far enough you will come to it and when you get there they will give you a place to sit for yourself only, in a nice chair, and all your friends will be there with miles on their faces and they will likewise all have places.
SESTINA A FRENCH POEM OF SIX SESTETS AND FINAL THREE LINE ENVOI. THE TERMINAL PATTERN IS: ABCDEF FAEBDC CFDABE ECBFAD DEACFB BDFECA ENVOI PATTERN: BE DC FA We started planting the wheat A Today. It’s early in the season, B But the plow easily slits the ground. C Dad watches with pride D As I drive for the first time, E Following in his footsteps. F Dew gathers on our legs as we step F Out amongst the sprouting wheat. A It’ll grow above my knee in time, E If the conditions are right this season. B I stand over my work; pride D Invested in the dark, cold ground. C Dad says there’s not enough in the ground C To take the crop to the final step, F But I have too much pride. D My grandfather and father planted wheat A Long before this season, B Long before my time E But we all run out of time, E And today we laid Grandpa in the ground, C After too short a season. B With whiskey bottle in hand I step F Out in my field of wheat, A Not crying, for foolish pride. D Dad’s eyes burn with that pride D When the banker comes. “We need more time. E We need higher prices for the wheat.” A He comes to take our sacred ground. C “I must take the final steps” F He says “you have one more season.” B But it didn’t rain this season. B The sun’s scorched my crop, my pride, D Burned the imprint of my footsteps F Forever in time E in the ground, C along side my dying wheat. A The winter season will come, and time will pass. (BE) I’ll walk with swallowed pride on concrete ground, (DC) Where once my steps fell among the wheat. (FA)
SESTINA September rain falls on the house. in the failing light, the old grandmother sits in the kitchen with the child beside the Little Marvel Stove, reading the jokes from the almanac, laughing and talking to hide her tears. She thinks that her equinoctial tears and the rain that beats on the roof of the house were both foretold by the almanac, but only know to a grandmother. The iron kettle sings on the stove. She cuts some bread and says to the child, It’s time for tea now; but the child is watching the teakettle’s small hard tears dance like mad on the hot black stove, the way the rain must dance on the house. Tidying up, the old grandmother hangs up the clever almanac on its string. Birdlike, the almanac hovers half open above the child, hovers above the old grandmother and her teacup full of dark brown tears. She shivers and says she thinks the house Feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove. It was to be, says the Marvel Stove. I know what I know, says the almanac. With crayons the child draws a rigid house and a winding pathway. Then the child puts in a man with buttons like tears and shows it proudly to the grandmother. But secretly, while the grandmother busies herself about the stove, the little moons fall down like tears from between the pages of the almanac into the flower bed the child has carefully placed in the front of the house. Time to plant tears, says the almanac. The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove and the child draws another inscrutable house.