Presentation on theme: "POETRY IN THE NEXT WEEKS WE SHALL LEARN VARIOUS"— Presentation transcript:
1POETRY IN THE NEXT WEEKS WE SHALL LEARN VARIOUS STYLES AND FORMS OF POETRY.WE WILL ALSO DISCUSS RHYTHM, RHYME, AND METER.
2THE COUPLET THERE WAS A LITTLE BOY A HE HAD HIS FAVORITE TOY A I WISH I COULD PLAY BBUT HE DIED TODAY BA STANZA OR POEM CONSISTING OF 2 RHYMINGLINES.
3EPITAPH FOR SOMEONE OR OTHER Naked I came, naked I leave the scene,And naked was my pastime in between.
4BLANK VERSE AND LO I SAW THERE A THAT MAN UPON THE HILL B SPEAK TO ME THAT I CMIGHT FALL BACK DUNRHYMED LINES OF ANY METER
5DECEMBER 27, 1966 Night sweat: my temperature spikes to 102 At 5 A.M.--a classic symptom--and,Awake and shaken by an ague, IPeep out a western window at the wornHalf-dollar of the moon, couched in the roseAnd purple medium of air aboveThe little, distant mountains, a black lineOf gentle ox humps, flanked by greeny lightsWhere a still empty highway goes. In Christmas week,The stars flash ornamentally with thePure come-on of a possibilityOf peace beyond all reason, of the spheresEngaged in an adagio sarabandOf perfect mathematic to set anExample for the earthly, who abideIn vales of breakdown out of warranty,The unrepairable complaint that rattles usTo 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, shiveringNightwatchman pressed against the falling glass
6HAIKU 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.
7HAIKU Easter guard tower The falling snow flakes Glints in sunset; convicts restLike lizards on rocks.The piano manIs stingy at 3 amHis songs drop like plum.Morning sun slants cell.Drunks stagger like cripple fliesOn Jailhouse floor.To write a clues songis to regiment riotsand pluck gems from graves.A bare pecan treeSlips a pencil shadow downA moonlit snow slope.The falling snow flakesCan not blunt the hard aches norMatch the steel stillness.Under moon shadowsA tall boy flashes knife andSlices star bright ice.In the August grassStruck by the last rays of sunThe cracked teacup screams.Making jazz swing inSeventeen syllables AIN’TNo square poet’s job.
8COMMON 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
9THE WIFE OF WINTER’S TALE She lies by the man her husbandin 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 Decembercry 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 handbut out in the far clear coldhills where he may not go,where she and her glistening lover raceover a murderous snow.
10SONNETSGENERALLY A 14 LINE POEM OF VARIOUS RHYMINGPATTERNS.
11ITALIAN SONNET A 14 LINE POEM WITH THE RHYME PATTERN: ABBAABBA CDECDE I DON’T LIKE YOU ASO I REFUSE TO PLAY BI’LL GO HOME AND LOCK MYSELF AWAY BI DON’T LIKE YOU AYOU DON’T LOOK LIKE I DO AFROM ME AND MINE I WON’T STRAY BWON’T CHANGE WHAT I DO DAY-TO-DAY BBUT YOU- I DON’T LIKE YOU AYOUR NOT LIKE ME CSO I WON’T BE YOUR FRIEND DI REFUSE TO GO ALONG EWHAT’S GOOD ABOUT YOU I CAN’T SEE CIT WILL BE THIS WAY UNTIL THE END DSAME TUNE, SAME RHYTHM, SAME SONG EA 14 LINE POEM WITH THE RHYME PATTERN:ABBAABBA CDECDE
12THE 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 placeAnd use for passion: With it I ignoreMy gaucheries and yours, and feel no moreThe awkwardness of the absurd embrace.It is a pact men make, and seal in flesh,To be so busy with their own desiresTheir loves may be as busy with their own,And not in union. Though the two enmeshLike gears in motion, each with each conspiresTo be at once together and alone.
13ENGLISH SONNET A 14 LINE POEM WITH THE RHYME SCHEME: ABAB CDCD EFEF GG Greasy. Oily. Brownish, yellow skin ATwo days old on a picnic table BDo I dare? Is it a sin? AI wouldn’t even think of it if I were able BTo find my own food. I can’t though. CThe flies will leave; if I rush in DDon’t look at me. Don’t judge me so. CIt’s a rat race, a mouse can’t win. DI’ll take it away, into the trees EMy first meal in over three days FI hide my hunger where no one sees EI’ll be where your conscience won’t pay FI’ll eat your fried chicken-what you won’t GDo you ever think about me-I’ll bet you don’t GA 14 LINE POEM WITH THE RHYME SCHEME:ABAB CDCD EFEF GG
14LYING 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 hairStayed there, though its refracted, scattered auraCircled your abstract face, like snow in air;Then the rose fell onto that gentle water,Shattering our faces with their mirror. But sunAnd clouds, and all their height and depth of light,Could not feel so involved, nor watch when oneBloom 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.
15ENVELOPE SONNET A 14 LINE POEM WITH THE RHYME SCHEME: ABBACDDC EFGEFG LOOK AT ME--LOOK, LOOK, LOOK- AAREN’T I PRETTY? AREN’T I CUTE? BDON’T I MAKE YOU WANT TO PUKE? BPRETTY AS A PICTURE, SMART AS A BOOK AEVERY BOY DREAMS OF ME AT NIGHT CEVERY GIRL WANTS MY HAIR DI’M PERFECT, WITHOUT A CARE DTO NOT BE ME--WHAT A TERRIBLE PLIGHT! CLOOK AT ME. LOOK-LOOK--PLEASE EI’LL DO ANYTHING SO YOU WILL FEVERYTHING I HAVE-YOU’VE SEEN IT GTELL ME I’M PRETTY--PUT ME AT EASE EI SWEAR IF YOU DON’T I’LL KILL FMYSELF--I MEAN IT. GA 14 LINE POEM WITH THE RHYME SCHEME:ABBACDDC EFGEFG
16THE RURAL CARRIER STOPS TO KILL A NINE-FOOT COTTONMOUTH Lord God, I saw the son-of-a-bitch uncoilIn the road ahead of me, uncoil and squirmFor the ditch, squirm a hell of a long time.Missed him with the car. When I got back to him, he was AllBut gone, nothing left on the road but the tip-endOf 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 withoutWanting to kill. Don’t ask me why. I was clamEnough, I thought. But I felt my spineSquirm suddenly. I admit it. It was mine.
17ENGLISH QUINTET 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)A FIVE LINE STANZA OR POEM RHYMINGABABB
18EIGHTH AIR FORCE If, in an odd angle of the hutment, A puppy laps the water from a canOf flowers, and the drunk sergeant shavingWhistles O Paradiso!--Shall I say that manIs not as men have said: a wolf to man?The other murderers troop in yawning;Three of them play Pitch, one sleeps, and oneLies counting missions, lies there sweatingTill 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 canAnd 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.
19MISC QUINTET LITTLE BOYS ON THE PLAYGROUND PUSHING EACH OTHER SPITTING AT THE GIRLSWISHINGTHEY’D SPIT BACKFIVE LINE STANZAS OF VARIABLE RHYME SCHEMES
20FIRST LESSON Lie back, daughter, let your head Be tipped back in the cup of my hand.Gently, and I will hold you. SpreadYour arms wide, lie out on the streamAnd look high at the gulls. A dead-Man’s float is face down. You will diveand swim soon enough where this tidewaterebbs to the sea. Daughter, believeme, when you tire on the long thrashto your island, lie up, and survive.As you float now, where I held youAnd let go, remember when fearcramps your hear heart what I told you:lie gently and wide to the light-yearstars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.
21RISPETTO 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)A POEM OF 2 RHYMING QUATRAINS RHYMING:ABAB CDDC
22OH NOIf you wander far enoughyou will come to itand when you get therethey will give you a place to sitfor yourself only, in a nice chair,and all your friends will be therewith miles on their facesand they will likewise all have places.
23SESTINAWe started planting the wheat AToday. It’s early in the season, BBut the plow easily slits the ground. CDad watches with pride DAs I drive for the first time, EFollowing in his footsteps. FDew gathers on our legs as we step FOut amongst the sprouting wheat. AIt’ll grow above my knee in time, EIf the conditions are right this season. BI stand over my work; pride DInvested in the dark, cold ground. CDad says there’s not enough in the ground CTo take the crop to the final step, FBut I have too much pride. DMy grandfather and father planted wheat ALong before this season, BLong before my time EBut we all run out of time, EAnd today we laid Grandpa in the ground, CAfter too short a season. BWith whiskey bottle in hand I step FOut in my field of wheat, ANot crying, for foolish pride. DDad’s eyes burn with that pride DWhen the banker comes. “We need more time. EWe need higher prices for the wheat.” AHe comes to take our sacred ground. C“I must take the final steps” FHe says “you have one more season.” BBut it didn’t rain this season. BThe sun’s scorched my crop, my pride, DBurned the imprint of my footsteps FForever in time Ein the ground, Calong side my dying wheat. AThe 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)A FRENCH POEM OF SIX SESTETS AND FINAL THREE LINE ENVOI. THE TERMINAL PATTERN IS:ABCDEF FAEBDC CFDABE ECBFAD DEACFB BDFECAENVOI PATTERN: BE DC FA
24SESTINA September rain falls on the house. in the failing light, the old grandmothersits in the kitchen with the childbeside the Little Marvel Stove,reading the jokes from the almanac,laughing and talking to hide her tears.She thinks that her equinoctial tearsand the rain that beats on the roof of the housewere 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 childis watching the teakettle’s small hard tearsdance like mad on the hot black stove,the way the rain must dance on the house.Tidying up, the old grandmotherhangs up the clever almanacon its string. Birdlike, the almanachovers half open above the child,hovers above the old grandmotherand her teacup full of dark brown tears.She shivers and says she thinks the houseFeels 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 houseand a winding pathway. Then the childputs in a man with buttons like tearsand shows it proudly to the grandmother.But secretly, while the grandmotherbusies herself about the stove,the little moons fall down like tearsfrom between the pages of the almanacinto the flower bed the childhas carefully placed in the front of the house.Time to plant tears, says the almanac.The grandmother sings to the marvelous stoveand the child draws another inscrutable house.