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Analyzing Poetry The TPCASTT Model. T is for Title NEVER overlook a poem’s title. The title may hold all the clue you need to understand a poem. Before.

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Presentation on theme: "Analyzing Poetry The TPCASTT Model. T is for Title NEVER overlook a poem’s title. The title may hold all the clue you need to understand a poem. Before."— Presentation transcript:

1 Analyzing Poetry The TPCASTT Model

2 T is for Title NEVER overlook a poem’s title. The title may hold all the clue you need to understand a poem. Before reading a poem, analyze the title. Make predictions about the poem based on the title.

3 P is for Paraphrase Before you analyze a poem, you need to understand what is actually happening in the poem Put the poem in your own words exactly as it happens in the poem – do NOT try to analyze it at this stage!!

4 C is for Connotation Look at the language in the poem. How does the author use figurative language, and what can you conclude based on it? – Connotative meaning – Metaphor – Allusion – Alliteration – Rhyme Scheme – Many more!

5 A is for Attitude Identify and examine the speaker’s attitude – Look at Diction, images, details, etc… – Just like looking for tone – Not just one word – it will be complex!!

6 S is for Shifts While reading the poem, look for key shifts or changes Clues to finding shifts – Key words – Punctuation – Stanza division – Changes in line or stanza length – Changes in sound – Changes in diction – Changes in attitude

7 T is for Title (again) Look at the title again, but this time look at it with a critical and analytical eye. How has your reading of the title changed? – Remember Aunt Jennifer and her tigers?

8 T is for Theme We know what theme is…. – What is the author telling you? – Is he/she making a claim about human experience of condition? – What subject does the poem discuss? What do you learn about it? Etc…

9 Those Winter Sundays Robert Hayden Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he’d call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house, Speaking indifferently to him, Who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love’s austere and lonely offices?

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