Anna Cantwell
Mrs. Jernigan
AP English Lit
29 March 2011
Sestina Response
I found Florence Cassen Mayers’ “All-American Sestina” an intriguing contemporary poem. With form and structure as particular as the sestina, one cannot help but pick apart, piece by piece, a poem like this one. Her sestina is sequential, compiling like a snowball hurtling down an icy slope. References to things like baseball (America’s so-called pastime), “two-car garages” (symbolizing America’s rampant materialism), Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg address (epitomizing America’s pride), Bud light (the beer of America), and countless other popular cultural, historical, and patriotic references. Even in the scant amount of words that Mayers’ utilizes, I can taste the slightest hints of bitterness and cynicism.
I can’t help but wonder how the author provides such a holistic picture of an entire nation in such a small amount of words. This fragmented view is like a meal of tapas—little tastes of the highs and lows of many cuisines. This mirrors the nature of America, a motley melting pot of races, religions, cultures, ethnicities, lifestyles, and worldviews. The freedom in her speech, perhaps, celebrates the freedoms we have been given to virtually speak and act as we choose.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Poetry Response- villanelle
Anna Cantwell
Mrs. Jernigan
AP English Lit
22 March 2011
“Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night”
Dylan Thomas’ villanelle entitled “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” boasts the sharp dichotomy between peace and violence. The rhyme scheme and repetition of the 5 tercets and single quatrain provide fluency that lulls the reader into a tranquil state. The content, however, strays far from serene.
The second line of the poem reads, “Old age should burn and rage at close of day,” painting a perplexing picture of, perhaps, an elderly man with belly-button high trousers and starched short-sleeved collared shirt and enormous bifocals poised to pounce upon death himself. The first stanza introduces the two phrases that will be repeated throughout the poem, which include the following: “Do not go gentle into that good night” and “rage, rage against the dying of the light”. Thomas’ diction savors strongly of physical ferocity; he uses words like “rage,” “curse,” “fierce,” and “blaze”.
The second stanza speaks to those men who have gained wisdom in their time on earth. They know when their time comes, yet still the instincts of survival triumph over intellect. The next stanza tells of good men, who realize how insignificant their deeds were, and they, too, rage against their fading lives. Even the grave men’s eyes “blaze like meteors” in the face of death.
Thomas speaks to his true meaning in the final stanza—his own father battles death and Thomas doesn’t wish to let go. He cries a final refrain, writing, “Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” The punctuation here symbolizes Thomas’ adamant nature; his words switch from caveat to command.
Mrs. Jernigan
AP English Lit
22 March 2011
“Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night”
Dylan Thomas’ villanelle entitled “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” boasts the sharp dichotomy between peace and violence. The rhyme scheme and repetition of the 5 tercets and single quatrain provide fluency that lulls the reader into a tranquil state. The content, however, strays far from serene.
The second line of the poem reads, “Old age should burn and rage at close of day,” painting a perplexing picture of, perhaps, an elderly man with belly-button high trousers and starched short-sleeved collared shirt and enormous bifocals poised to pounce upon death himself. The first stanza introduces the two phrases that will be repeated throughout the poem, which include the following: “Do not go gentle into that good night” and “rage, rage against the dying of the light”. Thomas’ diction savors strongly of physical ferocity; he uses words like “rage,” “curse,” “fierce,” and “blaze”.
The second stanza speaks to those men who have gained wisdom in their time on earth. They know when their time comes, yet still the instincts of survival triumph over intellect. The next stanza tells of good men, who realize how insignificant their deeds were, and they, too, rage against their fading lives. Even the grave men’s eyes “blaze like meteors” in the face of death.
Thomas speaks to his true meaning in the final stanza—his own father battles death and Thomas doesn’t wish to let go. He cries a final refrain, writing, “Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” The punctuation here symbolizes Thomas’ adamant nature; his words switch from caveat to command.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Poetry Response- ODE
Anna Cantwell
Mrs. Jernigan
AP English Lit
8 March 2011
Ode to a Nightingale
John Keats' poem “Ode to a Nightingale” epitomizes the style of a brooding, lyrical ode. It barely mentions, much less dwells on a sing-song bird—instead he harps on a much more complex topic. The narrator begins describing his heavy heart, laden with the burden and drudgery of life on Earth. Like any addict, he has numbed himself to the outside world; his senses are as though they have been dulled by drugs (opiates) and poison (hemlocks). Yet still, in his benumbed state, his ear recognizes a sweet harmony from the trees that sings in an utterly carefree passion. Keats salutes this bird and envies its talent of loosing the yoke of day to day anxiety.
The drama only heightens in the second stanza, as he cries, “That I might drink, and leave the world unseen”. This statement coupled with a disturbingly intricate description of alcohol suggest that maybe this person's trouble doesn't lie in worry, but in alcoholism. His desire, however, isn't a bit of bubbly or a dark draught. He only wishes to “fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget”. Here the reader can see that this poem represents much more than the exhortation of a bird. Keats challenges the reader with an intriguing thought—are we all an addict to something?
The third stanza speaks similarly to “Nothing Gold Can Stay”; beauty cannot stay beautiful forever, and new love will lose its luster. He employs mythological allusion to expand his theories further. Bacchus, the Roman god of wine, and his counterparts (presumably drinks) cannot take the narrator to a place anew with drunkenness, for all that will accomplish is numbing the pain. Later he glorifies death, especially as he returns, emotionally, to a place of deep depression. He calls the nightingale “immortal,” and in that it appears that he has found the truth—earnest joy will set you free. Circumstances may change and trials will surely come, but one cannot dwell on the worst, but must affix his eyes on the best.
Mrs. Jernigan
AP English Lit
8 March 2011
Ode to a Nightingale
John Keats' poem “Ode to a Nightingale” epitomizes the style of a brooding, lyrical ode. It barely mentions, much less dwells on a sing-song bird—instead he harps on a much more complex topic. The narrator begins describing his heavy heart, laden with the burden and drudgery of life on Earth. Like any addict, he has numbed himself to the outside world; his senses are as though they have been dulled by drugs (opiates) and poison (hemlocks). Yet still, in his benumbed state, his ear recognizes a sweet harmony from the trees that sings in an utterly carefree passion. Keats salutes this bird and envies its talent of loosing the yoke of day to day anxiety.
The drama only heightens in the second stanza, as he cries, “That I might drink, and leave the world unseen”. This statement coupled with a disturbingly intricate description of alcohol suggest that maybe this person's trouble doesn't lie in worry, but in alcoholism. His desire, however, isn't a bit of bubbly or a dark draught. He only wishes to “fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget”. Here the reader can see that this poem represents much more than the exhortation of a bird. Keats challenges the reader with an intriguing thought—are we all an addict to something?
The third stanza speaks similarly to “Nothing Gold Can Stay”; beauty cannot stay beautiful forever, and new love will lose its luster. He employs mythological allusion to expand his theories further. Bacchus, the Roman god of wine, and his counterparts (presumably drinks) cannot take the narrator to a place anew with drunkenness, for all that will accomplish is numbing the pain. Later he glorifies death, especially as he returns, emotionally, to a place of deep depression. He calls the nightingale “immortal,” and in that it appears that he has found the truth—earnest joy will set you free. Circumstances may change and trials will surely come, but one cannot dwell on the worst, but must affix his eyes on the best.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind
Anna Cantwell
Mrs. Jernigan
AP English Lit
1 March 2011
“Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind”
Shakespeare addresses several aspects of the dreary English winter with a ironically cheery sonnet, departing from his signature sonnet form. First, he speaks to the wind, urging it on in its lofty pursuit of chilling lowly beings. Through his personification of the wind and metaphor, Shakespeare unravels the elements of wind itself, including its “tooth,” rude “breath”, and winter gust. The first stanza is a battle between physical and emotional—Shakespeare recognizes the winds bitter breath, but cedes to the deeper sting of ingratitude and man's stinginess. The rhyme scheme (a-a-b-c-c-b) materializes this warring notion. His final verdict rests; because we cannot see wind, it cannot hurt us as badly as, perhaps, a vengeful act or biting word, may. Yet, this begs the question, are those entities seen either?
The next quatrain is one of transition. It barely contains any words at all. The four lines epitomize Shakespeare's classic character of the wise fool—perhaps someone skipping along, humming a diddy, but all the while screaming a double entendre: “Most friendship if feigning, most loving mere folly.” This piece of sage advice thrust amongst jolly “heigh-ho”s provides the volta (or turn) of the sonnet.
Shakespeare ends with a a sextet with rhyme scheme identical to the first (a-a-b-c-c-b) and refrain of the middle quatrain. He, again, addresses the “bitter sky”, compelling it to continue with its freezing, because despite the lowest degree of temperature, no snowflake nor icicle could wound one worse than “benefits forgot” or a “friend remembered not.”
Mrs. Jernigan
AP English Lit
1 March 2011
“Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind”
Shakespeare addresses several aspects of the dreary English winter with a ironically cheery sonnet, departing from his signature sonnet form. First, he speaks to the wind, urging it on in its lofty pursuit of chilling lowly beings. Through his personification of the wind and metaphor, Shakespeare unravels the elements of wind itself, including its “tooth,” rude “breath”, and winter gust. The first stanza is a battle between physical and emotional—Shakespeare recognizes the winds bitter breath, but cedes to the deeper sting of ingratitude and man's stinginess. The rhyme scheme (a-a-b-c-c-b) materializes this warring notion. His final verdict rests; because we cannot see wind, it cannot hurt us as badly as, perhaps, a vengeful act or biting word, may. Yet, this begs the question, are those entities seen either?
The next quatrain is one of transition. It barely contains any words at all. The four lines epitomize Shakespeare's classic character of the wise fool—perhaps someone skipping along, humming a diddy, but all the while screaming a double entendre: “Most friendship if feigning, most loving mere folly.” This piece of sage advice thrust amongst jolly “heigh-ho”s provides the volta (or turn) of the sonnet.
Shakespeare ends with a a sextet with rhyme scheme identical to the first (a-a-b-c-c-b) and refrain of the middle quatrain. He, again, addresses the “bitter sky”, compelling it to continue with its freezing, because despite the lowest degree of temperature, no snowflake nor icicle could wound one worse than “benefits forgot” or a “friend remembered not.”
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Death Be Not Proud
Anna Cantwell
Mrs. Jernigan
AP English Lit
23 February 2011
Death Be Not Proud
“Death Be Not Proud” is the title of John Donne’s infamous denouncement of death itself. Written in the Petrarchan sonnet style, it flows seamlessly—almost so seamlessly that one might not recognize the irony and paradox prevalent in the sonnet. Donne allows in his initial claim that some do dub death a mighty entity to be feared; however, he states this isn’t so. Those who fear death fall claim to it, for death represents much more than a coffin in the ground, but the ending of a life on earth. Perhaps this is why Donne even denounces death in the first place. Death cannot but kill a body and never a soul. In fact, the paradox rests that death is a form of birth, birth into a new life.
The rhyme scheme (a b b a a b b a) goes back in forth to mirror this wavering line of death and life in the body, and death and life in the soul. He taunts death with the question of his own existent—can anyone really die? Those he “[overthrows] die not”. Therefore, death must truly hang his head low, for he cannot fully accomplish the purpose of his very existence.
Further, Donne argues that even in death, we experience pleasure (hopefully); death releases us from the terrors and tribulations, burdens and boundaries of earth. Our bones may now rest and our soul is delivered to its final resting place.
The volta comes when Donne addresses Fate and Chance. While we may see ourselves as being slave to Death, Fate and Chance enslave him. At this point Donne no longer begs for a lack of pride, but boasts in the worthlessness and foolishness of Death.
My favorite line is “One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally”. Our souls sleep for our earthly life because this isn’t their final destination. Ironically enough, we are more alive, awake, aware after we are dead—so should we not thank Death? Death aims to bind us, but frees us; death attempts to frighten us, yet we should welcome it. Death takes us home
Mrs. Jernigan
AP English Lit
23 February 2011
Death Be Not Proud
“Death Be Not Proud” is the title of John Donne’s infamous denouncement of death itself. Written in the Petrarchan sonnet style, it flows seamlessly—almost so seamlessly that one might not recognize the irony and paradox prevalent in the sonnet. Donne allows in his initial claim that some do dub death a mighty entity to be feared; however, he states this isn’t so. Those who fear death fall claim to it, for death represents much more than a coffin in the ground, but the ending of a life on earth. Perhaps this is why Donne even denounces death in the first place. Death cannot but kill a body and never a soul. In fact, the paradox rests that death is a form of birth, birth into a new life.
The rhyme scheme (a b b a a b b a) goes back in forth to mirror this wavering line of death and life in the body, and death and life in the soul. He taunts death with the question of his own existent—can anyone really die? Those he “[overthrows] die not”. Therefore, death must truly hang his head low, for he cannot fully accomplish the purpose of his very existence.
Further, Donne argues that even in death, we experience pleasure (hopefully); death releases us from the terrors and tribulations, burdens and boundaries of earth. Our bones may now rest and our soul is delivered to its final resting place.
The volta comes when Donne addresses Fate and Chance. While we may see ourselves as being slave to Death, Fate and Chance enslave him. At this point Donne no longer begs for a lack of pride, but boasts in the worthlessness and foolishness of Death.
My favorite line is “One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally”. Our souls sleep for our earthly life because this isn’t their final destination. Ironically enough, we are more alive, awake, aware after we are dead—so should we not thank Death? Death aims to bind us, but frees us; death attempts to frighten us, yet we should welcome it. Death takes us home
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Poetry Response- "My Last Duchess"
Anna Cantwell
Mrs. Jernigan
AP English Lit
8 February 2011
My Last Duchess
Through a little research, I discovered that Robert Browning’s intended speaker in his poem “My Last Duchess” is the Duke of Ferrara. This Duke addresses a duchess, presumably pictured in a portrait on the wall. While he initially looked upon her with countenance, now he gazes on her in wonder. He seems to appreciate this work of a so-called Fra Pandolf , a fictional painter. The 28 couplets of rhymed iambic pentameter provide a regular fluency that almost lulls the reader into a sense of trust for the entirety of the poem. Browning establishes ethos for the Duke by citing references to the Duchess from her portrait painter Fra Pandolf.
About a third of the way through the poem, the Duke switches gears—he begins analyzing Fra Pandolf. He dubs her “too easily impressed,” even though it sounds like it might be a little too difficult for the Duke to be impressed. Browning employs rhetorical questions and parenthetical asides to assert the Duke’s pompous pride. Additionally, Browning heightened diction creates an air of elevated rank. The Duke declares, “I choose to never stoop”; this is the point where the Duke loses any shred of the reader’s pity.
At this point Browning once again alters the focus and reverses back to the Duchess on the wall. The Duke beckons her from the paint and addresses her so firmly, calling her “[his] object”. He finishes the poem with a reference to Neptune, the Roman god of the sea, who tames a sea-horse, and the Duke reckons that he can tame this Duchess too, just as Fra Pandolf captured her in paint and Claus of Innsbruck cast in a sculpture. At the heart of it, this poem speaks to the unbridled human spirit in a time when all had to be kept under wraps, tightly wound, and stuffed away.
Mrs. Jernigan
AP English Lit
8 February 2011
My Last Duchess
Through a little research, I discovered that Robert Browning’s intended speaker in his poem “My Last Duchess” is the Duke of Ferrara. This Duke addresses a duchess, presumably pictured in a portrait on the wall. While he initially looked upon her with countenance, now he gazes on her in wonder. He seems to appreciate this work of a so-called Fra Pandolf , a fictional painter. The 28 couplets of rhymed iambic pentameter provide a regular fluency that almost lulls the reader into a sense of trust for the entirety of the poem. Browning establishes ethos for the Duke by citing references to the Duchess from her portrait painter Fra Pandolf.
About a third of the way through the poem, the Duke switches gears—he begins analyzing Fra Pandolf. He dubs her “too easily impressed,” even though it sounds like it might be a little too difficult for the Duke to be impressed. Browning employs rhetorical questions and parenthetical asides to assert the Duke’s pompous pride. Additionally, Browning heightened diction creates an air of elevated rank. The Duke declares, “I choose to never stoop”; this is the point where the Duke loses any shred of the reader’s pity.
At this point Browning once again alters the focus and reverses back to the Duchess on the wall. The Duke beckons her from the paint and addresses her so firmly, calling her “[his] object”. He finishes the poem with a reference to Neptune, the Roman god of the sea, who tames a sea-horse, and the Duke reckons that he can tame this Duchess too, just as Fra Pandolf captured her in paint and Claus of Innsbruck cast in a sculpture. At the heart of it, this poem speaks to the unbridled human spirit in a time when all had to be kept under wraps, tightly wound, and stuffed away.
Friday, February 4, 2011
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