Poetry Packet 2014 Name: _ Date: _ Period:

Transcription

1 Poetry Packet 2014 Name: Date: Period:

2 POETRY TERMS TO KNOW Rhyme Scheme Onomatopoeia Connotation / Denotation Caesura Enjambment Epic Ballad Tone Couplet Heroic Couplet Lyric Elegy Slant Rhyme vs. True Rhyme Narrative Poetry Free Verse Blank Verse Sonnet

3 TONE MAP abashed abrasive abusive acquiescent accepting acerbic admiring adoring affectionate aghast allusive amused angry anxious apologetic apprehensive approving arch ardent argumentative audacious awe struck bantering begrudging bemused benevolent biting bitter blithe boastful bored brisk bristling brusque cavalier childish child like clipped cold complimentary condescending confident confused coy contemptuous conversational critical curt cutting cynical defamatory denunciatory despairing detached devil may care didactic disbelieving discouraged disdainful disparaging disrespectful distracted doubtful dramatic dreamy dry ecstatic entranced fanciful fearful flippant fond forceful frightened frivolous ghoulish giddy gleeful glum grim guarded guilty happy harsh haughty heavy hearted hollow horrified humorous hypercritical indifferent indignant indulgent ironic irreverent joking joyful languorous languid laudatory light hearted lingering mistrustful mocking mysterious naïve neutral nostalgic objective peaceful pessimistic pitiful playful poignant pragmatic proud provocative questioning rallying reflective reminiscing reproachful resigned respectful restrained reticent reverent rueful sad sarcastic sardonic satirical satisfied seductive self critical self dramatizing self satisfied sentimental serious severe sharp shocked silly sly smug solemn somber stern straightforward stentorian strident stunned subdued swaggering sweet sympathetic taunting tense thoughtful threatening tired touchy trenchant uncertain understated upset urgent vexed vibrant wary

4 calm enthusiastic loving self justifying whimsical candid eulogistic marveling self mocking withering caressing exhilarated melancholy self pitying wry Those Winter Sundays by 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? My Papa s Waltz by Theodore Roethke The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy; But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy. We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother s countenance Could not unfrown itself The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle; At every step you missed My right ear scraped a buckle. You beat time on my head With a palm caked hard by dirt,

5 Then waltzed me off to bed Still clinging to your shirt. Mid-Term Break by Seamus Heaney I sat all morning in the college sick bay Counting bells knelling classes to a close. At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home. In the porch I met my father crying-- He had always taken funerals in his stride-- And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow. The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram When I came in, and I was embarrassed By old men standing up to shake my hand And tell me they were "sorry for my trouble," Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest, Away at school, as my mother held my hand In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs. At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses. Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him For the first time in six weeks. Paler now, Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple, He lay in the four foot box as in his cot. No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear. A four foot box, a foot for every year. Does this poem tell a story? Explain what happened.

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7 To an Athlete Dying Young by A. E. Housman The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the market-place; Man and boy stood cheering by, And home we brought you shoulder-high. Today, the road all runners come, Shoulder-high we bring you home, And set you at your threshold down, Townsman of a stiller town. Smart lad, to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay, And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose. Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut, And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears. Now you will not swell the rout Of lads that wore their honours out, Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. So set, before its echoes fade, The fleet foot on the sill of shade, And hold to the low lintel up The still-defended challenge-cup. And round that early-laurelled head Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead, And find unwithered on its curls The garland briefer than a girl s. After you have annotated the poem, please label the rhyme scheme. What is the tone of the poem? Use your tone map and come up with a few emotions.

8 Swimming Lesson by Mary Oliver Feeling the icy kick, the endless waves Reaching around my life, I moved my arms And coughed, and in the end saw land. Somebody, I suppose, Remembering the medieval maxim, Had tossed me in, Had wanted me to learn to swim, Not knowing that none of us, who ever came back From that long lonely fall and frenzied rising, Ever learned anything at all About swimming, but only How to put off, one by one, Dreams and pity, love and grace, -- How to survive in any place. Traveling Through the Dark by William Stafford Traveling through the dark I found a deer dead on the edge of the Wilson River road. It is usually best to roll them into the canyon: that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead. By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing; she had stiffened already, almost cold. I dragged her off; she was large in the belly. My fingers touching her side brought me the reason her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting, alive, still, never to be born. Beside that mountain road I hesitated. The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights; under the hood purred the steady engine. I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red; around our group I could hear the wilderness listen. I thought hard for us all my only swerving, then pushed her over the edge into the river.

9 FAMOUS BY NAOMI SHIHAB NYE The river is famous to the fish. The loud voice is famous to silence, which knew it would inherit the earth before anybody said so. The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds watching him from the birdhouse. The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek. The idea you carry close to your bosom is famous to your bosom. The boot is famous to the earth, more famous than the dress shoe, which is famous only to floors. The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it and not at all famous to the one who is pictured. I want to be famous to shuffling men who smile while crossing streets, sticky children in grocery lines, famous as the one who smiled back. I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous, or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular, but because it never forgot what it could do.

10 IT COULDN T BE DONE BY EDGAR ALBERT GUEST Somebody said that it couldn t be done But he with a chuckle replied That maybe it couldn t, but he would be one Who wouldn t say so till he d tried. So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin On his face. If he worried he hid it. He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couldn t be done, and he did it! Somebody scoffed: Oh, you ll never do that; At least no one ever has done it; But he took off his coat and he took off his hat And the first thing we knew he d begun it. With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin, Without any doubting or quiddit, He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couldn t be done, and he did it. There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done, There are thousands to prophesy failure, There are thousands to point out to you one by one, The dangers that wait to assail you. But just buckle in with a bit of a grin, Just take off your coat and go to it; Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing That cannot be done, and you ll do it.