Unit 6: 19 th century Poetry. How does 19th century poetry reflect the complexity and evolution of the American spirit?

Transcription

1 Unit 6: 19 th century Poetry How does 19th century poetry reflect the complexity and evolution of the American spirit? 1

2 Key Concepts Poets use a variety of poetic devices, unique syntax, and purposeful diction to develop and express meaning on multiple levels. Tone, theme, and meaning can be identified through analysis of multiple poems. Imitation of the language techniques of professional authors can aid in establishing a personal style and demonstrating a command of language with conviction of expression. Effective use of a variety of media in oral presentations creates a more engaging experience for both the speaker and the audience. Written expression is strengthened through the use of parallel structure and correctly placed modifiers. 2

3 UNIT PERFORMANCE ASSESSMENT Students will create a copy change poem using a poem of their choice from one of the poets discussed in this unit; additionally, they will prepare and present a multi-genre interpretive response using technology to present their poem. 3

4 19 th century American Poetry The first truly indigenous English-language poetry in the United States was the work of two poets, Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson. Whitman's long lines, and his democratic inclusiveness stand in stark contrast with Dickinson's concentrated phrases and short lines and stanzas. What links them is their common connection to Emerson, and the daring originality of their visions. These two poets can be said to represent the birth of two major American poetic styles the free meter and direct emotional expression of Whitman, and the obscurity and irony of Dickinson both of which would profoundly stamp the American poetry of the 20th century. The development of these styles, as well as more conservative reactions against them, can be traced through the works of poets such as Edwin Arlington Robinson and Paul Lawrence Dunbar. 4

5 Key Concept #1 Vocabulary Connotation: commonly understood cultural or emotional association a word or phrase carries, in addition to the word s or phrase s explicit or literal meaning. Denotation: a word or phrase s explicit or literal meaning 5

6 Vocab cont d Diction: the art of speaking clearly so that each word is clearly heard and understood Syntax: the rules or patterns of sentence structure; the grammatical arrangement of words in sentences. 6

7 Vocab cont d Free verse: an open form of poetry that does not use consistent meter patterns, rhyme, or any other musical pattern, but tends to follow the rhythm of natural speech. Lyric poetry: typically expresses personal or emotional feelings, often has rhyming schemes, and usually set to music or a beat. 7

8 Vocab cont d Introspection: the act of looking inside or within. Paradox: an argument that produces an inconsistency, typically within logic or common sense, a contradiction. Point of view: the perspective of the narrative voice 8

9 Vocab cont d Tone: the attitudes toward the subject and toward the audience implied in a literary work. Tone may be formal, informal, intimate, solemn, somber, playful, serious, ironic, to condescending, or many other possible attitudes. Each piece of literature has at least one theme, or central question about a topic, and how the theme is approached within the work is known as the tone. 9

10 Key Concept #2 Vocabulary Allusion: an implied or indirect reference Alliteration: the repetition of usually initial consonant sounds in two or more neighboring words or syllables (ex. wild and woolly, threatening throngs) Assonance: repetition of vowels without repetition of consonants (ex. stony and holy) used as an alternative to rhyme in verse 10

11 Vocab cont d Cadence: the beat, time, or measure of rhythmical motion or activity Consonance: recurrence or repetition of consonants especially at the end of stressed syllables without the similar correspondence of vowels (as in the final sounds of stroke and luck ) Euphony: sweet sounding, musical language. Figurative language: words and phrases that exaggerate or alter the usual meanings of the component words 11

12 Vocab cont d Meter: rhythm characterized by regular recurrence of a systematic arrangement of basic patterns in larger figures Onomatopoeia: the naming of a thing or action by a vocal imitation of the sound associated with it (as buzz, hiss) Repetition: the act or an instance of repeating or being repeated 12

13 Walt Whitman Age 37 May 31, 1819 March 26, 1892 American poet, essayist and journalist. A humanist, he was a part of the transition between transcendentalism and realism, incorporating both views in his works. Whitman is among the most influential poets in the American canon, often called the father of free verse. Born on Long Island, Whitman worked as a journalist, a teacher, a government clerk, a poet, and was a volunteer nurse during the American Civil War. Whitman was concerned with politics throughout his life. His poetry presented an egalitarian view of the races, and at one point he called for the abolition of slavery, but later he saw the abolitionist movement as a threat to democracy. Realism, free meter, and direct emotional expression. Age 68 13

14 Walt Whitman I Hear America Singing Village Carpenter, 1899, Edward Henry Pothast. I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deck- hand singing on the steamboat deck, The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The woodcutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else, The day what belongs to the day at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs. 14

15 Walt Whitman Beat! Beat! Drums! Beat! beat! drums! blow! bugles! blow! Through the windows through doors burst like a ruthless force, Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation, Into the school where the scholar is studying, Leave not the bridegroom quiet no happiness must he have now with his bride, Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering his grain, So fierce you whirr and pound you drums so shrill you bugles blow. Beat! beat! drums! blow! bugles! blow! Over the traffic of cities over the rumble of wheels in the streets; Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? no sleepers must sleep in those beds, No bargainers bargains by day no brokers or speculators would they continue? Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing? Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge? Then rattle quicker, heavier drums you bugles wilder blow. Wounded Drummer Boy, 1871, Eastman Johnson. Beat! beat! drums! blow! bugles! blow! Make no parley stop for no expostulation, Mind not the timid mind not the weeper or prayer, Mind not the old man beseeching the young man, Let not the child s voice be heard, nor the mother s entreaties, Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the hearses, So strong you thump O terrible drums so loud you bugles blow. 15

16 1 I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death. Walt Whitman Song of Myself Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten, I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy. 16

17 6 A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands, How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose? What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. Haymaking, Winslow Homer. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. 17

18 I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise, Regardless of others, ever regardful of others, Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man, Stuff'd with the stuff that is coarse and stuff'd with the stuff that is fine, One of the Nation of many nations, the smallest the same and the largest the same, A Southerner soon as a Northerner, a planter nonchalant and hospitable down by the Oconee I live, A Yankee bound my own way ready for trade, my joints the limberest joints on earth and the sternest joints on earth, A Kentuckian walking the vale of the Elkhorn in my deer-skin leggings, a Louisianian or Georgian, A boatman over lakes or bays or along coasts, a Hoosier, Badger, Buck-eye; At home on Kanadian snow-shoes or up in the bush, or with fishermen off Newfoundland, At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and tacking, At home on the hills of Vermont or in the woods of Maine, or the Texan ranch, Comrade of Californians, comrade of free North-Westerners, (loving their big proportions,) Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen, comrade of all who shake hands and welcome to drink and meat, A learner with the simplest, a teacher of the thoughtfullest, A novice beginning yet experient of myriads of seasons, 16 Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and religion, A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker, Prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest. I resist any thing better than my own diversity, Breathe the air but leave plenty after me, And am not stuck up, and am in my place. (The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place, The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place, The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.) 18

19 These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, 17 If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing, If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing, If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing. This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is, This the common air that bathes the globe. 19

20 I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured and never will be measured. I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!) My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods, No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair, I have no chair, no church, no philosophy, I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange, But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll, My left hand hooking you round the waist, My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public road. Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself. It is not far, it is within reach, Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know, Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land. Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth, Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go. If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip, And in due time you shall repay the same service to me, For after we start we never lie by again. 46 This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded heaven, And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we be fill'd and satisfied then? And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond. You are also asking me questions and I hear you, I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself. Sit a while dear son, Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink, But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I kiss you with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your egress hence. Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams, Now I wash the gum from your eyes, You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life. Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore, Now I will you to be a bold swimmer, To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, and laughingly dash with your hair. 20

21 The past and present wilt I have fill'd them, emptied them, And proceed to fill my next fold of the future. Listener up there! what have you to confide to me? Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening, (Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.) Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.) I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab. Who has done his day's work? who will soonest be through with his supper? Who wishes to walk with me? Will you speak before I am gone? will you prove already too late? 51 21

22 The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. 52 I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk. I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. The Sand Team, George Bellows. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you. 22

23 Emily Dickinson December 10, 1830 May 15, 1886 American poet. Born in Amherst, Massachusetts, to a successful family with strong community ties, she lived a mostly introverted and reclusive life. Thought of as an eccentric by the locals, she became known for her penchant for white clothing and her reluctance to greet guests or, later in life, even leave her room. Most of her friendships were therefore carried out by correspondence. While Dickinson was a prolific private poet, fewer than a dozen of her nearly eighteen hundred poems were published during her lifetime. Dickinson's poems are unique for the era in which she wrote; they contain short lines, typically lack titles, and often use slant rhyme as well as unconventional capitalization and punctuation. Many of her poems deal with themes of death and immortality, two recurring topics in letters to her friends. obscurity and irony 23

24 Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too, For his civility. Emily Dickinson Because I could not stop for Death We passed the school, where children strove At recess, in the ring; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. Or rather, he passed us; The dews grew quivering and chill, For only gossamer my gown, My tippet only tulle. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity. 24

25 Success is counted sweetest Success is counted sweetest By those who ne'er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple Host Who took the Flag today Can tell the definition So clear of Victory As he defeated--dying-- On whose forbidden ear The distant strains of triumph Burst agonized and clear! 25

26 I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm. I heard a Fly buzz when I died The eyes beside had wrung them dry, And breaths were gathering sure For that last onset, when the king Be witnessed in his power. I willed my keepsakes, signed away What portion of me I Could make assignable,-and then There interposed a fly, With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz, Between the light and me; And then the windows failed, and then I could not see to see. 26

27 Paul Laurence Dunbar June 27, 1872 February 9, 1906 African-American poet, novelist, and playwright of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Much of his popular work in his lifetime used a Negro dialect, which helped him become one of the first nationallyaccepted African-American writers. Much of his writing, however, does not use dialect. Dunbar's work is known for its colorful language and a conversational tone, with a brilliant rhetorical structure. 27

28 We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes, - This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties. Paul Laurence Dunbar We Wear the Mask Why should the world be overwise, In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, let them only see us, while We wear the mask. We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but oh the clay is vile Beneath our feet, and long the mile; But let the world dream otherwise, We wear the mask! 28

29 Edwin Arlington Robinson Age Age 18 December 22, 1869 April 6, 1935 American poet - won three Pulitzer Prizes. Robinson's early difficulties in life led many of his poems to have a dark pessimism and his stories to deal with "an American dream gone awry". Robinson's poem "Richard Cory" was thought to refer to his brother. Robinson said he felt, doomed, or elected, or sentenced for life, to the writing of poetry. His tone is a blend of irony and compassion toward his characters, many of whose lives end in failure and despair. 29

30 Whenever Richard Cory went down town, We people on the pavement looked at him: He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean favored, and imperially, slim. And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked; But still he fluttered pulses when he said, Good-morning, and he glittered when he walked. Edwin Arlington Robinson Richard Cory And he was rich- yes, richer than a king- And admirably schooled in grace: In fine, we thought that he was everything To make us wish that we were in his place. So on we worked, and waited for the light, And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, Went home and put a bullet through his head. 30