Quiz yourself here
MEMORIZATION: Stanza 2 due on Tuesday.
POETRY
- EQ: Can you analyze a sonnet using its structure?
- Define a sonnet.
- What is the difference between Italian and British?
- Who perfected the Italian? the British?
- What is the organizational shift in the middle called?
- Go over Journals 11 & 12
Journal 13
Directions: Work with your group to work the journal questions with your assigned poem. Be ready to present your sonnet analysis to the class tomorrow.
1) Is this sonnet an Italian or British style sonnet?
2) What poetic devices are present (name at least five) and most importantly, how does each one affect the rhythm, mood or meaning of the poem?
3) Where is the turn and what is the conceptual relationship shown by the structure?
Remember
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
Music Box
Music of Japan. Parsimoniously
from the water clock the drops unfold
in lazy honey or ethereal gold
that over time reiterates a weave
eternal, fragile, enigmatic, bright.
I fear that every one will be the last.
They are a yesterday come from the past.
But from what shrine, from what mountain’s slight
garden, what vigils by an unknown sea,
and from what modest melancholy, from
what lost and rediscovered afternoon
do they arrive at their far future: me?
Who knows? No matter. When I hear it play
I am. I want to be. I bleed away.
Never Again Would Birds' Song be the Same
He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the day long voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
Her tone of meaning but without the words.
Admittedly an eloquence so soft
Could only have had an influence on birds
When call or laughter carried it aloft.
Be that as may be, she was in their song.
Moreover her voice upon their voices crossed
Had now persisted in the woods so long
That probably it never would be lost.
Never again would birds' song be the same.
And to do that to birds was why she came.
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the day long voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
Her tone of meaning but without the words.
Admittedly an eloquence so soft
Could only have had an influence on birds
When call or laughter carried it aloft.
Be that as may be, she was in their song.
Moreover her voice upon their voices crossed
Had now persisted in the woods so long
That probably it never would be lost.
Never again would birds' song be the same.
And to do that to birds was why she came.
Sonnet 130: My Mistress' Eyes are Nothing Like the Sun
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
To the Poet Before Battle
Now, youth, the hour of thy dread passion comes;
Thy lovely things must all be laid away;
And thou, as others, must face the riven day
Unstirred by rattle of the rolling drums,
Or bugles' strident cry. When mere noise numbs
The sense of being, the sick soul doth sway,
Remember thy great craft's honour, that they may say
Nothing in shame of poets. Then the crumbs
Of praise the little versemen joyed to take
Shall be forgotten; then they must know we are,
For all our skill in words, equal in might
And strong of mettle as those we honoured; make
The name of poet terrible in just war,
And like a crown of honour upon the fight.
Sonnet Sickness
BY MR. RENO (Our beloved English teacher from years past)
When I consider sonnets I turn green.
I gag. I heave. Dry heaves, they will not stop
Until I write a quatrain...wait! I mean
An octave! (What I've written is mere slop.)
I cannot do this... meter? When will't end?!!!
As soon as the meter's dial'd I kill the rhyme.
This casualty results when I don't tend
All sheep at once. I'm running out of time...
Shakespeare'ean hydra! Come at me full force!
My loins I'll gird and stand my ground a man
Who will not shirk from war, nor from the course
will I depart. (my mind has hatched a plan!)
Submission to this yoke (the sonnet's weight)
Now means I've earned the right to graduate.
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