Tone Writing by Luke
One day, this woman dressed in fancy, expensive clothes, carrying a pink (faux) leather purse, and flaunting a bright (faux) blonde hairdo, came up with her two daughters to the pretzel store. I’d seen her before, and I knew what my coworkers and I were getting into. She was one spot behind the gentleman I was helping, so, naturally, since it was busy, Kaitlan asks, pleasant as ever, “what can I get started for you today?”
This kindness must have set off something within the woman, because she answered curtly “Well I don’t know what he’s getting so I can’t order yet.” She pointed menacingly at the man in front of her, as if his being before her in line was just the world attempting to piss her off.
Things simply went downhill from there.
She had to wait for fresh pretzels, which, by the way, is a huge pain. Happens to her every time. She has to wait so much.
She ordered three pretzels, so she got one for free. Also a huge pain, since she had to wait for THAT one, too. I can feel her pain. There is nothing I hate more than free pretzels.
Then, she was forced to buy 2 large Icees because we were out of small cups. We practically got into her purse and stole that extra 86 cents. We’re that evil.
Last, but certainly not least, she had to pay for those detestable morsels. The look on her face was pure loathing as she handed over her platinum card.
Then she went to the jewelry store next door.
Wistful Regret
I remember taking a final, knowing look at the once bright landscape. The warm days, the raucous laughter, the simple beauty in her face. Gone. Replaced with the deep and intricate lines of regret, the harsh, barely audible whisper of hate, the cold stare of disgust.
The paint, once vibrant, was gray that day; the yard, once ringing with my daughter’s sweet singing, was empty but for dust and echoes. A single, somber tear fell to the foundation of what was once a home. I no longer fit. I was missing.
Pie by Luke
I feel like I’ve been missing out on pie all my life.
Because of pi. Because of school, really. It takes up so much time.
But that’s what makes this week so
great.
Thanks.
Darkness
And in this world,
We find Gratitude.
Gratitude for existence—
Gratitude for success—
For love, for happiness,
For this absurd idea of purpose.
Fumbling in the
Dark,
We are trapped
By existence—
Gifted these illusions by some
“Higher” power.
Told to effect change—
Told to matter.
But we can’t;
We don’t.
We each cast a stone into a torrential, rippling pool.
We each struggle to surface—to breathe.
We each push and pull and flounder and fall
Into the darkness below.
And we are thankful
For a glimpse
Of the surface.
Gratitude
Is the blind folly
of man.
Just Sleepwalking - Luke
This is an analysis of “For the Sleepwalkers” by Edward Hirsch.
In class, I said that this poem was dark; not so much in the theme, but, literally, it’s about darkness. This literal darkness is in contrast to Hirsch’s earnest tone, and that contrast is what makes the poem so awesome.
Hirsch is totally psyched about the darkness; He’s ready to embrace it, and he tells the reader why. He wants to be able to go into the darkness and not be hurt, to go in and come out as himself, just like a sleepwalker can know exactly where he is, even though he’s unconscious. Hirsch wants to be able to do the same thing. The darkness, to Hirsch, is the unknown of the future. He wants to be able to go into the future and remain himself: “We have to drink the stupefying cup of darkness / and wake up to ourselves, nourished and surprised.
Again, though, Hirsch’s tone is what really makes the poem. He’s excited, and he shows it. He “loves” the sleepwalkers, he wants to “say something wonderful.” If he had chosen a darker tone to match the subject of the poem, he would not have achieved the same contrast and the poem (probably) wouldn’t be quite as awesome.
I love this poem. Could you tell? :D
‘Night.
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Acquainted with the Night analysis by Luke
“Aquainted with the Night” by Robert Frost could be interpreted one of two ways. On the one hand, it could be about loneliness and the speaker’s dealings with it. Or it could be about taking the road less taken, about exploration.
I am inclined to believe that first interpretation: loneliness. The language of the poem gives me that thought. First off, he talks about walking in “rain.” Rain is typically a symbol for sadness or loneliness. Easy enough.
In the second stanza, Frost speaks about the “saddest city lane.” yet another simple phrase for sadness. He “dropped [his] eyes, unwilling to explain.” Usually, dropping one’s eyes is a clear sign that something is wrong or difficult in one’s life.
The fourth stanza is also powerfully geared towards sadness. Frost says the aforementioned “call” was “not to call me back or say good-by,” meaning that the call was not for him, that he was alone at night.
So I think it’s definitely about loneliness. Yup. Have a good night.
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“Possibility” Slipping Past [Justin
In James Fenton’s poem, “Possibility,” he expresses a very commonly seen truth in an artistic, new, and exciting way. He uses very subtle connotations to show real meaning without excessive elaboration. Take, for example, his casual reference to the past: “And yesterday, it seemed to be….” He writes “yesterday,” but based on his ironic representation of the speaker, we can assume Fenton is commenting on the speaker’s casual sense of the past: “yesterday” is not so profound as “the past” or even “before.” Along with his casual reference to the past, Fenton’s speaker uses the word “know” with a precarious hesitation, as if the speaker is saying it both to explain and to reassure his thinking. This idea is suggested by the speaker’s apparent regret at his own assumptions. The end of the fourth stanza represents a burdened retrospection with the speaker’s admittance to wrongness. This seems (vaguely) to suggest that we do not have knowledge until we are weighed down by a collection of failures that we delightfully may call “experience.” That may be a stretch on the author’s purpose, but this would be ideal evidence for the claim.
Comment?
On the “Human Condition” [Justin
First, let me just say that Thom Gunn, while writing “Human Condition,” employed one of the most interesting rhyme schemes I have come across: abcbca. The rhyme scheme, along with some meaning deeper (I’m sure) than I am capable of pondering at this late hour, lends itself to a feeling of being tightly wrapped in a fog. Of the many common personifications of fog, Gunn has chosen and perfected one of a pressing, mysterious, almost angry sheet of blindness. “…. I walk/ contained within my coat;…” Gunn, with his rhyme scheme, convinces the reader that in this context “contained” can be compared with “restricted.” Along with his rhyming, Gunn uses the stanza separation very deliberately to separate ideas. Between the first and second stanzas, I am taken from a quiet, stronghold of cold and worry to a desolate street corner that the light is being stolen away from. His tone is obviously one of despairing understanding (incidentally, one of my favorite ideas). Thom Gunn’s poem, in this case, is very effective both as a comment on the human condition and a work of true, lingual artistry.
Comment?
Sad? by Luke White
When we initially read “The Snow Man” by Wallace Stevens in class, I thought the poem was pretty dang sad. Now, I’m not so sure.
The last stanza sure seems to be bleak, with its “Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is,” but somehow the speaker seems to be embracing that bleakness because he has a “mind of winter.” Then again, he seems to lament the fact that he was “cold a long time,” but yet he doesn’t lament it with the rest of the second stanza.
The most ambiguous part, though, is the third stanza: “Of the January sun; and not to think/of any misery in the sound of the wind,/In the sound of a few leaves[.]” The strange part is the “and not to think of any misery”; is he talking about the fact that he doesn’t see misery or that he does? I could be misinterpreting it (always possible), but the wording makes it very unclear as to what he feels. And I think he did it that way on purpose.
The author’s most interesting tool, I think, is this dual-meaning of the coming of winter; after all, some people like winter, some don’t.
Very appropriate poem for this time of year!
Yup.
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NIGHTNIGHT by DEDDY
