Coming Soon: Creative Writing Class!

We'll resume classes on January 5!  If you want to see the full schedule, I've got that up on a new page right here.  Basically, we will spend two months looking at different aspects of writing fiction, then spend the rest of the semester working on short stories using those techniques.  

There will be a lot fewer posts for you to read -- usually one a week.  But those posts will be longer, and you'll be doing quite a bit of brainstorming and writing as we go along.

"Introduction to Poetry"

What an odd poem to end our semester of poetry studies with, don't you think?  Surely, I should have begun with "Introduction to Poetry," not ended with it.

But I think it really encapsulates all the things we've been mulling over and discussing and illustrating.  So we'll end with it.  You can read it here.

Discussion Questions:

1.  Which of these activities in this poem do you feel you've kind of participated in this semester?

2.  What is Collins saying about people who analyze or criticize poetry?

Paper Reminder

The first draft of your paper is due TOMORROW!!!

This doesn't have to be polished and proofread, but it should be a complete paper with introduction, body, and conclusion.

See this post for more details if you need a refresher.

"Nostalgia"

Have you ever felt nostalgic for a time and place you've never experienced?  That happens to me fairly often, even though that doesn't actually quite make sense.  Billy Collins wrote a whole poem about that, which you can read here.

Discussion Questions:

1.  What feelings does this poem evoke for you?

2.  What word choices do you find especially interesting?

"Snow Day"

It's winter.  I want snow.  I love snow!  You might hate snow, but if you do, too bad -- you have to read a poem about it anyway.  You can read "Snow Day" right here.

Discussion Questions:

1.  What is the narrator's attitude toward snow?  How do you know?

2.  What is the message/point of this poem?

"Fishing on the Susquehanna in July"

This poem isn't about fishing.  You can read it here.

Discussion Questions:

1.  What is this poem actually about, do you think?

2.  What are some poetic devices you notice in this poem?

Introducing Billy Collins

Billy Collins
(1941--)

At last!  A poet who is still alive!

Billy Collins grew up in NYC.  He became a professor of English as a college in the Bronx, and was named Poet Laureate of the USA in 2001, a position he held until 2003.  He was the Poet Laureate of New York State from 2004 to 2006.  He's read poetry at official functions at the White House three times, and he went to Russia in 2014 as a "cultural emissary."  He's won lots of prizes for his poetry.  He's been married twice.

His poetry reminds me a lot of Carl Sandburg's and Robert Frost's -- very conversational, focused on small parts of ordinary life, lots of snapshot-like poems.  If this intro post seems really short, maybe that's because Billy Collins has lived the kind of fairly ordinary life that his poems talk about!

"The Negro Speaks of Rivers"

Let's end the week with one of Hughes's proud-to-be-a-black-person poems, "The Negro Speaks of Rivers."  You can read it online here.

Discussion Questions Art Project:

Illustrate at least two scenes portrayed in this poem, somehow conveying the poem's message through your artwork.

Once again, you can have all weekend to work on this.  Turn in your finished work Monday morning.

"Mother to Son"

"Mother to Son" is my favorite Langston Hughes poem.  It's the poem that grabbed my interest back in college and made me seek out more of his work.  You can read it here.

Discussion Questions:

1.  What is the message of this poem?

2.  What imagery reinforces that message?

"Harlem"

"Harlem" is an image-rich poem, very short, but asking a very important question.  You can read it here.

Discussion Questions:

1.  Why might Langston Hughes have titled this poem "Harlem"?

2.  What could an alternate title be?

3.  Which of the many images in this short poem do you think is the most powerful?  Most surprising?

"Theme for English B"

"Theme for English B" has a little of that "jazz poetry" going on that I talked about yesterday in the introduction.  You can read it online here.  It also touches on favorite subjects of Hughes's: race, America, personal identity.

Discussion Questions:

1.  What poetic devices do you spot in this poem?

2.  Share a section that makes you think of jazz music -- why does it remind you of jazz?  (If you don't know much about jazz, try listening to this song and this song and this song on YouTube to get a little taste of it.)

Introducing Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes
(1901-1967)

Langston Hughes was born in Joplin, Missouri, in 1901, but he is most associated with a section of New York City known as Harlem.

Langston grew up all over the Midwest, as his father left the family soon after Langston was born, and his parents later divorced.  His mother was a schoolteacher and moved around frequently to find work, probably because there weren't a lot of African-American schools in the early 1900s, especially out in the mainly-white Midwest.  Langston was mainly raised by his maternal grandmother in Lawrence Kansas.  

Langston's grandmother taught him to be proud of his race, not ashamed of being black.  She taught him that being poor is not a sin, and that being rich is not a path to salvation.  And she taught him to love America, even though it was a difficult place for black people to live in at that time.  

Young Langston was often deeply unhappy over basically being abandoned by both his parents.  He often escaped into reading books because "Then it was that books began to happen to me, and I began to believe in nothing but books and the wonderful world in books—where if people suffered, they suffered in beautiful language, not in monosyllables, as we did in Kansas."  After his grandmother died, he lived with some friends for two years, then moved in with his mother and her new husband in Cleveland, Ohio.  He went to high school there, where he began writing plays, poetry, short stories, and articles for the school newspaper.

After high school, Langston traveled to Mexico to see his father and ask him to support Langston's college ambitions.  His father agreed to help pay for his tuition if he would study engineering, not writing.  Langston finally agreed to that (but not to stopping writing), and he enrolled in Columbia University in New York City in 1921.

Langston left college after a little over a year because of the racial prejudice he experienced from professors, fellow students, and the college system itself, which initially refused to let him live in the dormitories because he was black.  After leaving college, he spent a little time in the mainly black neighborhood called Harlem before taking a job on a ship that enabled him to go to Africa and Europe.  He stayed in Paris for a while, lived in England for quite a while, and finally returned to the US in 1924.  All the time, he was still writing, mainly poetry.

When he came back to America, he worked odd jobs for a while before enrolling in Lincoln University, a black university in Pennsylvania.  This time, he stayed in school, earning his B.A. in 1929.  After that, he lived in Harlem, NYC, for the rest of his life, aside from traveling now and then.  

His reputation as a "jazz poet" (a poet whose writing feels very rhythmic and improvisational, like jazz music) grew throughout the 1920s.  Hughes particularly focuses his poetry (and fiction) on working-class people, striving to highlight their humanity and dignity, joy and courage.  He tried to help other black people see that their skin color was not something to be ashamed of, and that their cultural history was rich and worth celebrating.  

By the end of the 1920s, he was considered the leader of the Harlem Renaissance, a cultural movement that celebrated and promoted African-American art in all forms: music, literature, theatre, dance, film, and the visual arts.  Not everyone involved in the Harlem Renaissance actually lived in Harlem, but the movement was centered there.  Because Langston Hughes did live in Harlem, he was a natural leader and spokesperson for the movement, which lasted on through the 1930s.

In his poetry, fiction, and many essays, Hughes celebrated the experience of being a black American without promoting any kind of hate of those who are different.  Instead of being divided by differences, he wanted people of every race to embrace and enjoy them.  Just as he insisted there was nothing wrong with being black, he also insisted there was nothing wrong with being white, or any other race.  This made him some enemies among militant racists, both black and white, but he continued insisting that if America was a multicultural nation, then all the cultures that formed it should be celebrated.

Langston Hughes died in 1967.  Although his writing and views about race had come to be viewed as old-fashioned and unprogressive by many black intellectuals and artists during the 1950s, he was still beloved by the common black people who were the subjects of so many of his poems.  His steady insistence on not hating people who are different from you had won him fans of every color around the globe.  His poems remains some of the most delightful and delighted-in American poetry.

Happy Week Off!

"Bronzes"

This poem was published in 1916.  The line about "the Yser" refers to the Yser River in Belgium -- in 1914, Belgium stopped the German advance there by using the river to flood the farmland.  This was a major defeat for Germany and bought the Allied defenses all over Europe a little time to shore up or stabilize their defenses.  It kept the German Army out of France and away from important ports like Dunkirk and Calais, letting the British Army bring in lots of reinforcements and supplies unhindered.  It is considered a turning point in World War One.

Okay, time to read the poem here.

Discussion Questions:

1.  Analyze this poem!  Try to untangle a little bit about why Sandburg might refer to that specific part of the war.

"Accomplished Facts"

I stumbled across this Sandburg poem recently and love how it's a collection of different objects and ideas and people.  It's not exactly a "list poem," but it almost is?  You can read it here.

Discussion Questions:

1.  What do you think the theme or point of this poem is?

2.  Which of the little anecdotes about famous people did you find most interesting?  

3.  What do you think a "bean bazaar" might be?  I have guesses, but I'd like to hear yours.

"Theme in Yellow"

A short and fun poem for the middle of the week.  You can read "Theme in Yellow" right here.

Discussion Questions:

1.  How would you describe the tone of this poem?

2.  If you were to write a poem about something yellow or orange, what would you choose to focus on?

"Chicago"

Today, we'll read one of Carl Sandburg's most famous poems: "Chicago."  This was first published in 1914, so World War One had just begun, but the US wasn't involved yet.  Prohibition hadn't hit yet, but Chicago was already notorious for its gangsters.  But what had originally turned it into a big city were the railroads and slaughterhouses.  After the Civil War, when the West started shipping beef to the hungry East, they would drive their cattle to railheads in Kansas and Nebraska (this is the classic cowboy era of 1865-1885), and the cattle would be shipped by train to Chicago, where they were butchered and packed in refrigerated rail cars and shipped to the East Coast.  

Your Grandpa Roger grew up in the Chicago area.  Your Great-Grandpa Kovaciny once temporarily stole a train there as a boy.  (If you haven't heard this story yet, ask Grandpa Roger next time you talk to him!)

With all of that in your head, read the poem here.

Discussion Questions:

1. What are some of the vivid words Sandburg uses that strike you as especially interesting?

2.  What words does Sandburg use repeatedly?  Why do you think he chooses to repeat those specific words?

3.  Do you think the city of Chicago sounds like a place you'd want to visit or live, based on this poem?  Why or why not?

Introducing Your Final Poetry Project

You may have noticed on the schedule that you have a final project due the last week of class.

That project is a longer analysis of the poem of your choice.  By "longer" I mean it should be about 400 to 500 words.  By "poem of your choice," I mean you should choose a poem by any of the poets we have discussed (or will be discussing) in class -- but it can't be a poem we have already discussed.

When choosing your poem, remember to find one that you think you could talk about for 400 to 500 words.  If you want some suggestions, I can give you some, but you don't have to get my approval of the poem ahead of time.

You will turn in a first draft of your paper on Friday, December 12.  I will give you some feedback on that draft so you can make any necessary revisions, and then you will turn in the final draft of your paper on Friday, December 19.

Any questions?  Ask in the comments!

Introducing Carl Sandburg

Carl Sandburg
(1878-1967)

Carl Sandburg was born in Illinois in 1878.  He quit school when he was thirteen to drive a milk delivery wagon to help support his family.  He also worked as a hotel porter, a brick layer, and a farm laborer.  He spent a little time at college, but didn't graduate, then got a job as a journalist for the Chicago Daily News.

Sandburg didn't write only poetry.  He also wrote history books, biographies for children and adults, novels, children's books, and film reviews!  He spent most of his life in the Upper Midwest, but eventually retired to North Carolina.

Sandburg joined the military during the Spanish-American War and was stationed in Puerto Rico, but he was never involved in a battle.  In 1908, he married Lillian Steichen, and the couple had three daughters.  Between 1916 and 1920, he published three collections of poetry while also working as a newspaperman.  The second collection, Cornhuskers, was awarded a Pulitzer Prize.  He won a Pulitzer for history in 1940 for the latest volume in his children's biography of Abraham Lincoln.  In 1951, he won another Pulitzer for poetry.

In 1945, Carl and Lillian moved to a estate in the mountains of North Carolina that he named Connemara.  He lived there the rest of his life.  He supported the Civil Rights movement and was the first white man to be honored by the NAACP for his writings promoting equality and civil rights, which he began back in 1919.  He died of natural causes in 1967.

I didn't get into Carl Sandburg's poetry until fairly recently.  Oh, I'd read some of his really famous poems, but it wasn't until I visited the museum at his former home in North Carolina in 2007 that I started to really enjoy his work.  He has a lot in common with Robert Frost, so it's not surprising that I like his poetry, I suppose.

"By the Autumn Fire"

This is a lovely poem to end the week on, I think.  You can read "By the Autumn Fire" online here.

Discussion Questions Art Project:

Illustrate this poem somehow!  Draw, sketch, paint, use a computer program (NO AI !!!), make a collage -- whatever floats your creative boat.  You don't have to turn this in until Sunday night, if you need extra time.  Nadia, once you have finished yours, either scan it in and send me the image or send me a photo of it.  I'll share both yours and Sadie's here so you can enjoy each others' visual reactions to this poem.

"For Little Things"

This is my favorite LMM poem.  

"For Little Things"

by L. M. Montgomery

Last night I looked across the hills 

And through an arch of darkling pine 

Low-swung against a limpid west 

I saw a young moon shine. 

And as I gazed there blew a wind, 

Loosed where the sylvan shadows stir, 

Bringing delight to soul and sense 

The breath of dying fir. 

This morn I saw a dancing host 

Of poppies in a garden way, 

And straight my heart was mirth-possessed 

And I was glad as they. 

I heard a song across the sea 

As sweet and faint as echoes are, 

And glimpsed a poignant happiness 

No care of earth might mar. 

Dear God, our life is beautiful 

In every splendid gift it brings, 

But most I thank Thee humbly for 

The joy of little things. 

(Please note: this poem is not in the public domain, however I couldn't find it online in a format that I could simply share a link to, so I am reproducing it here out of a physical book I own.  This is for educational purposes only; I will make no monetary gain from reproducing it in this classroom setting.)

Discussion Questions:

1.  What are some poetic devices does Montgomery use in this poem?

2.  What little things would you include if you were writing a poem like this?

"Genius"

This is a completely different sort of poem than yesterday's!  I believe it may still be under copyright, so you can read "Genius" online here.  (Sorry that it's a page full of ads -- it's the best one I could find.)

Discussion Questions:

1.  What is the tone of this poem?

2.  The ends of this poem don't rhyme.  What makes it a poem anyway?

"The Piper"

The eighth Anne book, Rilla of Ingleside, takes place during WWI.  During the book, one of Anne and Gilbert's sons writes a poem called "The Piper" about the experience of going off to war.  The poem isn't included in Rilla of Ingleside, but Montgomery included it in her final Anne book, The Blythes are Quoted.  Since today is the 107th anniversary of Armistice Day, the day WWI ended, I thought this was a fitting poem for us to read and study today.

"The Piper"

by L. M. Montgomery

 One day the Piper came down the Glen … 

      Sweet and long and low played he! 

The children followed from door to door, 

No matter how those who loved might implore 

      So wiling the song of his melody 

As the song of a woodland rill. 

Some day the Piper will come again 

      To pipe to the sons of the maple tree! 

You and I will follow from door to door, 

Many of us will come back no more … 

      What matter that if Freedom still 

Be the crown of each native hill? 

(Please note: this poem is not in the public domain, however I couldn't find it online in a format that I could simply share a link to, so I am reproducing it here out of my paperback copy of The Blythes are Quoted so we can study it.  This is for educational purposes only; I will make no monetary gain from reproducing it in this classroom setting.)

Discussion Questions:

1. Is this a sad poem or a hopeful poem?

2.  What imagery is Montgomery pulling into this poem to make it more powerful?

Introducing Lucy Maud Montgomery

L. M. Montgomery
(1874-1942)

I know you both know who Lucy Maud Montgomery is, in that you have read books she wrote.  She's most famous for books like Anne of Green Gables, and she did publish twenty novels... but she also published more than 500 short stories AND more than 500 poems.  Her poetry is less-well-known, so I'm excited to explore a bit of it with you.

Maud had a very difficult life.  She was born on Prince Edward Island on November 30, 1874, but her mother died when Maud was only 21 months old.  Maud's father asked his in-laws to raise his baby for him, as he felt he was too overcome with grief to properly care for her.  At first, he continued to live nearby and be part of her life but, when she was seven, he moved almost 3,000 miles away, to what were then called the North-West Territories (now Saskatchewan).

So, Maud grew up being cared for by grandparents who were reportedly austere and undemonstrative.  She had a lonely childhood with few friends, but created extensive imaginary worlds for herself, crowded with imaginary friends (including one named Katie Maurice she would later include in her first Anne book).  Her father remarried when she was in her early teens, but still did not ask his daughter to live with him for several years.  When she was sixteen, she did go live with her father and stepmother for one year, but returned to PEI because she did not get along with her stepmother at all.  However, while she was living with her father, she did have her first publishing success!  Her poem "On Cape LeForce" was published in a Charlottetown newspaper.  

Maud went to college and earned her teaching license in one year instead of the usual two.  She set out to support herself by teaching school, though she did not enjoy it.  And she rejected several proposals of marriage, eventually accepting one from a man she initially liked but later realized was shallow and selfish.  She had a brief romantic fling with another man who, sadly, died of influenza before she could break off her engagement to her fiancé and accept her lover's proposal.  She gave up all hope of marrying for romantic love and moved back in with her grandmother, as her grandfather has recently died.  She lived with her grandmother and cared for her until she died, while also doing a lot of writing and publishing, including publishing the first two Anne books.

When Maud was thirty-seven years old, she married Ewen Macdonald, a Presbyterian minister.  They moved to Ontario, where she wrote her next eleven books.  Ewen was not fond of literature or fiction, and the two did not have a particularly loving marriage.  They did have three sons together; one son was stillborn.  She suffered from what we would probably now diagnose as post-partum depression after the birth of their third son.  She already struggled at times with what we would probably call clinical depression.  Her husband Ewen also suffered from what we now call major depressive disorder, as well as bad health.

In 1918, Maud almost died from the Spanish flu epidemic.  She had often expressed doubts about God and Christianity in her private journals and letters, but surviving that flu seemed to result in revived faith that God did care personally about people, rather than being a remote being who watched impersonally over the world. 

Ewen suffered a nervous breakdown a year later and was never well again.  He believed in the false Calvinist idea of predestination, that only some people are elected to be saved eternally, and he came to believe he and his whole family were not part of those elect and were all doomed to hell.  This worsened Maud's own mental struggles.  Writing remained a refuge for her, as it was a way for her to maintain her mental and emotional equilibrium.  

In 1925, her husband Ewen resigned from his congregation, and he and Maud moved away.  In 1934, Ewen committed himself to a sanitorium to treat his extreme mental struggles.  Maud bought a house near Toronto with money she'd earned from her books and continued to write and publish.  In 1935, King George V made her an Officer of the Order of the British Empire, a high honor bestowed in recognition of her literary contributions to society.

Maud was very upset by World War Two breaking out.  World War One had been emotionally and mentally devastating to her, and to think that the horrors of widespread war were happening again was more than she could bear.  In 1942, she was found dead in her bed.  While her official cause of death was coronary thrombosis (a blood clot moving into the heart and stopping it from beating), her family and close friends were pretty sure she had ended her own life by overdosing on some of her medicine.  She was only sixty-seven.

You can see a lot of pieces of her own life that she used to create characters in her books, which I find pretty fascinating.  

"Dust of Snow"

The trouble with Robert Frost is that I love SO MANY of his poems!  It's hard to just pick four to share with you this week.  I finally settled on "Dust of Snow" for the last one because it makes me smile.  You can read it online here.

Discussion Questions:

1. Analyze this poem!  It's short, but I think you can pull some real meaning out of it.

"Christmas Trees"

Yes, I know it's not Christmastime yet.  Shh.  This is a pre-Christmas sort of poem.  And it's actually one I'd never read before!  I love how often Robert Frost tells us stories with his poems, and this one is so homey and cozy I just have to share it.  You can read "Christmas Trees" online here.

Discussion Questions:

1.  Were you surprised by the narrator's decision?  Pleased?  Disappointed?

2.  Why might Frost have subtitled this poem "A Christmas Circular Letter"?

"Acquainted with the Night"

I memorized this Robert Frost poem in college.  I'd thought until then that he pretty much always wrote poems about nature and farming and the joys of rural life.  But he spent most of his life in cities, and he did write about them too -- maybe not as often, but just as interestingly.

You can read "Acquainted with the Night" online here.

Discussion Questions:

1.  What are some words you would use to describe the mood or feeling or tone of this poem?

2.  What words does Frost use to achieve the mood/feeling/tone you just described?

"Nothing Gold Can Stay"

Robert Frost's poetry is not all in the public domain!  And the same goes for the other poets we'll be studying for the rest of the semester.  So I'll be finding legitimate online sources for their poems where you can read them, and then you can come back here and answer questions.

Today's poem is one I memorized when I was in high school.  Why?  For the very obvious reason that it's in The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton, which is still one of my top favorite books of all time.  You can read this poem here.

Discussion Questions:

1.  What poetic devices do you notice in this poem?  (It's okay to quote from the poem in your answers -- I just can't share the whole thing here.)

2.  What is the theme or point of this poem, do you think?

Introducing Robert Frost

Robert Frost
(1874-1963)

Robert Frost is one of my top favorite poets.  For a long time he was my absolute favorite, though now he has to kind of share that with a couple others (Langston Hughes and Kenneth Koch, if you are curious).  He was the only poet I studied while in high school that I actually liked while in high school, and I won't deny that part of that was because of the book The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton, in which one of his poems gets quoted and is a big part of the book's theme.  But I also liked how accessible his poems were, and how many of them were about rural life.  I lived out in the country until I went to college, and loved being outside, and his poems resonated a lot with me because of that.

Robert Frost and his poetry are often considered synonymous with New England life, but he was actually born in San Francisco, California!  However, his forebears were among the earliest settlers of Massachusetts and New Hampshire.  When Robert Frost was 11, his father died, and his mother had to borrow money to move the family back to Massachusetts to live with her family.  He grew up there with his sister, and published his first poem in his high school's magazine, as well as being voted Class Poet.  Robert and his future wife, Elinor White, were co-valedictorians for their high school class.

Robert attended college for just a couple of months, then left to get a job and work on his poetry.  He held a variety of jobs over the next few years, like working in a factory, delivering newspapers, and teaching school.  He first sold a poem in 1894, for $15 (almost $600 today), and was so excited about earning money with his poetry that he proposed to his girlfriend Elinor.  She turned him down because she was attending college and wanted to finish her degree before getting married.  Once she graduated, they were married in 1895.  Robert attended Harvard University for two years, but left when they learned Elinor was expecting their second child.  They had six children together, but only two outlived Robert and Elinor.

Robert's grandfather bought a farm in Derry, New Hampshire, for Robert and his young family, and the Frosts settled down there.  Robert worked the farm and wrote poetry, but he couldn't make the farm pay enough to support them, so he took a series of teaching jobs at different New Hampshire schools.  In 1912, the Frosts moved to Great Britain, and Robert made friends with some important poets there, including Ezra Pound.  He published two collections of poetry there, then returned to New Hampshire when World War One started.  He bought a different farm there and really set about his life's work of writing and publishing poetry, teaching English at various colleges, and going on lecture tours.  That farm is now a museum and poetry center.

Over the course of his career, Robert Frost won four Pulitzer Prizes for his poetry, more than any other American poet has ever been awarded.  He was named the United States Poet Laureate in 1958, and read some of his own poetry at President John F. Kennedy's inauguration in 1961.  He died at the age of 88 in Boston, having outlived his wife and four of their children.  His life held a lot of sadness and loss, but he never lost his appreciation for the beauty in the world around him.  You will notice a lot of both those aspects of his life in his poetry.

Celebrate!

I hope your sixteenth birthday is super sweet and fun!

"I heard a Fly buzz -- when I died"

One last really famous Emily Dickinson poem.  

"I heard a Fly buzz -- when I died"

by Emily Dickinson

I heard a Fly buzz - when I died - 

The Stillness in the Room 

Was like the Stillness in the Air - 

Between the Heaves of Storm - 

The Eyes around - had wrung them dry - 

And Breaths were gathering firm 

For that last Onset - when the King 

Be witnessed - in the Room - 

I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away 

What portion of me be 

Assignable - and then it was 

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 -

Discussion Questions:

1.  Analyze this poem!  Why would a poem about death be focused on a fly?

"A narrow Fellow in the Grass"

Emily Dickinson loved gardening and nature.  She wrote a lot about flowers and wild animals, including this poem.  This one is not particularly famous, but I like it, so I'm including it.

"A narrow Fellow in the Grass"

by Emily Dickinson

A narrow Fellow in the Grass 

Occasionally rides - 

You may have met him? Did you not 

His notice instant is - 

The Grass divides as with a Comb, 

A spotted Shaft is seen, 

And then it closes at your Feet 

And opens further on - 

He likes a Boggy Acre - 

A Floor too cool for Corn - 

But when a Boy and Barefoot 

I more than once at Noon 

Have passed I thought a Whip Lash 

Unbraiding in the Sun 

When stooping to secure it 

It wrinkled And was gone - 

Several of Nature’s People 

I know, and they know me 

I feel for them a transport 

Of Cordiality 

But never met this Fellow 

Attended or alone 

Without a tighter Breathing 

And Zero at the Bone.

Discussion Questions:

1.  What is the narrator's attitude toward snakes?  Support with evidence from the text.

2.  What do you think "Zero at the Bone" means?

"'Hope' is the thing with feathers"

This might also be Emily Dickinson's most-famous poem.  I'm not sure whether this or yesterday's poem get quoted and shared more often.

"'Hope' is a thing with feathers"

by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers - 

That perches in the soul - 

And sings the tune without the words - 

And never stops - at all - 

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - 

And sore must be the storm - 

That could abash the little Bird 

That kept so many warm - 

I’ve heard it in the chillest land - 

And on the strangest Sea - 

Yet - never - in Extremity, 

It asked a crumb - of me.

Discussion Questions:

1.  What poetic devices do you find in this poem?

2.  What is Dickinson saying about the nature of hope?

"Because I could not stop for death"

Many of Dickinson's poems had no titles.  Like earlier poems we studied, they are generally referred to by their first lines in lieu of a title.

This is probably her most-famous poem.  It shows up in collections of classic poetry a lot.

"Because I could not stop for death"

by Emily Dickinson

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 – 

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 drew 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 – in the Ground – 

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet 

Feels shorter than the Day 

I first surmised the Horses' Heads 

Were toward Eternity –

Discussion Questions:

1.  Why does she say Death "kindly" stopped for her?  How could death be kind?

2.  What is the "house that seemed a swelling of the ground"?

3.  Why do you think this poem is so popular/famous?

Introducing Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)

Emily Dickinson was, by all accounts, eccentric.  

She was born into a prominent Massachusetts family in 1830, and had a pretty typical childhood and teen years for the daughter of a New England lawyer.  She attended a local school as a child, though she missed school periodically because she had a tendency to be sickly.  In her later teens, she went to Mount Holyoke Female Seminary, one of the oldest women's colleges in the US.  She left college after less than a year and returned home, where she grew more and more reclusive.  By the end of her life, she refused to leave her bedroom at all, much less her home.  She also insisted on wearing only white for many years.  She sometimes refused to speak to people face-to-face, but would only talk to them through a closed door.  Definitely eccentric.

Emily Dickinson loved to write poetry -- we have almost 1800 of her poems still today!!!  She often sent poems to family and friends (she was also a prolific letter writer), but only ten of her poems were published while she was still alive.  Her sister Lavinia discovered a huge stash of poems after Emily died in 1886, and a heavily edited collection of them was published by some close friends.

The poems in that first collection were heavily edited because Emily Dickinson did not like to follow popular poetic conventions of the day, and she sometimes also didn't do things like capitalize the first word of a new line.  She loved dashes.  She wrote very short lines.  This seems pretty normal to us now, but at the time, it was new and weird and quirky.

It wasn't until 1955 that a full collection of her un-edited poetry was finally made available to the public. 

Dickinson loved the Romantic poetry of William Wordsworth and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, as well the poetry of her fellow American poet Ralph Waldo Emerson.  Both Emerson and Dickinson are often considered American Romantic poets.  She also loved Shakespeare's writing, and liked Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte so much, she named her dog Carlo after a dog in the book.

The deaths of several close friends when she was a teen and young adult caused Dickinson a lot of distress.  Today, we would probably say she became clinically depressed, though in her time, she was just called "melancholy."  This was part of why she gradually became more and more reclusive.  Her poetry focuses a lot on death, beauty, nature, and sorrow.  

We don't know why Emily Dickinson eventually withdrew so much into herself.  People speculate she may have suffered from agoraphobia (severe anxiety caused by being outside the environment you consider safe, often leading to an inability to leave your home) or from a chronic disease like epilepsy that caused seizures or had embarrassing side effects like tremors.  But that is only speculation.  She died at age 55, in 1886, after suffering for several years from what her physician called Bright's Disease.

It's uncertain if Emily Dickinson was a Christian.  She did attend church as a child, and attended a revival in 1845 that made her briefly quite religiously zealous.  But she did not attend church services as an adult.  Some of her poems have deeply Christian subjects and themes, while others reflect the Transcendentalism philosophy.  Transcendentalism teaches that people are inherently good and can work to transcend the corrupting influences of society and other people and attain true goodness.  It was very popular in New England in the first half of the 1800s -- if it sounds familiar to you, it's probably because Louisa May Alcott and her family were Transcendentalists and she espouses that philosophy in Little Women.

Random fun fact: Taylor Swift is reportedly Emily Dickinson's sixth cousin, three times removed.

"The Raven"

I debated whether or not to include "The Raven" in our study of Poe's poetry this week.  On the one hand, I know Sadie has read it for school before, and I'm guessing Nadia has also read it.  It's soooooo famous, and Poe has written so many other poems that are less-famous that we could study instead.

On the other hand... it's sooooooooo famous that it feels almost wrong somehow to just skip it.  So, we'll study it.  

I've read that Poe actually borrowed this rhyme scheme and meter from a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.  That poem?  "Lady Geraldine's Courtship," the one that mentioned Robert Browning by name, caught his attention, inspired Robert to write Elizabeth a letter, and you know how all that turned out.

"The Raven"

by Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, 

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— 

    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 

“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door— 

           Only this and nothing more.” 

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; 

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 

    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow 

    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— 

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— 

           Nameless here for evermore. 

    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 

    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 

    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door— 

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;— 

           This it is and nothing more.” 

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; 

    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 

    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, 

That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;— 

           Darkness there and nothing more. 

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; 

    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 

    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?” 

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”— 

           Merely this and nothing more. 

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. 

    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice; 

    Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— 

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;— 

           ’Tis the wind and nothing more!” 

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore; 

    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; 

    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door— 

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door— 

           Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, 

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore— 

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!” 

           Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” 

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 

Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore; 

    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 

    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door— 

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, 

           With such name as “Nevermore.” 

    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 

    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered— 

    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before— 

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.” 

           Then the bird said “Nevermore.” 

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store 

    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 

    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore— 

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore 

           Of ‘Never—nevermore’.” 

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, 

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; 

    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 

    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore— 

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore 

           Meant in croaking “Nevermore.” 

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core; 

    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 

    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er, 

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er, 

           She shall press, ah, nevermore! 

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. 

    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee 

    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; 

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!” 

           Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” 

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!— 

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, 

    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted— 

    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore— 

Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!” 

           Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” 

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil! 

By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore— 

    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, 

    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— 

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.” 

           Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” 

    “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting— 

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! 

    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! 

    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door! 

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” 

           Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” 

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 

    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, 

    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; 

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 

           Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Discussion Questions:

1.  What happens to the speaker at the end of this poem?  Why might Poe not have said concretely what happens?

2.  Why is this poem so popular?  What do you think makes it so special and beloved by so many people?

3.  Do you like this poem?  Why or why not?

"Annabel Lee"

This is probably Poe's second-most-famous poem.  It's creepy, but also sweet.  But also creepy.  Not, like, super creepy full of spiders and skulls and rotting wedding cakes or anything... but just a little creepy.  And that's what we expect from Edgar Allan Poe, to be honest.  I've shared some of his not-creepy poetry because he gets kind of stereotyped with the horror stories and chilling poems, and I wanted you to see that he is more than tale-telling hearts and croaking ravens.  But let's face it: he excelled at the creepier stuff.  And why not enjoy his masterful writing?

"Annabel Lee"

by Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago, 

    In a kingdom by the sea, 

That a maiden there lived whom you may know 

    By the name of ANNABEL LEE;-- 

And this maiden she lived with no other thought 

    Than to love and be loved by me. 

She was a child and I was a child, 

    In this kingdom by the sea, 

But we loved with a love that was more than love-- 

    I and my Annabel Lee-- 

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 

    Coveted her and me. 

And this was the reason that, long ago, 

    In this kingdom by the sea, 

A wind blew out of a cloud by night 

    Chilling my Annabel Lee; 

So that her high-born kinsman came 

    And bore her away from me, 

To shut her up in a sepulchre 

    In this kingdom by the sea. 

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, 

    Went envying her and me:-- 

Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, 

    In this kingdom by the sea) 

That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling 

    And killing my Annabel Lee. 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love 

    Of those who were older than we-- 

    Of many far wiser than we- 

And neither the angels in Heaven above, 

    Nor the demons down under the sea, 

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:-- 

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams 

    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 

And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes 

    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side 

Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride, 

    In her sepulchre there by the sea-- 

    In her tomb by the side of the sea.

Discussion Questions:

1.  Do you agree with me that this is an enjoyable sort of creepiness?  Or is it just yucky, to you?  (No wrong answers here -- I'm curious.)

2.  Is this a love poem?  Why, or why not?

3.  What are some poetic devices Poe uses here?

"Sonnet -- To Science"

A rather different sort of sonnet from the ones we've studied so far...

"Sonnet -- To Science"

by Edgar Allan Poe

SCIENCE! true daughter of Old Time thou art! 

   Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. 

Why preyest thou thus upon the poet’s heart, 

    Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? 

How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise, 

    Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering 

To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies 

    Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? 

Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car? 

    And driven the Hamadryad from the wood 

To seek a shelter in some happier star? 

    Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood, 

       The Elfin from the green grass, and from me 

       The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?

Discussion Questions:

1.  Why does Poe use so many allusions to mythology and fantasy in a poem that's supposed to be about science?

2.  Why write this poem in the form of a sonnet, which is usually used for love poetry?

"Eldorado"

I first heard this poem in a John Wayne movie, of all places.  A character recites it early in the film El Dorado (1966), which was a big favorite of mine when I was a teen.  It wasn't until I was in college that I discovered this was a real poem, and that it was written by Edgar Allan Poe!

Much more recently, I used this poem to set up a treasure map in my book A Noble Companion, and based an unseen (but mentioned) character on the knight in this poem.

"Eldorado"

by Edgar Allan Poe

Gaily bedight, 

    A gallant knight, 

In sunshine and in shadow, 

    Had journeyed long, 

    Singing a song, 

In search of Eldorado. 

    But he grew old— 

    This knight so bold— 

And o’er his heart a shadow— 

    Fell as he found 

    No spot of ground 

That looked like Eldorado. 

    And, as his strength 

    Failed him at length, 

He met a pilgrim shadow— 

    ‘Shadow,’ said he, 

   ‘Where can it be— 

This land of Eldorado?’ 

    ‘Over the Mountains 

    Of the Moon, 

Down the Valley of the Shadow, 

    Ride, boldly ride,’ 

    The shade replied,— 

‘If you seek for Eldorado!’

NOTES: 

1.  El Dorado was a mythical city of gold that 16th-century Spanish colonists wanted to find in South America.

2.  Also, "bedight" means "bedeck" or "array."  So if you are "gaily bedight," you are all decked out in bright and fancy, colorful clothes.

Discussion Questions:

1. What do you think the point or message of this poem is? 

A Guest Introduction to Edgar Allan Poe

Surprise!  This week, our poet gets introduced by Sadie!  That's because she did a history project about him last year, so she knows more interesting facts about him than I do.  Take it away, Sadie!

Edgar Poe was born in Boston, Massachusetts, on January 19, 1809. In 1810, his father, David Poe, Jr., abandoned his family. About a year after that, Poe’s mother, Elizabeth Poe, died.

Poe was taken in by the Allan family, who lived in Richmond, Virginia. They never actually adopted him, but they served as a foster family. They are the reason his name became Edgar Allan Poe. In 1815, the Allans sailed to the United Kingdom and took Poe with them. Five years later, in 1820, they moved back to Richmond.

In 1836, Poe married his cousin, Virginia Clemm. She was thirteen at the time, and Poe was twenty-seven. Virginia died of tuberculosis in 1847, at the age of twenty-four.

Edgar Allan Poe invented the detective fiction genre, and he is the only American to have invented a book genre.

His short story “The Tell-Tale Heart” was first published in January, 1843. He was paid ten dollars for it, which would be about $300 today.

Poe was tending to his wife, who was dying of tuberculosis, while he was writing his famous poem “The Raven.” Initially, Poe debated whether the bird ought to be a raven or a parrot, before deciding that the colorful tropical bird wasn’t right for the poem.

“The Raven” was first published in 1845. It was rejected by George Rex Graham, the first publisher Poe approached, but Graham felt so bad about Poe’s lack of money that he gave Poe fifteen dollars anyway. The American Review paid him nine dollars for it.

Edgar Allan Poe died on October 7, 1849. He had been missing for a few days before reappearing in Baltimore incoherent and with no idea where he’d been for the past few days. He was wearing someone else’s clothes, and no one is certain what he died of. He was originally buried in the back corner of an obscure graveyard, but his body was later moved to a more prominent place that allowed for more visitors.

"Pippa's Song"

This is a short poem that is part of a play written in rhyming verse called Pippa Passes.  The concept of the play is that an innocent young girl walks past a series of people in various stages and walks of life, and makes up little songs to herself about what she believes is going on in their lives.  This is one little song she sings, and the most famous bit of the whole play.  (If you've read Anne of Green Gables recently, you may remember it getting quoted in that.)

"Pippa's Song"

by Robert Browning

The year's at the spring, 

And day's at the morn; 

Morning's at seven; 

The hill-side's dew-pearl'd; 

The lark's on the wing; 

The snail's on the thorn; 

God's in His heaven, 

All's right with the world!

Discussion Questions:

1.  Analyze this poem!

"Home Thoughts from Abroad"

Robert Browning wrote this poem in 1845 while he was visiting Italy.  That was the same year he began corresponding with Elizabeth Barrett Browning, but I don't know if they were already exchanging letters by the time he wrote this or not.

"Home Thoughts from Abroad"

by Robert Browning

Oh, to be in England 

Now that April's there, 

And whoever wakes in England 

Sees, some morning, unaware, 

That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf 

Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, 

While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough 

In England—now! 

And after April, when May follows, 

And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! 

Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge 

Leans to the field and scatters on the clover 

Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge— 

That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, 

Lest you should think he never could recapture 

The first fine careless rapture! 

And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, 

All will be gay when noontide wakes anew 

The buttercups, the little children's dower 

—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

Discussion Questions:

1.  This has a bizarrely complex rhyme scheme.  The first stanza is ABABCCDD, and the second is AABCBCDDEEFF.  What might be some reasons Browning chose to scatter-shot his rhyming that way instead of writing a poem with a more conventional rhyme scheme?

2.  This is considered one of the great Romantic poems.  What details in this poem really give it a Romantic flavor?  (You can reread this post on Wordsworth for a refresher on Romantic poetry.)

"Memorabilia"

This is a very short "dramatic monologue," and probably based on an actual encounter Browning had with someone who had met the famous Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley.  Shelley died when Browning was only ten years old, so they never had a chance to meet, but Browning really admired Shelley's poetry.

(Just FYI: Percy Bysshe Shelley was married to Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, who wrote Frankenstein.)

"Memorabilia"

by Robert Browning

Ah, did you once see Shelley plain, 

And did he stop and speak to you? 

And did you speak to him again? 

How strange it seems, and new! 

But you were living before that, 

And you are living after, 

And the memory I started at— 

My starting moves your laughter! 

I crossed a moor, with a name of its own 

And a certain use in the world no doubt, 

Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone 

'Mid the blank miles round about: 

For there I picked up on the heather 

And there I put inside my breast 

A moulted feather, an eagle-feather— 

Well, I forget the rest.

Discussion Questions:

1.  What connection is there between the two events of a man meeting a great poet and a man finding an eagle feather?

2.  What are some poetic devices Browning uses in this poem?

3.  Have you ever picked up a simple item while on a trip that became an important bit of memorabilia for you?

"My Last Duchess"

We'll just go ahead and kick off with one of my favorite Robert Browning poems, which is also one of his most-well-known.  This is one of those "dramatic monologues" I mentioned yesterday, which read like a character in a play speaking to someone else, and we get to overhear that.  Gradually, come to understand the character of the speaker and see a glimpse of who they are underneath their words.

"My Last Duchess"

by Robert Browning

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, 

Looking as if she were alive. I call 

That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands 

Worked busily a day, and there she stands. 

Will’t please you sit and look at her? 

I said “Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read 

Strangers like you that pictured countenance, 

The depth and passion of its earnest glance, 

But to myself they turned (since none puts by 

The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) 

And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, 

How such a glance came there; so, not the first 

Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not 

Her husband’s presence only, called that spot 

Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps 

Fra Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle laps 

Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint 

Must never hope to reproduce the faint 

Half-flush that dies along her throat.” Such stuff 

Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough 

For calling up that spot of joy. She had 

A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad, 

Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er 

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. 

Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast, 

The dropping of the daylight in the West, 

The bough of cherries some officious fool 

Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule 

She rode with round the terrace—all and each 

Would draw from her alike the approving speech, 

Or blush, at least. She thanked men—good! but thanked 

Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked 

My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name 

With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame 

This sort of trifling? Even had you skill 

In speech—which I have not—to make your will 

Quite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this 

Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, 

Or there exceed the mark”—and if she let 

Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set 

Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse— 

E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose 

Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt, 

Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without 

Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; 

Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands 

As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet 

The company below, then. I repeat, 

The Count your master’s known munificence 

Is ample warrant that no just pretense 

Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; 

Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed 

At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go 

Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, 

Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, 

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

Discussion Questions:

1.  What happened to this duke's last wife?

2.  Why?

3.  What is he hoping to do now?

4.  What clues do we have to the duke's character and attitudes?

5.  What clues do we have to the late duchess's character and attitudes?

Introducing Robert Browning

This is going to be fairly short, since I shared a ton about Robert Browning in the post about his wife a couple weeks ago.

Robert Browning
(1812-1889)

Robert Browning was born into a well-to-do British family in 1812.  His father was a clerk for the Bank of England and a devoted reader -- he had about 6,000 books in his personal collection.  Robert's mother was a talented musician.  Both parents encouraged their two children to read and study the arts.

Robert began writing poetry at a very early age and finished his first whole book of poetry at age twelve.  No one would print it, so he destroyed it and began again.  He became enamored with the Romantic poets, such as William Wordsworth, and his first published poem was written as an homage to Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley.  That appeared in 1834, and he had some small success with poems and a few plays over the next ten years.  During this time, he continued to live at home once he had finished his boarding school education.

In 1845, he began corresponding with fellow poet Elizabeth Barrett, and they married in 1846.  The Brownings moved to Italy, where they lived mainly on the money Elizabeth had inherited from her grandmother.  Their only child, Robert Barrett "Pen" Browning, was born there.  

After Elizabeth died in 1861, Robert and Pen moved back to England.  Robert's younger sister moved in with them to keep house.  Robert was an outspoken abolitionist and was vocal in his support of the United States during their Civil War.  He also spoke and wrote against anti-Semitism and cruelty to animals.

Robert was raised a Protestant, but embraced atheism as a young man.  After marrying Elizabeth, who was a devout Christian, he appears to have returned to the faith, though he remained a critic of people who believed God existed simply because they were supposed to.

When he returned to England and settled in London, Robert's poetry career began to really take off.  Up until that time, his wife had been far more famous and celebrated than he was (in fact, she was a serious contender for being named Britain's next Poet Laureate for a while).  But in 1868, he published a book-length poem in blank verse, The Ring and the Book, which took him five years to write and polish, and it brought he immense attention and acclaim.  He spent the rest of his life traveling and writing poetry, and never remarried.  He died in his son Pen's home in Venice in 1889.

Most of Robert Browning's poems are "dramatic monologues," which means they're words spoken by some fictitious character to someone else.  During the poem, the speaker's attitudes and beliefs and personality are slowly revealed by what they say.  We'll be studying one of his most famous dramatic monologues this week.

I'll end this with something kind of random and cool: 

This is a cast of Elizabeth and Robert's hands made by the artist Harriet Goodhue Hosmer in 1853.  She later made several bronze and plaster sculptures from the original cast.  I find it really sweet and lovely, and it makes them feel very human and real, somehow.  To me, anyway! 

No new poetry this week!

"Perplexed Music"

Try reading this one out loud -- it is easier to understand that way, I think.

"Perplexed Music"

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Experience, like a pale musician, holds 

A dulcimer of patience in his hand; 

Whence harmonies we cannot understand 

Of God's will in his worlds, the strain unfolds 

In sad, perplexed minors. Deathly colds 

Fall on us while we hear, and countermand 

Our sanguine heart back from the fancy-land, 

With nightingales in visionary wolds. 

We murmur, "Where is any certain tune, 

Or measured music, in such notes as these?" 

But angels, leaning from the golden seat, 

Are not so minded! Their fine ear hath won 

The issue of completed cadences; 

And smiling down the stars, they whisper, "Sweet."

Discussion Questions:

Analyze this poem!  Pay attention to word choices and imagery as well as what you think the overall message/point/theme is.

"Past and Future"

Okay, time for something different.  Enough love poems for one week!  This is from her 1844 collection Poems (so it's from before she met Robert Browning).

"Past and Future"

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

My future will not copy fair my past 

On any leaf but Heaven's. Be fully done, 

Supernal Will ! I would not fain be one 

Who, satisfying thirst and breaking fast 

Upon the fulness of the heart, at last 

Saith no grace after meat. My wine hath run 

Indeed out of my cup, and there is none 

To gather up the bread of my repast 

Scattered and trampled ! Yet I find some good 

In earth's green herbs, and streams that bubble up 

Clear from the darkling ground, — content until 

I sit with angels before better food. 

Dear Christ ! when thy new vintage fills my cup, 

This hand shall shake no more, nor that wine spill.

Discussion Questions:

1.  What is this poem about, do you think?

"Sonnet 38"

Here's another from Sonnets from the Portuguese.  

"Sonnet 38"

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

First time he kissed me, he but only kissed 

The fingers of this hand wherewith I write, 

And ever since it grew more clean and white,... 

Slow to world-greetings...quick with its “Oh, list,” 

When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst 

I could not wear here plainer to my sight, 

Than that first kiss. The second passed in height 

The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed, 

Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed! 

That was the chrism of love, which love’s own crown, 

With sanctifying sweetness, did precede. 

The third, upon my lips, was folded down 

In perfect, purple state! since when, indeed, 

I have been proud and said, “My Love, my own.”

Discussion Questions:

1.  Does this fit your ideas of what romantic poetry is or should be?  How or how not?

2.  Why might a kiss on the hand or the forehead be particularly memorable, maybe even more memorable than a kiss on the lips?

"Sonnet 43"

Let's just go ahead and read the most famous EBB poem right away.  This is from Sonnets from the Portuguese.

"Sonnet 43"

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. 

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 

For the ends of being and ideal grace. 

I love thee to the level of every day’s 

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. 

I love thee freely, as men strive for right; 

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. 

I love thee with the passion put to use 

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. 

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, 

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, 

I shall but love thee better after death.

Discussion Questions:

1.  What might be some reasons this is such a famous poem?

2.  Knowing what you do about EBB from yesterday's introduction post, what parts of this poem seem obviously autobiographical to you?

Introducing Elizabeth Barrett Browning

(If you saw this post in your inbox twice, that's because I accidentally published it Sunday afternoon instead of scheduling to post it on Monday.  So I unpublished it, and here it is again.  Not sure if that will make it show up in your email twice or what.  Sorry about that!)

Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning are one of my favorite literary couples :-D  This week, we'll talk about Elizabeth and her poetry, and then we'll focus on Robert next week.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning
(1806-1861)

Elizabeth Barrett Browning was born in pastoral England to a wealthy family.  She enjoyed a happy and carefree childhood with reading books and playing with her eleven siblings.  She wrote her first poem when she was four years old; by the time she was ten, she was reading Shakespeare.  Her idyllically bookish childhood changed dramatically when she fell ill at the age of 15, possibly due to an injury to her spine.  She became a semi-invalid and suffered from neck and spine pain for the rest of her life.

In the 1830s, Elizabeth's father moved the family to London.  Her health was still not good, but she began having some of her poetry published in London periodicals.  She released her first book, The Seraphim and Other Poems, in 1838.  Reviews in both England and America were overwhelmingly positive, and her name became known among literary critics and readers alike.

In 1840, Elizabeth's favorite brother Edward, who was her best friend and favorite companion, drowned.  Elizabeth had been shy before, but she seems to have developed crippling social anxiety after Edward died.  She refused to make new friends and was afraid of meeting new people.  For several years, she barely ever left her room.  But she kept writing poetry and released her second collection, Poems by Elizabeth Barrett Barrett (her full maiden name was actually Elizabeth Barrett Moulton-Barrett, but she liked to go by EBB).  It was a success too, and her name and work became even more well-known in literary society, even though she wasn't physically or emotionally able to mingle with those people.  In fact, Poems made her quite famous!

Elizabeth would have been considered well on her way to being a "spinster" or "old maid" by then because most women married in their early twenties and were considered "too old" to be eligible for marriage by the time they were thirty.  She seems to have resigned herself to living the rest of her life as a reclusive, unmarried invalid.  

During this time, Elizabeth did gradually make a few friends.  One was a famous writer named Mary Russell Mitford, and the other was John Kenyon, who was friends with many poets even though he wasn't a great writer himself.  Kenyon was a distant cousin of hers, and he helped her poetry become well-known among his friends even though Elizabeth herself couldn't mingle with society much.

In 1845, Poems was picked up, read, and loved by a young poet named Robert Browning.  Elizabeth was familiar with his poetry, and even mentioned him by name in one poem ("Lady Geraldine's Courtship") in her collection.  (I find this interesting: she only wrote that poem because Poems was to be printed in two volumes, and her publisher wanted the two volumes to be the same size, but she didn't have quite enough poems to make it work.  So she almost didn't mention Robert Browning in those poems at all!)  

Robert Browning became an instant fan of Elizabeth's.  In fact, he wrote her a fan letter that began, "I love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett," and ended with, “I do, as I say, love these books with all my heart—and I love you too.”  :-o

Well, Elizabeth wrote back.  Robert wrote her again.  A flurry of letters passed between them (and the mail in Victorian England was very efficient, so they didn't have to wait days or weeks to get letters the way you might imagine).  Robert Browning was six years younger than Elizabeth Barrett, healthy and energetic and not-yet-famous.  Within months, John Kenyon arranged for them to meet in person... but secretly!  Elizabeth's father was kind of creepily controlling and tried to make all of his children rely on him for financial and emotional support all their lives.  Elizabeth was sure her father wouldn't like her having a suitor, and might even forbid her to see Robert again.  The two had fallen in love via their letters, and meeting in person cemented their devotion to each other.  

During this secret courtship, Elizabeth composed some of her most famous poems.  She would later publish many of them in the collection Sonnets from the Portuguese, which is one of the most enduringly popular collections of poetry of all time.  They are love poems filled with longing, hope, fear, and wonder.  She was an invalid spinster, and he was a healthy and promising younger man -- they didn't seem like a good match to the outside world, and she knew it.

Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning got married in secret on September 12, 1846.  Elizabeth continued living at home with her father for the following week, while Robert made arrangements for their honeymoon trip to Europe.  Then, Elizabeth simply left home.  The Brownings traveled in Europe for a time before settling down in Florence.  They would consider Florence their home for the rest of Elizabeth's life.  Elizabeth's father disinherited her when he learned of her marriage, and they never reconciled.

In Florence, Elizabeth and Robert both continued to write poetry.  Their only child, Robert Wiedemann Barrett Browning (called "Pen"), was born there in 1849.  That same year, Elizabeth finally published Sonnets from the Portuguese.  She selected that title partly so it would seem like she might have simply translated the poems from another language, as a sort of way to distance herself from the intensely personal nature of most of the poems.  But it was also a joke between herself and her husband -- one of Elizabeth's poems from Poems, "Catarina to Camoens," is about a woman named Catarina who makes a deathbed declaration of love for a Portuguese poet named Camoens.  Ever since Robert Browning first read that poem of hers, before he even met her, he had thought of Elizabeth as the real Catarina, so he called her "the Portuguese" as a nickname.

Elizabeth's other major work is a long narrative poem in blank verse, Aurora Leigh, which she released in 1857.  She was intensely interested in social issues such as slavery, human rights, women's rights, and political freedom.  Italian politics became a kind of obsession for her while living in Florence, and she wrote many poems about it.

Although her health improved greatly after she married Robert and moved away from her father's repressive home, Elizabeth was never truly strong.  In 1861, when she was only fifty-five years old, she grew continually weaker and died in June following a severe cold.  She died in her husband's arms, and he said that she died smiling and happy.  Robert and Pen moved back to London after her death.  The literary community as a whole mourned her loss, and various literary journals and critics called her the greatest woman poet in the history of English literature!

Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poetry was popular with readers and critics alike while she lived.  It was influential among her fellow poets, too -- for instance, her poem "Lady Geraldine's Courtship" was so inspiring to Edgar Allan Poe that he borrowed its meter and rhythm for his poem "The Raven."  In a newspaper review, Poe said that "Her sense of Art is pure in itself," and he even dedicated his poetry collection The Raven and Other Poems to her.  Her poetry also heavily influenced and inspired Emily Dickinson.  We'll study poems by both of them in the coming months.