Wednesday, May 20, 2009

The road not taken by robert frost

please think of the figurative language used in the following poem!

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
•And sorry I could not travel both
•And be one traveler, long I stood
•And looked down as far as I could
•To where it bent in the undergrowth;
•Then took the other, as just as fair,
•And having perhaps the better claim,
•Because it was grassy an wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
•Had worn them really about the same.
•And both that morning equally lay
•It leaves no step had trodden black.
•Oh, I kept the first for another day!
•Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
•I doubted if I should ever come back.
•I shall be telling this with a sigh
•Somewhere ages and ages hence:
•Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
•I took the one les traveled by,
•And that has made all the difference.

meeting at night by robert browning

Task III. Please explain what do you understand from the poem?

They grey sea and the long black land;
•And the yellow half-moon large and low;
•And the startled little waves that lap
•In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
•As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
•And quench its speed I’ the slushy sand.
•Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
•Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
•A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch

•And blue spurt of a lighted match,
•And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears,
•And the two hearts beating each to each!
–Robert Browning ( 1812-1889):

my life close twice by emily dickinson

Task II. What kind of figurative language is used in this poem? explain!

My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Living in sin by Andrienne Rich

Please give comment on kind of life the women lives in!

Living in Sin

She had thought the studio would keep itself;
no dust upon the furniture of love.
Half heresy, to wish the taps less vocal,
the panes relieved of grime. A plate of pears,
a piano with a Persian shawl, a cat
stalking the picturesque amusing mouse
had risen at his urging.
Not that at five each separate stair would writhe
under the milkman's tramp; that morning light
so coldly would delineate the scraps
of last night's cheese and three sepulchral bottles;
that on the kitchen shelf among the saucers
a pair of beetle-eyes would fix her own---
envoy from some village in the moldings . . .
Meanwhile, he, with a yawn,
sounded a dozen notes upon the keyboard,
declared it out of tune, shrugged at the mirror,
rubbed at his beard, went out for cigarettes;
while she, jeered by the minor demons,
pulled back the sheets and made the bed and found
a towel to dust the table-top,
and let the coffee-pot boil over on the stove.
By evening she was back in love again,
though not so wholly but throughout the night
she woke sometimes to feel the daylight coming
like a relentless milkman up the stairs.