The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy: A Poetry Analysis

As this poetry blog reaches its winter days, and as the weather becomes gloomier, let's look at a winter poem:

poem:
I leant upon a coppice gate 
      When Frost was spectre-grey, 
And Winter's dregs made desolate 
      The weakening eye of day. 
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky 
      Like strings of broken lyres, 
And all mankind that haunted nigh 
      Had sought their household fires. 

The land's sharp features seemed to be 
      The Century's corpse outleant, 
His crypt the cloudy canopy, 
      The wind his death-lament. 
The ancient pulse of germ and birth 
      Was shrunken hard and dry, 
And every spirit upon earth 
      Seemed fervourless as I. 

At once a voice arose among 
      The bleak twigs overhead 
In a full-hearted evensong 
      Of joy illimited; 
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, 
      In blast-beruffled plume, 
Had chosen thus to fling his soul 
      Upon the growing gloom. 

So little cause for carolings 
      Of such ecstatic sound 
Was written on terrestrial things 
      Afar or nigh around, 
That I could think there trembled through 
      His happy good-night air 
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew 

      And I was unaware. 

analysis:
I chose to analyze this poem simply because of the fact the title sounds pretty cool. The Darkling Thrush. That title conjures up an image of a song bird flying through a ruined land. And that description is pretty accurate. What interested me was how the title sounds very mysterious and attention grabbing. This effect is achieved via the usage of the suffix -ling and the word "thrush", an archaic word for a songbird, with a loud song and brown breast. I also found this poem on a list of winter-themed poems, which further piqued my interest towards reading this poem.

And that interest was rightfully deserved, because The Darkling Thrush is one of the earliest pieces of dystopian writing, being written in 1900, decades before the genre would be a mainstay of young adult fiction. Although some may criticize me for using the term "dystopian", I feel like it is representative of the poem. The poem is split up into  four stanzas of eight lines (except for the last stanza), and follows a ababcdcd rhyme scheme. The last four lines of the 3rd stanza stand out for me. It describes a songbird "flinging its soul upon the glowing gloom." I feel like this is a metaphor, representing a death in literature. Oscar Wilde died in November 1900, one month before The Darkling Thrush was published. That metaphor could also relate to the fact that literature wasn't going through any major movements at the time. Indeed, it would take another 15 years for modern poetry to advance further with the Dada movement. The last stanza also shines some more light onto the context of the poem. It calls the song of the thrush without cause, and the last four lines use apostrophe to refer to an absent person, God perhaps? And those lines state that God knew about the supposed disaster to occur, but the speaker wasn't aware. Possibly hinting at divine intervention ruining the planet?

I can go on about the evidence-based thoughts, but, I do hold personal connections to this piece. I spent four years in a gifted program. And the first year of it was hell. I couldn't make friends, I had horrible grades and the teacher had given up on me. I also gave up on myself. I felt like I was in a disaster zone, and I felt like the world was against me. How does this connect to the poem? Well, like the speaker, I felt like I was trudging through the dust of an inhospitable land. I was receiving praise for no apparent reason, like the song sung in the poem. However, I was unaware of the fact that he knew (the teachers in my case) about the disaster that I went through. I assumed that no one understood me. So I pushed away all the help that came to me. Only after I became aware of the teacher's intentions, those were, to give me a challenge to see if I could perform well did I succeed. In conclusion The Darkling Thrush is a great read if you want dystopian fiction that isn't meant for a 13 year old audience.

How Do I Love Thee? By Elizabeth Barrett Browning: A Poetry Analysis

Going back to my tried and true formula, it's time to analyze another sonnet.

poem:
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.

analysis:
Now that I think about it, this poem should have been compared with Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare, because I seem to love short things. Short songs, short poems, short people... actually let's not talk about the short people. How Do I Love Thee is a sonnet, written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning and although the title doesn't stand out in any way, from what I saw, Browning makes poems that have inconspicuous titles, but are well written and usually have religious references. Well, Sonnet 43 has all of those qualities.

The most basic summary of this sonnet is that it is about a (presumably female) person confessing their love to another one, claiming that their love is a life necessity, and that her love is free and pure. So far, the poem lacks depth, and reads like a love letter, which certainly isn't a bad thing. One of the most famous poems of all time is Shall I Compare Thee, which I already scrutinized. But, after the tenth line, the poem enters the deep end of the proverbial pool. The speaker mentions that she is is loving with "the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhoods faith", making bold statements to really drive the message home. But the last four lines take the poem into another realm entirely. "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.". As I mentioned earlier, Browning does weave in some religious imagery, and this is no exception. As I see it, the speaker is using the "fire" used to burn past issues to ignite a love-spark (yes that sounds cheesy). And the speaker has hinted that she is a former Christian, and will treat her lover like she used to love her faith.

My connection with this poem isn't related to love or faith. Its related to competition. Like the speaker, I too have used my past losses to ignite a fire in me that fuels me to do better every day. Whether that fire burn in my mind, my heart or my body, I can also connect to the loss of faith in religion. I was raised in a very religious family. But, as I grew older, I felt like my love for Jesus started to slip as I grew older, due to all the intellectuals around me. I did grow up in the gifted system. Now I'm going to end this before it gets too emotional.

Poem Vs. Poem Issue 1: The World Is Too Much With Us Vs. The Best Thing In The World

Today I'll be comparing two poems about our ruined/beautiful world. Which one is it? Well it depends on which poet you ask.

(To save space I'm just going to link the two poems)

The World Is Too Much With Us by William Wordsworth

The Best Thing In The World by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I chose these two poems for multiple reasons. The first is that both poems were written by British poets in the 19th century, just 50 years apart. But, the more interesting reason is that they denote contradictory ideas. Wordsworth proposes that nature has become more violent and that winds rip through the atmosphere at all hours. But Browning believes that the world is sweet and perfect, with calm breezes cascading through blue skies. As you can tell, the meanings of these two poems are polar opposites. But why? They were both written in the same century, by two poets living in the same country. I decided to look at the circumstances of 19th century England to see if current events shifted the views of these poets, rather than the poems themselves to find reasons for their viewpoints.

One major fact separates these two poems. Wordsworth wrote his piece before major industrialization took place. Browning wrote hers during industrialization. But, as you will see, that fact doesn't really explain the views of  At that point, many were tilling fields and working in agriculture. Wordsworth mentioned that the human race has "given our hearts away, a sordid boon!", implying that he accepts the reality that is using the worlds resources to keep us alive, but, he calls it immoral as well. I actually find it odd that Wordsworth see humans as hurting nature, despite the fact that farming methods of the time were more sustainable then methods used when Browning wrote her poem. But, there are other meanings in this poem. For instance, the speaker would rather me "A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn", then mentioning Greek gods at the end. Maybe he has lost faith in God, and is now looking to different deities to guide him.

However, historical events do explain Browning's views. She describes the best things in the world as sunny June days, love and pleasure. However, the last two lines of the poem flips its meaning on its head. "What's the best thing in the world? Something out of it." Browning may be implying that due to industrialization and factorization, the world has lost its beauty and charms. Other than that, the poem doesn't really have any other meanings. After all, it is only 10 lines.

So which poem resonates more to me in a modern setting? Wordsworth's by a long shot. Let's face it. Civilization has ravaged landscapes and stolen resources from our planet. And I also resonate with the message that most religious people, like Christians (I was raised as a Christian but I am no longer one) have ignored their own morals without remorse. To conclude, despite the fact that it was written 212 years ago, The World Is Too Much With Us paints a very compelling picture even today, even more so than a poem written 50 years more recently.

The Tyger by William Blake: A Poetry Analysis

poem:
Tyger Tyger, burning bright, 
In the forests of the night; 
What immortal hand or eye, 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 


In what distant deeps or skies. 
Burnt the fire of thine eyes? 
On what wings dare he aspire? 
What the hand, dare seize the fire? 


And what shoulder, & what art, 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 
And when thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand? & what dread feet? 


What the hammer? what the chain, 
In what furnace was thy brain? 
What the anvil? what dread grasp, 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp! 


When the stars threw down their spears 
And water'd heaven with their tears: 
Did he smile his work to see? 
Did he who made the Lamb make thee? 


Tyger Tyger burning bright, 
In the forests of the night: 
What immortal hand or eye, 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?


analysis:
The Tyger by William Blake is an song poem, written in 1794, and included in the book Songs of Experience. It was on our recommended reading list, so I had to read it, but what really led me to read it was the alternate spelling of "tiger". I was expecting an older-sounding poem. And that's exactly what The Tyger is.


The use of the word "tyger" interested me, as archaic spellings are either indicative of the time period, or used for some sort of emphasis. Considering the time period in which it was written, I believe that the former is true. This poem consists of 6 stanzas, and alternates between trochaic and iambic tetrameter. The denotation of the poem is obvious. The speaker is expressing his admiration, and later his curiosity towards some sort of animal. But I believe in a different meaning for this  piece. The speaker could be referring to man itself. "Did he smile his work to see?" and "Did he who made the Lamb make thee?" must surely refer to God, despite the lack of capitalization on the word He. The last  two lines "What immortal hand or eye dare frame thy fearful symmetry" could imply that our existence is unholy, and that no divine spirit would be willing to create an animal as destructive as man. Is he implying that we are all the spawn of Satan?


This poem, despite its mature themes and connotations reminds me of nursery rhymes from my childhood, like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. The utter fascination with a natural being, the rhyme structure, the change between trochaic and iambic tetrameter and the repetition of the first stanza at the end with a slight modification are all shared characteristics between the two pieces. However, The Tyger came first, as Twinkle Twinkle Little Star was penned in 1804. I find it interesting that such a mature piece could have inspired one of the most rudimentary songs ever made.

nobody loses all the time by e e cummings: a poetry analysis (but if you're me you lose all the time)

poem:
nobody loses all the time

i had an uncle named
Sol who was a born failure and
nearly everybody said he should have gone
into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could
sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which
may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle

Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable
of all to use a highfalootin phrase
luxuries that is or to
wit farming and be
it needlessly
added

my Uncle Sol’s farm
failed because the chickens
ate the vegetables so
my Uncle Sol had a
chicken farm till the
skunks ate the chickens when

my Uncle Sol
had a skunk farm but
the skunks caught cold and
died and so
my Uncle Sol imitated the
skunks in a subtle manner

or by drowning himself in the watertank
but somebody who’d given my Uncle Sol a Victor
Victrola and records while he lived presented to
him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a
scruptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with
tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and
i remember we all cried like the Missouri
when my Uncle Sol’s coffin lurched because
somebody pressed a button
(and down went
my Uncle

Sol

analysis:

Today we will be looking at nobody loses all the time, a poem by E. E. Cummings. Knowing a bit about E. E. Cummings, I knew some basic characteristics of his writing. He uses improper capitalization paired with awkward line breaks and transferred epithet to give his work an almost demented tone. This avant-garde style draws the reader in, and almost reminds me of the ramblings of a madman.

nobody loses all the time is a free verse poem, lacking any rhyme structure. It reads like a speech rather than a poem, and feels overly wordy for its subject matter; the story of an uncle named Sol, who seems to have failed for his entire life, just to drown himself to death. The poem mentions Sol having luxuries. Said luxuries are described as "a highfalootin phrase". Those luxuries are later mentioned in the form of a record player, and the person who gave that record player to Sol gave him a large funeral reception. From what I can see, the poem's message is no matter how hard you fail in life, you'll be remembered for the possessions you had, not the life you lived.

The concept of death and failure doesn't really resonate with me. There have been no deaths in my immediate family, and said family has lived productive lives. But, I do agree with the message of the poem. It is a sad truth that we must live with.  Will the murder victim, thrown onto a barren highway be remembered for the life he lived, or the wounds he bleeds from? Sadly, this proves that materialistic gains are the only things that matter anymore.

Let America Be America Again by Langston Hughes: A Poetry Analysis

poem:
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free?  Not me?
Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!

analysis:
I discovered this poem while looking for poems related to America, as I wanted to see some historical perspective on America. I thought that the poem would be some mad ramble from a racist white man. After all, it was written in 1938. But, what I didn't expect was a poem that so relevant to modern day society. Lines like "make America again!" (mind the omission of the word great) and "America was never America to me" give the speaker a tone of despair and longing for a better America. The speaker "wears many masks", describing himself as "the Negro bearing bearing slavery’s scars", "the immigrant clutching the hope I seek", "the young man, full of strength and hope", etc.

The meaning of this poem is very obvious. The speaker is longing for an America that isn't controlled by the elite, isn't controlled by false concepts, and an America where everyone is free. Langston Hughes seems to be anti-war and anti-establishment. At a first glace, his views of "make America great again!" almost echo Donald Trump and his populist agenda. But, his views are almost socialist in form; asking workers and the poor to take back their land. He also critiques the concept of patriotism, stating that it is unequal to true Liberty. Another concept that differentiates him from the gangling demon that is Donald Trump is his call for minority groups to work together to form his Utopian America.

I personally connect with this poem because I also believe in pseudo-socialist ideals. I do support the NDP, after all. Coming from an immigrant family, I also value people of all races and creeds working together to build the future. My background and my political preferences make me relate to this poem .But to end this analysis, Hughes's comments can still be used today, as a sort-of socialist manifesto, especially when a populist gnome rules America. This poem demonstrates that the past can still influence our future.

Shall I Compare Thee to a Summers Day? by William Shakespeare: A Poetry Analysis

poem:
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 

analysis:

I discovered this poem on a dreary day in Grade Four. Scrolling through a book of poetry during silent reading, I read one of the most famous Shakespeare poems of all time; Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day? But, I haven't properly analyzed this sonnet until today.

This sonnet doesn't lend itself to much interpretation. It is, through and through, a tender, almost cornily written love letter. Although I do not know the backstory of this poem (if there is one), some lines make me believe that this poem was written after summer, because language like "And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.", makes the speaker feel like he's longing for summer days of old. But other than that, Sonnet 18 is simply a fluidly written enjoyable love poem that truly exemplifies the writing style of the time.

Although I have never been in a relationship before, I can still connect to this poem. I connect to the reader's desire for a woman to love him back, and it serves as an inspiration for my writing. However, I feel like the William Shakespeare's writing shouldn't be used as a model to build modern work on. His work serves as a relic of a time long gone. And that should not be perceived as a bad thing. The fact that his writing is so representative of the era of which it was written in is beautiful.