Dove practices a style of poetry that is empowering through her use of history and brutal honestly of modern culture. She is a very relatable writer as she elaborates or her own personal experiences by incorporating her grandparents in her poems and significant writers in history such as Shakespeare. Dove is unlike any other Afro-American poet because her work isn’t focused on the African American but on the American that happens to be black; she incorporates the black person into the American society rather than isolating them. Most of her poems have a song-like rhythm to them which is culturally relatable to the black community and attracts the interest of every ethnicity. She primarily writes in free verse along with first and third person narratives. She does tend to focus on oppressed groups such as women, black, or the impoverished but never places them in the victim’s role; they are always represented by empowering characters.
My personal favorite work by Dove is “Adolescence III.” Even though this poem is referencing a young black woman, living on a farm with no father and big dreams, I think every female learns the lessons of sacrifice and that’s what transforms her into a woman. And the beauty of that transformation is that she doesn’t lose her big dreams of falling in love and finally finding that savior to rescue her from all her pain and heartache. Dove beautifully captures this timeless element of womanhood that is so relatable its hard not feel empathy when reading it.
Biography
Hughes is particularly known for his insightful, colorful portrayals of black life in America from the twenties through the sixties. He wrote novels, short stories and plays, as well as poetry, and is also known for his engagement with the world of jazz and the influence it had on his writing. His life and work were enormously important in shaping the artistic contributions of the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s. Unlike other black poets of the period, he refused to seperate his personal experience and the common experience of black America. He wanted to tell the stories of his people in ways that reflected their actual culture, including both their suffering and their love of music, laughter, and language itself.
hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me—who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records—Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn’t make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white—
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That’s American.
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that’s true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me—
although you’re older—and white—
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
50-50
By Langston Hughes
I’m all alone in this world, she said,
Ain’t got nobody to share my bed,
Ain’t got nobody to hold my hand—
The truth of the matter’s
I ain’t got no man.
Big Boy opened his mouth and said,
Trouble with you is
You ain’t got no head!
If you had a head and used your mind
You could have me with you
All the time.
She answered, Babe, what must I do?
He said, Share your bed—
And your money, too.
Connection
Dove was inspired by Hughes' incorporation of reality into his poetry during times of black pride. The first poem displays the loneliness young black students felt in mostly white colleges and universities around the country. It was hard for them to pursue educational careers because they didn't have too many leaders setting that example and when in the colleges, white professors had a difficult time teaching them because they thought they were so different. Hughes does a wonderful job crafting a poem that incorporates all these emotions and fears. The second poem "50-50" discusses a common fear of loneliness black women had during the Harlem Renaissance which is still relevant today. In modern times, women embrace independence and perceive it as a goal, while in the 1930s, it was seen as loneliness and undesirable because they weren’t valued unless they had a male companion. This is a brutally honest topic, but also inspiring because it is appropriately addressed.
Poems with topics regarding race, gender, and social issues are inspiring to Dove because it enables her to build off of the poets before her. Dove and Hughes write about issues within the black community but use their education and creativity to do so. The fact that Dove is one of the most profound black female poets is because of previous black poets like Hughes.
Rita Dove was the youngest person and the first African-American ever named Poet Laureate of the United States. She held the position from 1993 to 1995. Dove was educated in Ohio, Germany and Iowa and first began teaching in the English department of the University of Arizona in 1981. In 1989 she took a faculty position with the University of Virginia in Charlottesville, and is currently a professor of English there. She published her first book of poems, The Yellow House on the Corner, in 1980, and in 1987 she was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry for her collection Thomas and Beulah. She has won numerous awards, grants, fellowships and honorary degrees, and is one of the most celebrated poets of her generation. Dove has also published a collection of short stories, Fifth Sunday (1985) and a novel, Through the Ivory Gate (1992), and collaborated with composer John Williams on a piece for the 1999 Steven Spielberg documentary The Unfinished Journey. Her other books include Museum (1983), Mother Love (1995) and American Smooth (2004).
The path to ABC Business School
was paid for by a lucky sign:
Alterations, Qualified Seamstress Inquire Within.
Tested on Sleeves, hers
never puckered -- puffed or sleek,
Leg o' or Raglan --
they barely needed the damp cloth
to steam them perfect.
Those were the afternoons. Evenings
she took in piecework, the treadle machine
with its locomotive whir
traveling the lit path of the needle
through quicksand taffeta
or velvet deep as a forest. And now and now sang the treadle, I know, I know....
And then it was day again, all morning
at the office machines, their clack and chatter
another journey -- rougher,
that would go on forever
until she could break a hundred words
with no errors -- ah, and then
no more postponed groceries,
and that blue pair of shoes!
Analyzation
This poem emphasizes the work the mother did before actually earning a job. She had a natural talent because the “sleeves never puckered” and they “barely needed the damp cloth/ to steam them perfect.” The mother was so talented that she could make beautiful clothing out of “quicksand taffeta/ or velvet deep as forest.” The writer describes her mother’s thoughts including “I know, I know” which encourage her to persist to attain her goal of finishing “ABCBusinessSchool.”
The third paragraph describes her new business job “at the office machines” describing “their clack and chatter/another journey-rougher.” She uses her determination and focus from the seamstress job to persevere in this corporate job which is hard to do as a mother. But once she reaches her goals, she release an “ah…and then…” as a sigh of relief and accomplishment. During the envoi, the writer presents the “blue pair of shoes” as her mother’s reward for all her success and it represents all the work she has done in school, in the workforce, and as a mother.
Exit
Just when hope withers, the visa is granted.
The door opens to a street like in the movies,
clean of people, of cats; except it is your street
you are leaving. A visa has been granted,
"provisionally"-a fretful word.
The windows you have closed behind
you are turning pink, doing what they do
every dawn. Here it's gray. The door
to the taxicab waits. This suitcase,
the saddest object in the world.
Well, the world's open. And now through
the windshield the sky begins to blush
as you did when your mother told you
what it took to be a woman in this life.
Analyzation
This poem is mostly about change and transitions. The writer is dreaming about leaving and pursuing a life of wonder like “in the movies” because she isn’t satisfied with where she is living now. She imagines a world of possibilities, hopes and dreams. The town she is living in now is preventing her from fulfilling her potential. The feeling of jealousy is introduced as she claims “you are leaving.” She wants the “visa” that has been granted, a pass to leave. The house the person has left behind does not change even though the people around it are. The writer uses personification, claiming that the windows of the house “are turning pink, doing what they do every dawn.” The windows are a part of a routine that is not interrupted, unlike the person who has left who is beginning a new schedule for themselves.
A trope is used to describe the grief the writer is feeling, and she transfers it to the suitcase as it is “the saddest object in the world.” There is a major shift of tone in the poem from regret, jealousy, and sadness to hope after the optimistic statement that “the world’s open.” She realizes now the person had to leave in order fulfill their own potential. She recalls learning that it is a struggle "to be a woman in this life."
Used
The conspiracy's to make us thin.
Size threes are all the rage,
and skirts ballooning above
twinkling knees are every man-child's
preadolescent dream.
Tabula rasa. No slate's that clean--
We've earned the navels sunk in
grief when the last child emptied us
of their brief interior light.
Our muscles say
We have been used.
Have you ever tried silk sheets?
I did, persuaded by postnatal dread
and a Macy's clerk to bargain
for more zip.
We couldn't hang on, slipped to
the floor and by morning the quilts
had slid off, too. Enough of guilt--
It's hard work staying cool.
Analyzation
This poem discusses the social pressures of body image women face and limited ways to attain it. Women are confined to "size threes" in order to fit all the popular fashion styles. They want to fit into these sizes, and the requirements of society, in order to fit "every man-child's pre-adolescent dream." She attests that we know better and "tabula rasa" isn't a good excuse for our ignorance. The caesura is the pause of reflection on her statement, realizing the truth within it. Women work hard through exercise, diet, and other means in order to achieve their " navels sunk in." Their children who they have sacrificed so much for have "emptied" them in every possible way. Resulting in their bodies telling their stories of struggle and sacrifice for their children. They also allow the sales people of theses stereotypical products to use them. but at the end of the end of the day, all the fake feelings and personas women try to portray "had slid off too." The truth of the personalities will always persevere because "its hard staying cool." But this is only from the point of view of those who are fully aware of the mold they are trying to fit, while others are fooled into thinking they created it.
DayStar
She wanted a little room for thinking:
but she saw diapers steaming
on the line,
A doll slumped behind the door.
So she lugged a chair behind
the garage to sit out the
children's naps
Sometimes there were things to watch--
the pinched armor of a vanished cricket,
a floating maple leaf.
Other days she stared until she
was assured when she closed
her eyes she'd only see her own
vivid blood.
She had an hour, at best,
before Liza appeared pouting from
the top of the stairs.
And just what was mother doing
out back with the field mice?
Why, building a palace.
Later that night when Thomas
rolled over and lurched into her,
She would open her eyes
and think of the place that was hers
for an hour--where she was nothing,
pure nothing, in the middle of the day
Analyzation
This poem describes the feeling of entrapment that is paired with motherhood. The women is overwhelmed by her duties involving "steaming diapers" and all she desires is time alone, the one thing that seems impossible to attain. The easiest wait to accomplish independence is to "[lug] a chair behind the door." The author use a caesura when feeling guilty about watching "the pinched armor of a vanished cricket" rather than her children. She almost fears the time when she is watching over her children; it is perceived as a ticking time bomb until "Liza appears at the top of the stairs pouting." She escapes to her own fantasy land where she is "building a palace" with field mice. She envies the carefree lifestyle her children have and emulates their actions but has to do so in private because it is irresponsible. Fantasizes about that "hour--where she was nothing" until she can experience it once again. The metaphor she wishes she could be and the role she watches her children fulfill the other 23 hours of the day.
Hade's Pitch
If I could just touch your ankle,
he whispers, there on the outside,
above the bone-- leans closer,
breath of lime and peppers--
I know I could make love to you .
She considers this, secretly thrilled,
though she wasn't quite sure what
he meant. He was good with words,
words that went straight to the liver.
Was she falling for him out of sheer
boredom-- cooped up in this
anything-but-humble dive, stone
gargoyles leering and brocade
drapes licked with fire?
Her ankle burns where he described it.
She sighs just as her mother
aboveground stumbles, is caught
by the dredlock--bereft in an instant--
while the Great Man drives home
his desire.
Analyzation
This poem is suspenseful while following Rita Dove's reoccurring theme of loss of innocence. The author pursues the approach of stream of consciousness, stating thoughts, actions and dialogs of the story. The girl whose perspective the story is told from, doesn't share her responses in words, but through caesuras, usually occurring during hesitations. She doubts herself or perhaps him after he claims to be able to "make love" to her. There is the possibility of shame as she is "secretly thrilled," indicating she isn't expressing this emotion. Her innocence is revealed as she "wasn't quite sure what he meant," indicating that she is a younger girl having her first sexual experience with an experienced male who was "good with words." she is sure why she is interested or attracted to him which is expressed in a questioning enjambment. "Her ankle is burning where he described it," communicating that her body does want to make love. She maybe be in a preoccupied family as "her mother aboveground stumbles" and allows the man to have his way because she may not be able to find a reason to oppose.
Adolescence I
In water-heavy nights behind grandmother's porch
We knelt in the tickling grass and whispered:
Linda's face hung before us, pale as a pecan,
And it grew wise as she said:
"A boy's lips are soft,
As soft as baby's skin."
The air closed over her words.
A firefly whirred in the air, and in the distance
I could hear streetlamps ping
Into miniature suns
Against a feathery sky.
Analyzation
The author beings this poem with a thick layer of comfort as she describes the “water-heavy nights” she spent with her family during the summer on her grandmother’s porch. The time of the year is indicative of summer because of the thick moisture in the year, maybe in the south. Personification is used to describe “the tickling” grass on the children’s’ bodies as they are up late at night chatting. Linda could be an older white girl, sharing her sexual experience with the younger black children which is noted as she is described as “pale as a pecan” and why is isn’t included in the “we.”
They are intrigued by her story she relates intimate kisses to a “baby’s skin”, something they are familiar with. The last envoi is expressed through an enjambment illuminating the simple, yet detailed thoughts of a young child, and how precious these thoughts are. This poem is the beginning of the process of loss of innocence, which is further analyzed throughout this series of poems about the fragility of adolescence.
Adolescence II
Although it is night,
I sit in the bathroom, waiting.
Sweat prickles behind my knees,
the baby-breasts are alert.
Venetian blinds slice up the moon;
the tiles quiver in pale strips.
Then they come, the three seal men
with eyes as round As dinner plates
and eyelashes like sharpened tines.
They bring the scent of licorice.
One sits in the washbowl,
One on the bathtub edge;
one leans against the door.
"Can you feel it yet?" they whisper.
I don't know what to say, again.
They chuckle,
Patting their sleek bodies with
their hands.
"Well, maybe next time."
And they rise, Glittering like pools
of ink under moonlight,
And vanish. I clutch at the
ragged holes
They leave behind, here at
the edge of darkness.
Night rests like a ball of fur
on my tongue.
Analyzation
This is certainly a poem of nervous apprehension and the continuing theme of loss of innocence from the first adolescence poem. This is an unusual situation for her because the first stanza indicates that she usually doing something else during the night, most likely sleeping because she is young with her “baby-breasts” even though she identifies them as “the” instead of claiming ownership which indicates she could be having an outer body experience. The reoccurring device of personification appears in describing her observations that the “Venetian blind slice up the moon.” This is descriptive of the evil of the house is destroying an essential piece of a beautiful night sky.
The second stanza is very upsetting as it presents disturbing imagery. After she has been “waiting” for quite some time, there are “three seal men” coming into the bathroom “with eyes as round as dinner plates,” indicating that they are greedy and ready to devour her. They are all positioned at different locations in the bathroom, which makes it impossible for her to escape. The men ask if she “can feel it yet” is upsetting as “they chuckle” at her confusion. She finds herself not knowing what to say because she is inexperienced and innocent. The mention of “their sleek bodies” indicates that they are a young group of men, taking advantage of an innocent girl. The only the girl is sure of is “the ragged hold they [left] behind.” The holes they left are in her tranquility, peace of mind, and innocence.
Adolescence III
With Dad gone, Mom and I worked
The dusky rows of tomatoes.
As they glowed orange in sunlight
And rotted in shadows, I too
Grew orange and softer, swelling out
Starched cotton slips.
The texture of twilight made me think of
Lengths of Dotted Swiss. In my room
I wrapped scarred knees in dresses
That once went to big-band dances;
I baptized my earlobes with rosewater.
Along the window-sill, the lipstick stubs
Glittered in their steel shells.
Looking out at the rows of clay
And chicken manure, I dreamed how it would happen;
He would meet me by the blue spruce,
A carnation over his heart, saying,
"I have come for you, Madam;
I have loved you in my dreams."
At his touch, the scabs would fall away.
Over his shoulder, I see my father coming toward us:
He carries his tears in a bowl,
And blood hangs in the pine-soaked air. '
Analyzation
This last poem in the series of adolescence, speaks about the sacrifices, resilience, and dreams of a young women and identifying the transition into womanhood, certainty categorizing it as a narrative poem. The first stanza introduces her family situation is “Dad gone, Mom and I worked.” The first line is structured as cause and affect; because the father is gone her and her mother have to work. They may not have many of the luxuries that other mother and daughters do because they do not have a man to support them financially so they are positioned to sacrifice those luxuries. The father is only mentioned twice because she is not dwelling on what she lost rather than what she has to do; showcasing her resilience she has seemed to have learned from her mother. She mentions her “wrapped scarred knees in dresses” from working hard in the fields. They are reminders of why she works so hard and how she achieves her goals. The “big-band dances” are another sacrifice she makes in order to pursue this lifestyle that she has with her mother. It can be assumed that her father left recently because this is a new sacrifice she has made.
The pantoum style was orginally sung, but the importance of rhyming has diminished throughout the years. It is traditionally composed of four-line stanzas, with the second and fourth lines used as the first and third lines of the following stanza. Often times, the first and last lines of the poem are the same also.
Parent's Pantoum
by Carolyn Kizer
Where did these enormous children come from,
More ladylike than we have ever been?
Some of ours look older than we feel.
How did they appear in their long dresses
More ladylike than we have ever been?
But they moan about their aging more than we do,
In their fragile heels and long black dresses.
They say they admire our youthful spontaneity.
They moan about their aging more than we do,
A somber group--why don't they brighten up?
Though they say they admire our youthful spontaneity
They beg us to be dignified like them
As they ignore our pleas to brighten up.
Someday perhaps we'll capture their attention
Then we won't try to be dignified like them
Nor they to be so gently patronizing.
Someday perhaps we'll capture their attention.
Don't they know that we're supposed to be the stars?
Instead they are so gently patronizing.
It makes us feel like children--second-childish?
Perhaps we're too accustomed to be stars.
The famous flowers glowing in the garden,
So now we pout like children. Second-childish?
Quaint fragments of forgotten history?
Our daughters stroll together in the garden,
Chatting of news we've chosen to ignore,
Pausing to toss us morsels of their history,
Not questions to which only we know answers.
Eyes closed to news we've chosen to ignore,
We'd rather excavate old memories,
Disdaining age, ignoring pain, avoiding mirrors.
Why do they never listen to our stories?
Because they hate to excavate old memories
They don't believe our stories have an end.
They don't ask questions because they dread the answers.
They don't see that we've become their mirrors,
We offspring of our enormous children.
This poem is the classic story of “when I was a kid…” transformed into literature. The first stanza references the constant rush for young people to grow up without appreciating their youth. This neglect leads them into an unsatisfying adult life, unable to take advice from their elders. In the fifth stanza, the parents are resentful of the children for outshining them. This is a result of their lack of patience which has been displayed throughout the poem.
The repetition of almost half the poem supports it's consistent significance. Each reoccurring line is a reoccurring trait or problem in the relationship of parent and child.The envoi of the poem does display the reflection of the parent on themselves, realizing that the child is indeed their creation and can only blame themselves for the result.
Spring Pantoum by Maylee Bossy
(please comment on this poem)
Sunlight bleeds through forest canopy
Slipping between my fingers
The daisies glare at me with sympathy
When crushed their scent still lingers
Slipping between my fingers
White petals soft caress
When crushed their scent still lingers
Care free, I could care less
White petals soft caress
Green blades tickle my feet
Care free, I could care less
It's nearing summer's heat
Green blades tickle my feet
Content, yet all alone
It's nearing summer's heat
Reaching for a home
Content, yet all alone
Desperately searching for what I won't find
Reaching for a home
Each breath awkwardly timed
Desperately searching for what I won't find
Sunlight bleeds through forest canopy
Each breath awkwardly timed
The daisies glare at me with sympathy
Villanelle style poetry is nineteen lines with two repeating lines and two refrains.
They follow the rhyming pattern of aba aba aba aba aba abaa.
This is a recitation of the the poem by the author:
"Do Not Go Gentle ino that Good Night"
by Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
This poem portrayed a vibe of warning or caution. The author is warning the reader not to be deceived by the night, despite his good intentions. This poem appeared to me as a wise man or elder or veteran warning a young soldier before going off to his first call of duty.
The repeated title throughout the poem incorporates the deceitful night in to many types of people including the “wise men” in the second stanza and the “wild men”in stanza four. The wild men mentioned also made the mistake of approaching the night, or perhaps a war, unprepared and regretting that decision on the way home.
The last stanza is the author requesting his father to enlighten him of the fears and dangers of the night, so he doesn’t have to experience them first hand. This is why he asks to be cursed and blessed because it will be painful to hear all to horrors but later he will be happy he did it. He learns from the repeated verse “rage, rage against the dying of the light” can be seen as a metonymy for running off adrenaline from the enemy, with the dying of the light being the disappearance of life.
One Art By Elizabeth Bishop (please comment on this poem)
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
