All a plain all a plain show.

All a plain all a plain show.

Jack Rose Jack Rose.

Mercy for a dog.

By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair,
The doctor reminds them of something, I assume, they cannot change. They're poor so they can't help their children. The doctors good intentions become a constant, awful reminder of their powerlessness.
so sweet and so cold
The sweetness suggests a pleasure in this transgression but the cold may suggest some regret.
that she’ll be rescued by an agent— reared by the state and sent out at fifteen to work in some hard-pressed house in the suburbs—
Her "rescue" condemns her to a life of hard labor. The dalliance that bore her was a between the working class people described above. In effect, we see the cycle repeat here, as most likely this girl who begins working at 15 will soon be a young slattern herself.
All will be easier when the mind To meet the brutal age has grown An iron cortex of its own.
This connects to what we've been reading. The narrator anticipates a need to develop a protective shell around the mind in the modern age. Like Robinson and Masters, she finds the modern world to be frightening and, like them, presents a trepidatious attitude towards it.
and all the riveted pride he wore, A rusted iron column whose tall core The rains have tunnelled like an aspen tree.
He was destroyed by powers beyond his control. A rusted iron column is a great image to communicate that idea. He, like an iron column, stood strong and tall. Ultimately, circumstances, the rains, tunneled through his pride and his life.
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
The metaphor of bartering away a memory for food is just a great image. It also makes the stakes of her decision (to trade love for peace of mind) bigger, which makes her refusal to do so that much more impactful.
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed. He moves in darkness as it seems to me, Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
The neighbor is portrayed as simple, close minded, and perhaps even a little scary. He's compared to a stone wielding savage of old and moves in a darkness beyond just the absence of light. I think Frost is trying to subtly suggest the violence inherent in the neighbors close minded, traditionalist outlook. I don't think Frost is saying there will be violence between these two, but that the neighbors general mindset can create violent outcomes in other situations.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
Frost spends the entire poem making it understood that the narrator is going to stop here in the woods. Instead, he realizes he has obligations to meet and continues on. While the woods are pleasant, the journey to come seems arduous. It also seems important to note that the woods are not his, but someone else’s.
I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
Much of the poem establishes that both roads are about the same. But once he's already made his decision, he decides to romanticize it a bit, flattering himself by saying it's the one less traveled by. It's funny that many popular interpretations of the poem agree with this more romantic view.
And yes, there was a shop-worn brotherhood About them; but the men were just as good, And just as human as they ever were.
Robinson insists on the humanity of the clerks, praising them for weathering the passage of time and keeping their vitality. It feels similar to what Du Bois is doing in The Souls of Black Folk, only Robinson is working along class lines instead of race lines. He goes on to address the reader, trying to make them understand that people of supposedly superior statuses are actually no better. Du Bois addresses white intellectuals, portraying for them the struggles and hopes of black people to make his reader see them as fully human.
What is this I hear of sorrow and weariness, Anger, discontent and drooping hopes? Degenerate sons and daughters, Life is too strong for you– It takes life to love Life.
Here's another dead Masters narrator who thinks that society is degenerating. I wonder if the poem intends us to side with the narrator or if there's a hint of irony in this last passage. Throughout her life, she faced hardships (the death of eight children) but seems to admonish the next generation for their negativity. Are we to believe that she didn't feel sorrow or weariness?
As if to destroy the last vestige Of my memory and influence.
There's a continuity with Adams here. The narrators of both texts see the world around them changing and leaving them behind. In Adam's case, the science moves too quickly for him to keep up. In the case of Seth, his community destroys the institution he created to educate the public. One's problem is progress, the others is regress.
I did write for a while in spite of them; but it DOES exhaust me a good deal—having to be so sly about it, or else meet with heavy opposition.
This treatment borders on becoming solitary confinement. To be left alone in an ugly room with nothing to do to occupy ones mine for hours at a time is horrific.
“in spite of you and Jane. And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, so you can’t put me back!”
It's interesting that, even in her delusional state, the narrator recognizes that her husband has trapped her. John created the circumstances which would worsen her mental health issues by restraining her to her room. "... you can't put me back!" is an apt statement considering what she's been through.
barred windows
It's a small detail only mentioned twice, but the barred windows make this room feel like a prison, which, for our protagonist, it effectively is.
The first decade was merely a prolongation of the vain search for freedom, the boon that seemed ever barely to elude their grasp,—like a tantalizing will-o’-the-wisp, maddening and misleading the headless host. The holocaust of war, the terrors of the Ku-Klux Klan, the lies of carpet-baggers, the disorganization of industry, and the contradictory advice of friends and foes, left the bewildered serf with no new watchword beyond the old cry for freedom. As the time flew, however, he began to grasp a new idea. The ideal of liberty demanded for its attainment powerful means, and these the Fifteenth Amendment gave him. The ballot, which before he had looked upon as a visible sign of freedom, he now regarded as the chief means of gaining and perfecting the liberty with which war had partially endowed him. And why not? Had not votes made war and emancipated millions? Had not votes enfranchised the freedmen? Was anything impossible to a power that had done all this? A million black men started with renewed zeal to vote themselves into the kingdom. So the decade flew away, the revolution of 1876 came, and left the half-free serf weary, wondering, but still inspired.
While Adams was born before the civil war and Du Bois was born after, they both were witnesses to the last half of the 19th century from different vantage points. Du Bois watched the effects of widespread systemic racism on the newly freed black population. Adams looked at the effects of technology and education on the national consciousness.
To the real question, How does it feel to be a problem? I answer seldom a word.
Both Adams and Du Bois are struggling with existential problems. Adams has trouble defining himself in rapidly evolving modern world. Du Bois struggles with a white power structure defining who he is.
Men call the shadow prejudice, and learnedly explain it as the natural defence of culture against barbarism, learning against ignorance, purity against crime, the “higher” against the “lower” races. To which the Negro cries Amen! and swears that to so much of this strange prejudice as is founded on just homage to civilization, culture, righteousness, and progress, he humbly bows and meekly does obeisance.
Here, Du Bois and Adams appear to share a skepticism for education, albeit for different reasons. Du Bois sees traditional education of that time produce justifications for racism. Adams sees that traditional education can't keep up with a rapidly changing world.
How many years had he taken to admit a notion of what Michael Angelo and Rubens were driving at?
What notion is he talking about here? The power of the horse? Is this still engaging with the Virgin and Venus? The rest of the passage talks about the power or lack thereof of goddesses, so is it somehow related to that? I probably just need more familiarity with Michael Angelo and Peter Paul Rubens.
An American Virgin would never dare command; an American Venus would never dare exist.
It seems like, through the ida of the Virgin and Venus, Adams is trying to assess the psychological state of the nation. Since Americans don't feel the psychological force of either, A Virgin can't command any power. Because we are sexless, a Venus can't exist. But since Adams uses both symbols in ways I can't fully account for, referencing ideas and texts I haven't read, I can't say this with any confidence. Every paragraph which talks about either symbol holds some confusion for me.
The Venus of Epicurean philosophy survived in the Virgin of the Schools:–
I would need to know way more about Epicurean philosophy to even begin to understand what he's getting at here. Also, what schools is he referring to? The entire American education system? Higher education? Something else entirely? I'm not quite sure, but it seems crucial to understanding the passage. Also, this is in between to Latin quotes I can't read because I don't know Latin.