Be still, be still, my precious child, I must not give you birth!
I had no idea this poem was symbolizing a pregnancy! It was such a short and simple poem and it was beautifully executed with the description of how someone's trying to get out but they don't know what's actually out there...
Nearer the reaches of the heart Where truth revealed, stands clear, apart;
Follow your heart... Your heart knows what's best. What you truly want and feel.. + The craft of the rhyming scheme worked well with these two lines!
my head weighed down with dreams— The panoply of war, the martial tred of men, Grim-faced, stern-eyed, gazing beyond the ken Of lesser souls, whose eyes have not seen Death, Nor learned to hold their lives but as a breath
These events of life and society are the weights that drag the dreams down into a heavier state of mind because of the present scenario in the piece.
Orange gleams athwart a crimson soul Lambent flames; purple passion lurks In your dusk eyes.
The powerful vocabulary lures me into the poem. I don't remember feeling so much power in those colors before!
No sir. He danced just as dignified And slow. No, not slow either. Dignified and proud! You couldn’t Call it slow, not with all the Cuttin’ up he did. You would a died to see him.
All that energy and excitement and awe sealed the worth on the man. It's like how you would tell other people about something so amazing to you, trying to get other people excited for it too.
That’s what they done to this shine, ain’t it? Bottled him. Trick shoes, trick coat, trick cane, trick everything — all glass — But inside — Gee, that poor shine!
Appearances can be deceiving. While he really showed off his flare while dancing to some jazz music, the people around him still tried to disregard his shine, like the sand in the bottle that made it look like it should be disregarded. Both of their value was kept limited by the objects and people around them.
Singin’ slow, sobbin’ low. Sun-baked lips will kiss the earth. Throats of bronze will burst with mirth. Sing a little faster, Sing a little faster, Sing!
I feel like singing now after reading over these lines because of that build up from starting slow and then picking up the pace, that drive!
I want to breathe the Lotus flow’r, Sighing to the stars With tendrils drinking at the Nile … I want to feel the surging Of my sad people’s soul Hidden by a minstrel-smile.
what a bittersweet feeling I have between the first three lines to the last three lines... finding beauty in the darkest of times..
But let us break the seal of years With pungent thrusts of song, For there is joy in long-dried tears
what a powerful trio! a push and drive for action can make anything happen...
Now Slim warn’t scared Cross my heart, it’s a fac’,
It reminds me of rebellion and standing up for yourself... It's getting to me because it's part of my personal life that I'm going through..
They taught you the religion they disgraced.
Why would they do that? To make the others feel worse than how they feel themselves?
Dey stumble in de hall, jes a-laughin’ an’ a-cacklin’, Cheerin’ lak roarin’ water, lak wind in river swamps.
This sounds like dialogue I'd here from my neighbors from when I was a kid... An informal and consistent pronunciation, like how words with "-ing" end with "-in'" instead.
I’s gwine to quit ma frownin’ And put ma troubles on the shelf.” Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
Douglas's image fits the description Hughes mentioned in the poem because of the dark crowd surrounding the brighter area where the silhouettes danced and yelled to their heart's content. The crowd's shadows created the atmosphere of a low mood that Douglas wanted to put away and decided to bring the energy into the thumping of the dancing.
They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh, And eat well, And grow strong.
Lawrence's image embodied this stanza because they both present the kitchen where there's a history of African Americans creating their delectable recipes and food. When Douglas wrote the line about how "they" would send him into the kitchen, it made me think about the image Lawrence created with the son and mother (above.) It gives me a closer look into the life of the African American lifestyles.
I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
Douglas's image stuck out to me because of the colors that matched with this line. For example, Hughes briefly described the glow of the sunset. I connected his imagery to Douglas's shining scenery on the man. The image also holds the "muddy" aspect that is covered in regards to the coloring of the rocks and the people in the shadows. The line conflicts with itself by allowing the light emerge from the darkness.
A rat crept softly through the vegetation Dragging its slimy belly on the bank While I was fishing in the dull canal On a winter evening round behind the gashouse Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck And on the king my father’s death before him. White bodies naked on the low damp ground And bones cast in a little low dry garret, Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year. But at my back from time to time I hear The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
The passage reminded me of the Armory Show's Gallery E exhibit because of the resemblance of the environment. In the painting, it contained a various amount of the descriptions such as the "vegetation" and the "low damp ground" were like the farmers tending to the crops closer to the foreground of the image and "my brother's wreck" as well as "the sound of horns and motors" connecting with the water near the horizon with the sailboats on the shore. Even though the painting was bright and filled with active human life, it's an opposite replica of what's being described in the paragraph.
They wash their feet in soda water
The term "soda water" relates to what is known today as "carbonated water" which was accidentally created in 1767. From the Office of Society in McGill, "Health resorts in Europe were serving such fizzy waters as supposed cures for various illnesses." In present day, the carbonated water is still created today for casual drinking and can even help remove excess carbon dioxide in your kidneys and lungs, supporting the idea of the liquid being a cure, according to HealthLine. This reminded me of a well-known carbonated water called "La Croix" which some people enjoy drinking today.
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Why does this repeat multiple times? What's the rush? Is it a rush to getting hitched? Or just simply to bed? Or could it be time passing too quickly?
“Do “You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember “Nothing?”
"Do you _ nothing?" Repetition; is it to emphasize how out of the ordinary the occurrence is?
staring forms Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed
The forms had to lean out twice, how come? For an emphasis on their need to quiet down the next room?
Oed’ und leer das Meer.
Translation: "Empty and desolate sea" Does the sea represent the interaction that the girl had a year ago and then lost?
“You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!”
Translation: "You! Hypocrite reader! - My fellow! - My brother!" Why bring a reference from Charles Baudelaire's poem entitled "The Reader?"
Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du?
Translation: "Fresh blows the wind / For home, / My Irish Child / Where are you?" Why are these lines spoken in German? Is the setting somewhere in Germany?
Nuts
Why do nuts keep coming up?
Not writing not writing another. Another one. Think. Jack Rose Jack Rose. Yard.
This reminds me of how some people would go through their thoughts by making connections and talking about what certain things remind them of.
Next to barber. Next to barber bury. Next to barber bury china. Next to barber bury china glass. Next to barber china and glass. Next to barber and china. Next to barber and hurry. Next to hurry. Next to hurry and glass and china. Next to hurry and glass and hurry. Next to hurry and hurry. Next to hurry and hurry.
The repetition of "Next" at the beginning of each line sounds like a melody/song. (Anaphora)
Ethel. Ethel. Ethel.
Calling for her child? Judging maybe? Repetition means "Ethel" is important in some way...
Wearing head. Cousin tip nicely. Cousin tip. Nicely. Wearing head.
It's almost replicating a mirror's reflection because "Wearing head" repeats identically but "Cousin tip nicely" is broken up into "Cousin tip. Nicely." Is this like a distortion of repetition?
the truth about us— her great ungainly hips and flopping breasts addressed to cheap jewelry and rich young men with fine eyes as if the earth under our feet were an excrement of some sky and we degraded prisoners destined to hunger until we eat filth
The different stanzas to describe "them," which Elsie is part of, emphasize how much they're struggling. They aren't specifically labelled as anything but the stanzas show me who they are.
They enter the new world naked, cold, uncertain of all save that they enter. All about them the cold, familiar wind— Now the grass, tomorrow the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf One by one objects are defined— It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf But now the stark dignity of entrance—Still, the profound change has come upon them: rooted they grip down and begin to awaken
Weird how these last four stanzas are mirroring each other but not the rest, which is 6-2-5-2... What are the mirroring stanzas talking about; the leaves, the plants, the flowers?
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold
It's interesting how he created an "I-you-I" pattern. The context resembles an "I'm sorry" note so it makes the note feel real in a structured way.
“This is just to say”
Not only is it the title, it's also the beginning of the note this person wishes to express.
All will be easier when the mind To meet the brutal age has grown An iron cortex of its own.
Does this mean correlate with how someone would grow up like a flower? An "iron cortex" takes time to grow in the mind, so.... I can see it but I'm not sure.
Man, doughty Man, what power has brought you low,
Is the "doughty Man" God? Or could it be the man swearing he's worth much more and then had a falling out?
all the clamour that was he, Silenced
Nice break on how now he's dead so he can't talk so much anymore; emphasizes the fact that he won't utter a peep because of his permanent break
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
She's speaking as she doesn't have someone to love? Or is she clarifying that in the place she's in, she can't find love or has a hard time understanding it?
It well may be. I do not think I would.
No matter how much she doesn't believe love is everything, she still wouldn't trade it in for anything...
Better to go down dignified With boughten friendship at your side Than none at all. Provide, provide!
that's really sad... having to buy your friendships in order to not feel lonely must've been rough. when I read the title, I thought it would talk about middle class, working men going on about their day of their jobs and their families.
I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, On a white heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth — Assorted characters of death and blight Mixed ready to begin the morning right, Like the ingredients of a witches’ broth — A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth, And dead wings carried like a paper kite.
The rhyme scheme is: A B B A A B B A. The sequence is literally designed in a different way compared to the ordinary A B A B A B A B sequence, paying homage to the title of the poem.
Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. 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.
The rhyme scheme overlaps into each stanza except the last stanza repeats the same rhyming with itself as well as the stanza before it. This could represent the narrator's descent into sleep, whether he's falling asleep on accident or on purpose.
And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
The narrator is repeating this to him/herself/themselves to keep their energy and determination to keep their promises (most likely on the lines of making it back to whoever the promises were for.) It also sounds like the narrator is dozing off as the line is being repeated.
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 less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
He seems content because he's on the path that goes against the norm or what's in the mainstream atmosphere. I hope he finds what he's looking for...
“Good fences make good neighbors.”
Repetition from the middle of the poem... Is he trying to say that even if barriers are put up between them they could still interact from a safe distance?
“Good fences make good neighbors.”
As long as there's a stable boundary set between the two, there won't be any issues. I think that's what it means...
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall
Repetition of the first line... The wall might mean that the two partners find it undesirable because they hate fighting with each other.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall
I don't like the way he phrased this line... It's unnatural or obsolete to speak like that. Why did he say that? Does it have something to do with a disagreement/fight between two people who care about each other?
“For auld lang syne.”
"For times long past." There's nothing left for him in this town, no family, no friends. Absolutely gone from his life.
And with an acquiescent quaver said: “Well, Mr. Flood, if you insist, I might. “Only a very little, Mr. Flood– For auld lang syne. No more, sir; that will do.”
he must be drinking so that he would be drunk when the flood finally arrived so he wouldn't see the horror it'll create.
Alone, as if enduring to the end A valiant armor of scarred hopes outworn.
a one-man army who still has one fight left in him...
Poets and kings are but the clerks of Time,
why are poets and kings the clerks of Time? could it be because poets can write about what Time is while kings stand the test of time by leaving behind their history?
As in the days they dreamed of when young blood Was in their cheeks and women called them fair. Be sure, they met me with an ancient air,— 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.
an interesting difference between women and men: women look young and clean to represent innocence, possibly and then men look dirty in an old time...
“I’ve got out at last,” said I, “in spite of you and Jane. And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, so you can’t put me back!”
She finally got out... She is the figure behind the wallpaper, trapped before but free now...
Then in the very bright spots she keeps still, and in the very shady spots she just takes hold of the bars and shakes them hard.
The figure has to be her subconscious wanting to escape! During the bright day, she's calm and shows little to no intentions or advancements to do anything. But once it's night time, she's active and full of determination to figure a way out.
I have watched John when he did not know I was looking, and come into the room suddenly on the most innocent excuses, and I’ve caught him several times LOOKING AT THE PAPER! And Jennie too. I caught Jennie with her hand on it once. She didn’t know I was in the room, and when I asked her in a quiet, a very quiet voice, with the most restrained manner possible, what she was doing with the paper—she turned around as if she had been caught stealing, and looked quite angry—asked me why I should frighten her so! Then she said that the paper stained everything it touched, that she had found yellow smooches on all my clothes and John’s, and she wished we would be more careful!
What a breach in privacy! I hate John and Jennie, could they just step out of her life already? Jennie was clearly caught red-handed and, even when she was calm in her approach, Jennie had the audacity to make it look like the narrator was the one who was wrong? I don't like it.
By daylight she is subdued, quiet. I fancy it is the pattern that keeps her so still. It is so puzzling. It keeps me quiet by the hour.
What a correlation... The figure stops moving while she remains puzzled and frozen at the mysterious figure.
“Better in body perhaps—” I began, and stopped short, for he sat up straight and looked at me with such a stern, reproachful look that I could not say another word. “My darling,” said he, “I beg of you, for my sake and for our child’s sake, as well as for your own, that you will never for one instant let that idea enter your mind! There is nothing so dangerous, so fascinating, to a temperament like yours. It is a false and foolish fancy. Can you not trust me as a physician when I tell you so?”
He just shut her down and enforced more of what he wants! What kind of tunnel-vision husband is this guy? "... you will never for one instant let that idea enter your mind!" How could he say that to his wife? He's supposed to be there for her and understand both the external and internal parts of her. Clearly, that's not the case... I wouldn't trust him with my life, as a physician and as a human being.
you really are better, dear, whether you can see it or not. I am a doctor, dear, and I know.
BS. He doesn't know what he's talking about. All he sees are all the external "improvements," not the internal troubles she's going through! He may be a doctor but he's not the right doctor for her. He has no idea how to deal with what she's going through.
The faint figure behind seemed to shake the pattern, just as if she wanted to get out.
Could "she" be herself trying to escape from the depressing reality she lives in?
He said I was his darling and his comfort and all he had, and that I must take care of myself for his sake, and keep well. He says no one but myself can help me out of it, that I must use my will and self-control and not let any silly fancies run away with me.
What kind of pep-talk is this? I get it, he wants her to get better and the only way she'll get better is if she doesn't let the weaknesses get her down but "for his sake?" Seems pretty selfish to me... John could've at least put a little bit more effort to help her feel better like (Oh I don't know) letting her do what she wants to do? Clearly, keeping her in a room all by herself is obviously not helping her so why doesn't John take her out more? Or find a different method to treating whatever sickness she, supposedly, has? John's a doctor, he should know that if something doesn't work consecutively, then he should try something different, right?
I don’t know why I should write this. I don’t want to. I don’t feel able. And I know John would think it absurd. But I MUST say what I feel and think in some way—it is such a relief!
Ahh... Contemplating your options... What is the best way to deal with this? Push through and continue to pour your heart out onto the page, which may cause physical exhaustion? Or take John's advice and lay around to wonder about the world's trickiest topics and let your thoughts run rampant in your mind, which may cause physical, emotional and psychological exhaustion? (It's pretty obvious, isn't it?)
“debased Romanesque” with delirium tremens
I really enjoyed the very professional choice of words in the description of the paper's unique design! This is the only thing she's got to do so why not? It's the only way she keeps up her scholarly vocabulary. Maybe this is her way out to find her lost self.
I cry at nothing, and cry most of the time.
that feeling of emptiness and being lost/confused will do that to you... being closed off from the world, feeling powerless and being controlled by someone who doesn't understand what you need... it sucks.
But in the places where it isn’t faded and where the sun is just so—I can see a strange, provoking, formless sort of figure, that seems to skulk about behind that silly and conspicuous front design.
She's been staring at the wallpaper for too long... There must be something about it, maybe how out of place its design is or what each tear in the paper tells. Sometimes, you get so bored that there'll be that one thing that catches your eye and you'll try to make sense of it, as if it were the missing piece to the answer to everything or find out its meaning...
I must not let her find me writing.
I wonder why she's not allowed to write... Sure, it could tire her out like what John mentioned earlier and that is true. But why? Is there a much deeper reason as to why she isn't allowed to write?
I meant to be such a help to John, such a real rest and comfort, and here I am a comparative burden already! Nobody would believe what an effort it is to do what little I am able,—to dress and entertain, and order things. It is fortunate Mary is so good with the baby. Such a dear baby! And yet I CANNOT be with him, it makes me so nervous. I suppose John never was nervous in his life. He laughs at me so about this wall-paper!
It's interesting how she's putting herself down even though John is keeping her cooped up in the house "for her own good" when she knows it's not good for her. She's always going back and forth between wanting more for herself to accepting whatever John tells her.
The color is repellent, almost revolting; a smouldering unclean yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight. It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulphur tint in others. No wonder the children hated it! I should hate it myself if I had to live in this room long.
I like how specific she got with the color of the wallpaper alone; the shade of it and how she disgusted she was with it. She could've been this descriptive with how she felt with John or how she felt with the house but she didn't...
when you follow the lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide
I like how she phrased the design because it shows how abrupt the change appears in the wallpaper's pattern.
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.
It relates to me because I used to have to hide my thoughts from other people before. Spoken from experience, it does get tiring to have to feel like you have to hide who you really are because of other people.
Work, culture, liberty,—all these we need, not singly but together, not successively but together, each growing and aiding each, and all striving toward that vaster ideal
Another lost idea in society today... A group of people may believe that in any case that requires these traits, it has to be one over the other. However, that shouldn't be the case because they all work together in some way; work continues to stabilize culture and liberty to the people, culture keeps the free, working people in check of their roots and liberty defines the work and culture in our society.
Up the new path the advance guard toiled, slowly, heavily, doggedly; only those who have watched and guided the faltering feet, the misty minds, the dull understandings, of the dark pupils of these schools know how faithfully, how piteously, this people strove to learn.
The structure of this sentence reminds me of how someone would give a speech or a preacher at a church because he's extending the cause to his audience, urging them to listen to what the real issue is and is getting ready to explain the solutions to solve the problem.
This waste of double aims, this seeking to satisfy two unreconciled ideals, has wrought sad havoc with the courage and faith and deeds of ten thousand thousand people,—has sent them often wooing false gods and invoking false means of salvation, and at times has even seemed about to make them ashamed of themselves.
Well said! Trying too hard to impress or favor one side over the other is a waste of time because the end goal may not necessarily be in your favor. In an attempt to satisfy one or both conflicting ideals, you may become lost, trying to figure out who you really are and that's difficult.
the Negro minister or doctor was tempted toward quackery and demagogy
After looking up the meanings for the words "quackery" and "demagogy," I commend Du Bois's vocabulary in this line because not only do those words need to be used in a methodical manner in order to make sense but he's executed well enough to show that anyone is capable of using this kind of professional language.
it is the contradiction of double aims. The double-aimed struggle of the black artisan—on the one hand to escape white contempt for a nation of mere hewers of wood and drawers of water, and on the other hand to plough and nail and dig for a poverty-stricken horde—could only result in making him a poor craftsman, for he had but half a heart in either cause.
What an interesting way to explain the pros and cons of the situation... Even though the context works accordingly with the idea of a black man's place in society, it still carries similar aspects to seeing high risks.
He would not Africanize America, for America has too much to teach the world and Africa. He would not bleach his Negro soul in a flood of white Americanism, for he knows that Negro blood has a message for the world.
Powerful advice that is barely acknowledged! I appreciate Du Bois's inclusion of it because he's reminding the readers and I that whoever we are is who we are. We shouldn't have to favor one part of ourselves in order to belong to that group. You belong to all parts of what makes you you.
It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his twoness,—an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.
This part of the passage created a hard hitting analysis for me. People manage to focus on what others see for themselves and finding some way to make a clear determination? It's not that easy to balance or control how we observe the people around us... It really makes you think about life and how society has crafted our perceptions.
mixed himself up in the tangle of ideas until he achieved a sort of Paradise of ignorance vastly consoling to his fatigued senses. He wrapped himself in vibrations and rays which were new, and he would have hugged Marconi and Branly had he met them, as he hugged the dynamo; while he lost his arithmetic in trying to figure out the equation between the discoveries and the economies of force.
This is definitely an observation from the outside, not fully understanding the moral behind why these actions occurred but also creating his/her/their own analysis based off of context.
explained how little he knew about electricity or force of any kind, even of his own special sun, which spouted heat in inconceivable volume, but which, as far as he knew, might spout less or more, at any time, for all the certainty he felt in it.
This sounds like multiple instances where someone who knows very little about the topic tries to spew out unrelated descriptions of the topic to create a false sense of knowledge.
Adams had looked at most of the accumulations of art in the storehouses called Art Museums; yet he did not know how to look at the art exhibits of 1900.
Maybe he observes life in broad brush strokes instead of focusing on the finer/more specific details.
Out of burlap sacks, out of bearing butter, Out of black bean and wet slate bread, Out of the acids of rage, the candor of tar, Out of creosote, gasoline, drive shafts, wooden dollies, They Lion grow.
I like the repetition of "Out" at the beginning of each line until the end when it begins with "They." It emphasizes the last line's importance regarding the lion.
Of the hams the thorax of caves
I'm not sure I understand the connection between this and the rest of the stanza other than how a flower and a cave are part of nature...