Analysis Of The Poem ' I Collected My Notes '

“Heh, yeah,” Greg replied, his eyes heavy and rather tired-looking. “You think we made an alright decision? I mean, it’s not special, but

“But, where did they come from?" she asked. He glanced at her, smiled, but did not answer her question

I glanced back at the others, who were still frozen in place, but had closed their mouths. “Well, I . . . I mean we, um, uh . . .”

My first selected poem is a poem written by Jane Hirshfield called “The Poet”. “The Poet” is about a female poet trying to re-discover her skill of creating beautiful poems. When reading this poem, the reader can infer that this poet is in distress and frustrated because the poet sets a depressing mood. You almost start to feel a little sympathetic for her, but the mood lightens when the poet finds out that her poems aren’t discovered in a calm and perfect situation. This changes the mood from depressing to encouraging in just a few lines.

I don't remember what happened that day. All I remember is how you lit up that room.

The poet is disheartened with both the facts. He says that the soldier that fight, especially in the vanguard of the army, have funerals with the rejections of all rituals, for example, no flowers, no candles and not even their dead bodies. He concludes that first the soldiers are not sent but forced to fight in the war and then when they die their funeral is carried out for formality with no respect or even sympathy. He calls these rituals "mockeries" in a bitter and furious tone in the octet of the sonnet and the choruses "shrill, demented" and compares it to the falling of bullets of machine guns on the ground when he says "wailing shells"

“Of course! What was I thinking? You of all people wouldn't do something so foolish.”

“Oh I am sure they are. I didn’t mean to imply they weren’t.” Lila felt herself stammering.

“Look, they’re private. I said things to her I never in my life said to anyone else.”

“Why’re we conversing about this?” Jabel asked, flushed. “I do not wish to hear about these people and their lives.”

This week in our Writer’s Workshop we focused on composing our own poetry. Miss Hiral gave an example by composing a poem that shared her feelings and recent experience from her trip to Colorado. She explained that poems describe something in detail- a poem is a piece of writing more similar to a song than a story as they use rhyme, rhythm, and sometimes a specific pattern.

When you first look at the poem the first thing you notice is that the first three verses are of an identical structure on the page. In them the first few lines of each one of the narrator’s associates are mistreated in brutal circumstances. In the first verse Akanni is beaten up and put in the military’s jeep. The poet uses personification to describe how Akanni was 'stuffed ... down the belly' of the jeep, this personifies the jeep as a hungry predator. The next three lines of the stanza and the next two, convey how the narrator feels about the action that has taken place. Using the metaphor ‘So long they don’t take the yam from my savouring mouth?’ It proposes the thought of what should I care if it does not affect me, this relates to the title, ‘not my business’.

“Ok, just be careful,” she said nervous still. “I don’t want to lose you over some crazy people.”

Storm was relieved the inquiry was taking a different direction, but he also felt awkward. “She promised she wouldn 't talk about that.”

The cold crisp winter air bit at her as she trekked across the empty field. A light gust of wind picked up, blowing her wild fiery hair into her face and she pushed it away in slight annoyance. Exhaling a breath, she inched further into her coat and stuffed her hands into her pockets in an attempt to keep warm. Making her way over to a small bench that was dark and slightly rustic, she plopped herself down and instantly fell back into the hard wooden seat with a sigh. Rubbing her glove-covered hands together, she looked towards her vacant surroundings. Lush, vibrant greenery stretched across the vast entirety of the land. The near-naked whimsical-looking trees that were posed disorderly sprouted long thin branches that were yet to blossom into divine colours. Soft yellow light filtered through the grey clouds and casted a warm glow over the field. The faint audible murmur of bristling leaves and the high intermittent chirps of birds pleased her ears. As she watched the blushing withered leaves fall upon the dewy grass, a sense of warm nostalgia settled over her.