Synthesis

When I chose to research and complete my poetry project on the works of Gwendolyn Brooks, the only poem I knew by her was "We Real Cool." It was a poem that I read for the first time in fourth grade, and have never forgotten. Something about it stuck with me, and whether it was the subject matter, jarring enjambment, or possibly the intentionally awful grammar, the repetitive "We,"  always seemed to echo in my head every time poetry was discussed in school there on out. I think that echoing is the essence of Gwendolyn Brooks and her poetry. The power of her poetry is the kind one cannot forget.

An African American poet, much of Brooks' work focuses on issues faced by African Americans, mainly those in poor, urban communities. Her writing is so effective because she skillfully pairs different literary techniques to further communicate the troubling yet powerful subject matter. Examples of this are in "Kitchenette Building," which focuses on the disillusionment of the "American Dream." To effectively communicate her point she uses devices sensory imagery and metaphor. "The Mother," speaks of the typically unaddressed issues of abortion-- the guilt and lamentations the would have been mother faces. Like many of her poems, Brooks uses repitition in "The Mother." Another device Brooks often uses is rhyme schemes, though they are not usually regular.

Brooks poems are approachable and about the struggles of common people, which I believe is why she is so popular. Her vocabulary is not inaccessible, or her syntax unaproachable. Her poetry and intent manifest in the way that good poetry should: when reading her poems I would get a feeling, they evoked a certain emotion in me, though I was not totally sure why. After multiple reads, I was able to pick up on certain elements, her comparison of a dream to an onion, specific instances of poverty, little things that made her poems so tangible, powerful and emotional. Brooks speaks to one's subconcious before they can even recognize it.

Who Influenced Gwendolyn Brooks?

Two poets that influenced Gwendolyn Brooks were Langston Hughes and James Weldon Johnson.

Langston Hughes was an African American poet who, like Brooks, wrote about the social issues faced by African Americans. Hughes mainly focused on Harlem, where he called home, and the ongoing Harlem Renaissance. One of his most famous poems is The Negro Speaks of Rivers. It deals with the issues of slavery and its aftereffects in the black community. Like many of Brooks' poems, it is extremely powerful and emotionally moving.

The Negro Speaks of Rivers

I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow
        of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.

I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went
        down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn
        all golden in the sunset.

I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

James Weldon Johnson was also an African American poet who focused on the social issues of African Americans during the time period. He used his poetry as a means of advancing the rights for African Americans and was heavily involved with the NAACP (National Associated for the Advancement of Colored People). His poem Fifty Years (1863-1913) deals with the Emancipation Proclamation and its after effects:  

   Fifty Years (1863-1913)

 O brothers mine, to-day we stand Where half a century sweeps our ken, Since God, through Lincoln's ready hand, Struck off our bonds and made us men.  Just fifty years - a winter's day - As runs the history of a race; Yet, as we look back o'er the way, How distant seems our starting place!  Look farther back! Three centuries! To where a naked, shivering score, Snatched from their haunts across the seas, Stood, wild-eyed, on Virginia's shore.  This land is ours by right of birth, This land is ours by right of toil; We helped to turn its virgin earth, Our sweat is in its fruitful soil.  Where once the tangled forest stood, - Where flourished once rank weed and thorn, - Behold the path-traced, peaceful wood, The cotton white, the yellow corn.  To gain these fruits that have been earned, To hold these fields that have been won, Our arms have strained, our backs have burned, Bent bare beneath a ruthless sun.  That Banner which is now the type Of victory on field and flood - Remember, its first crimson stripe Was dyed by Attucks' willing blood.  And never yet has come the cry - When that fair flag has been assailed - For men to do, for men to die, That we have faltered or have failed.   We've helped to bear it, rent and torn, Through many a hot-breath'd battle breeze Held in our hands, it has been borne And planted far across the seas.  And never yet, - O haughty Land, Let us, at least, for this be praised - Has one black, treason-guided hand Ever against that flag been raised.  Then should we speak but servile words, Or shall we hang our heads in shame? Stand back of new-come foreign hordes, And fear our heritage to claim?  No! stand erect and without fear, And for our foes let this suffice - We've bought a rightful sonship here, And we have more than paid the price.  And yet, my brothers, well I know The tethered feet, the pinioned wings, The spirit bowed beneath the blow, The heart grown faint from wounds and stings;  The staggering force of brutish might, That strikes and leaves us stunned and dazed; The long, vain waiting through the night To hear some voice for justice raised.  Full well I know the hour when hope Sinks dead, and 'round us everywhere Hangs stifling darkness, and we grope With hands uplifted in despair.  Courage! Look out, beyond, and see The far horizon's beckoning span! Faith in your God-known destiny! We are a part of some great plan.  Because the tongues of Garrison And Phillips now are cold in death, Think you their work can be undone? Or quenched the fires lit by their breath?   Think you that John Brown's spirit stops? That Lovejoy was but idly slain? Or do you think those precious drops From Lincoln's heart were shed in vain?  That for which millions prayed and sighed, That for which tens of thousands fought, For which so many freely died, God cannot let it come to naught.

Literary Devices

See site for great definitions of literary terms mentioned and described in analysis http://www.tnellen.com/cybereng/lit_terms/

Gwendolyn Brooks on YouTube

Her Legacy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wr3suBImldk

Bad 80s Montage: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cyYPsHcwsag

We Real Cool: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3kF6MGBjzk&feature=related

Kitchenette Building

Kitchenette Building

We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan, Grayed in, and gray. "Dream" mate, a giddy sound, not strong Like "rent", "feeding a wife", "satisfying a man". But could a dream sent up through onion fumes Its white and violet, fight with fried potatoes And yesterday's garbage ripening in the hall, Flutter, or sing an aria down these rooms, Even if we were willing to let it in, Had time to warm it, keep it very clean, Anticipate a message, let it begin? We wonder. But not well! not for a minute! Since Number Five is out of the bathroom now, We think of lukewarm water, hope to get in it. Kitchenette Building by Gwendolyn Brooks deals with the idea or illusion of the American Dream. Brooks takes a more cynical viewpoint, arguing that the dream is "gray," and having a "giddy sound, not strong." She also compares it to the fight between onions and potatoes fried together, competing for flavor. In their competition for flavor, I think Brooks alludes to the idea of appearance versus reality. While the onions have a strong, showy flavor, the potatoes are the bland and gray reality. The next aroma she speaks of is "garbage ripening," again imagery that suggests a negative view, or rather the sad reality, of those who pursue the American Dream.

The Independent Man

The Independent Man

Now who could take you off to tiny life
In one room or in two rooms or in three
And cork you smartly, like the flask
of wine
You are? Not any woman.
Not a wife.
You'd let her twirl you,
give her a good glee

Showing your leaping ruby to a friend.
Though twirling would be meek.
Since not a cork
Could you allow, for being made
so free.

A woman would be wise to think it well
If once a week you only rang the bell.

This poem focuses on the objectification of women (described as a ruby) during the time of slavery. I think that the poem talks about slave women being raped by their masters, and used for their friends as well. I think that the symbolism of the cork is that it is an airy material, with lots of holes and low density implying lightness and freeness.

The Bean Eaters

The Bean Eaters


They eat beans mostly, this old yellow pair.
Dinner is a casual affair.
Plain chipware on a plain and creaking wood, 
Tin flatware.

Two who are Mostly Good.
Two who have lived their day,
But keep on putting on their clothes
And putting things away.

And remembering . . .
Remembering, with twinklings and twinges,
As they lean over the beans in their rented back room that
is full of beads and receipts and dolls and cloths,
tobacco crumbs, vases and fringes. 



Like many of her poems, and all but one that I have posted, The Beat Eaters also features a rhyme scheme (ABCB). There is also repetition of the "tw" beginning of words, and an alliteration is present in the phrase "twinklings and twinges." The Bean Eaters is a romantic poem, in my opinion, and an excellent example of how poetry paints pictures that words can't seem to justify on their own. It tells of an honest couple, "this old yellow pair" who live a modest life in their "rented back room." Brooks paints a picture of poverty, yet the love and companionship between the two outweighs this hardship.

The Crazy Woman

The Crazy Woman


I shall not sing a May song.
A May song should be gay.
I'll wait until November
And sing a song of gray.

I'll wait until November
That is the time for me.
I'll go out in the frosty dark
And sing most terribly.

And all the little people
Will stare at me and say,
"That is the Crazy Woman
Who would not sing in May.


The Crazy Woman tells of the speaker's perception of herself through the eyes of others. To them she is the "
Crazy Woman." The speaker seems unhappy, as she doesn't sing "in May" when happy songs are sung, but rather in November when she sings "a song of gray." There is a lot of cold and dark imagery in the poem, with phrases such as "frosty dark" and "gray," dispersed in the poem. Like many of her other poems, Brooks has utilized a rhyme scheme.

One Wants A Teller In A Time Like This

One Wants A Teller In A Time Like This 


One wants a teller in a time like this

One's not a man, one's not a woman grown
To bear enormous business all alone.

One cannot walk this winding street with pride
Straight-shouldered, tranquil-eyed,
Knowing one knows for sure the way back home.
One wonders if one has a home.

One is not certain if or why or how.
One wants a Teller now:

Put on your rubbers and you won't catch a cold
Here's hell, there's heaven. Go to Sunday School
Be patient, time brings all good things--(and cool
Stong balm to calm the burning at the brain?)
Behold,
Love's true, and triumphs; and God's actual.




One Wants A Teller In A Time Like This is about someone, reverting to their childish ways, wanting someone to tell them what to do. They are lost, and looking for guidance. Brooks alludes to the way children are told to do things by their parents in lines such as "Put on your rubbers and you won't catch a cold." By referencing absolutes such as heaven and hell, she speaks of wanting absolutes and true answers, cut and dry, no room for interpretation, as things would be easier this way. Like many of Brooks' poems there is a rhyme scheme. She ends the poem with the two answers that she knows; "Love's true, and triumphs; and God's actual."

To Be In Love

To Be In Love


To be in love 
Is to touch with a lighter hand. 
In yourself you stretch, you are well. 
You look at things 
Through his eyes. 
A cardinal is red. 
A sky is blue. 
Suddenly you know he knows too. 
He is not there but 
You know you are tasting together 
The winter, or a light spring weather. 
His hand to take your hand is overmuch. 
Too much to bear. 
You cannot look in his eyes 
Because your pulse must not say 
What must not be said. 
When he 
Shuts a door- 
Is not there_ 
Your arms are water. 
And you are free 
With a ghastly freedom. 
You are the beautiful half 
Of a golden hurt. 
You remember and covet his mouth 
To touch, to whisper on. 
Oh when to declare 
Is certain Death! 
Oh when to apprize 
Is to mesmerize, 
To see fall down, the Column of Gold, 
Into the commonest ash.


To Be In Love strays from the typical African-American subject matter that Gwendolyn Brooks is known for. The imagery in the poem is striking, with color often being noted and other sensory details dwelled on. Examples of this is the mention of blue and red that the speaker goes on to say she sees so vividly through her lover's eyes. There is much allusion to the idea of two souls as one when being in love: "you know you are tasting together."

There are many religious allusions in the piece such as ash and Columns of Gold and water. The poem explores Love and the joining of two souls, and has an upbeat mood and tone. There is sporadic rhyming, but no evident rhyme scheme. It is more free verse

The Mother

The Mother


Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
You will never neglect or beat
Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the sucking-thumb
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,
Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.

I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed
children.
I have contracted. I have eased
My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.
I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized
Your luck
And your lives from your unfinished reach,
If I stole your births and your names,
Your straight baby tears and your games,
Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches,
and your deaths,
If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,
Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.
Though why should I whine,
Whine that the crime was other than mine?--
Since anyhow you are dead.
Or rather, or instead,
You were never made.
But that too, I am afraid,
Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?
You were born, you had body, you died.
It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.

Believe me, I loved you all.
Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you
All.


The Mother tells of the speaker's lamentations of abortions past, and the feelings she harbors because of these abortions. She is haunted by what could have been: "You will never wind up the sucking-thumb/ Or scuttle off ghosts that come." The speaker feels as if she has stolen the lives of the aborted, referring to them as her "dim killed children." There is a clear mood of regret, sadness, and remorse as the speaker ends the poem saying "I love you all."


One device utilized in the poem is repetition in the last stanza. There is also repetition of imagery and themes--- tears, death, love and memories that would be. Rhyming is also present in the piece which follows AABBCCDD... etc. until the last stanza.

We Real Cool

We Real Cool


We real cool. We
Left School. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.


Perhaps Gwendolyn Brooks best known poem, We Real Cool deals with the plight of young, urban African American teenagers. This subject matter would be considered typical for Brooks, who wrote almost exclusively about African American issues as well as all facets of life. We Real Cool tells the story of young African Americans skipping school ("We Left School") , staying out late at night ("We Lurk late") and playing pool ("We Strike Straight". They drink and make detrimental decisions, and their future is grim, evident by the last line, "We Die soon." 


The line breaks in the poem are interesting and unconventional, but call attention to the issues at hand. Their abruptness lends itself well to the disturbing subject matter and social commentary on at risk youth. The poem would not be so striking if Brooks had just listed out the actions of the children. The capitalization of verbs is effective for the same reasons.


The incorrect grammar indicates the poor education of the speaker of the poem, most likely because he or she skips school often. It evokes sympathy in the reader, because the situation is all to familiar in urban communities-- the vicious cycle of lack of education, destructive decisions and other urban issues. 


The rhyme scheme makes the poem compelling and memorable. Personally, I read this poem first in middle school. It has stuck with me to this day because of it's quick rhyme scheme and touching subject matter.

Gwendolyn Brooks: A Lifetime

Gwendolyn Brooks was born on June 7,1917 in Topeka, Kansas, however shortly after her family moved to Chicago, Illinois. She was born to supportive parents, her mother was a teacher and pianist, and her father a janitor who dreamed of being a doctor. Brooks was 13 when her first poem, "Eventide," was published in a children's magazine.

During college, Brooks worked with the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP). From this she drew inspiration for her first published work, A Street in Bronzeville. A Street in Bronzeville focused on the lives of African Americans living in the city.

Brooks published her only novel in the 1950s-- Maud Martha. It portrays an African American woman's life through vignettes,and deals with her struggle to fit in and find her place in the world. The book deals not only with segregation implemented by Caucasians, but also segregation from lighter skinned African Americans.

Gwendolyn Brooks was the Poet Laureate in 1968.

Brooks devoted her life to portraying African American, and is largely classified as an African American poet. She died in 2000, shortly after publishing her last work, In Montgomery.

Literary Devices

For definitions, examples in context, and review of the literary devices analyzed in the poems presented, please refer to this website:

http://www.tnellen.com/cybereng/lit_terms/

Shape Poem, Example 2

“Idea: Old Mazda lamp, 50-100-150 W.”  by John Hollander

Analyze this one!

Shape Poems, Example 1

Often disregarded as childish, and hokey, quite the opposite is true of sophisticated shape poems. Shape poems are what they sound like, poems created in the shape of something that adds meaning to the piece. The shape of the poem is often integral to the poem and its meaning. Shape poems are also called concrete poems.

Acrobats by Ian Hamilton Finlay



This poem by Ian Hamilton Finlay displays not only elements of concrete poetry, as the shape of the piece and layout of the typography is integral to the piece, but also elements of dada poetry. The poem is meant to convey acrobats, and the motion and fluidity, as well as uncertainty in their profession. There is strong motion as well as confusion conveyed in the poem, all adding to the meaning of the piece. The black and white bold text and strong geometric values add to the piece as well. In many ways, Hamilton's poem is as much an art piece as it is a literary work. There is repitition of letters in the piece, but the most prevalent and powerful device in the piece is the typography.

Sestina Example 2

Analyze this one!

Sestina
by Algernon Charles Swinburne

I saw my soul at rest upon a day
   As a bird sleeping in the nest of night,
Among soft leaves that give the starlight way
   To touch its wings but not its eyes with light;
So that it knew as one in visions may,
   And knew not as men waking, of delight.

This was the measure of my soul’s delight;
   It had no power of joy to fly by day,
Nor part in the large lordship of the light;
   But in a secret moon-beholden way
Had all its will of dreams and pleasant night,
   And all the love and life that sleepers may.

But such life’s triumph as men waking may
   It might not have to feed its faint delight
Between the stars by night and sun by day,
   Shut up with green leaves and a little light;
Because its way was as a lost star’s way,
   A world’s not wholly known of day or night.

All loves and dreams and sounds and gleams of night
   Made it all music that such minstrels may,
And all they had they gave it of delight;
   But in the full face of the fire of day
What place shall be for any starry light,
   What part of heaven in all the wide sun’s way?

Yet the soul woke not, sleeping by the way,
   Watched as a nursling of the large-eyed night,
And sought no strength nor knowledge of the day,
   Nor closer touch conclusive of delight,
Nor mightier joy nor truer than dreamers may,
   Nor more of song than they, nor more of light.

For who sleeps once and sees the secret light
   Whereby sleep shows the soul a fairer way
Between the rise and rest of day and night,
   Shall care no more to fare as all men may,
But be his place of pain or of delight,
   There shall he dwell, beholding night as day.

Song, have thy day and take thy fill of light
   Before the night be fallen across thy way;
Sing while he may, man hath no long delight.

Sestina, Example 1

Sestina: Altaforte
by Ezra PoundLoquitur: En Bertrans de Born. Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer-up of strife. Eccovi! Judge ye! Have I dug him up again? The scene is at his castle, Altaforte.
"Papiols" is his jouleur.  "The Leopard," the device of Richard (Coeur de Lion).

I

Damn it all!  all this our South stinks peace.
You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let¹s to music!
I have no life save when swords clash.
But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair,purple,opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,
Then howel I my heart nigh mad rejoying.

II

In hot summer have I great rejoicing
When tempests kill the earth¹s foul peace,
And the light¹nings from black heav¹n flash crimson,
And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing,
And through all the riven God¹s swords clash.

III

Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing,
Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing!
Better one hour¹s stour than a year¹s peace
With fat  boards, bawds, wine and frail music!
Bah! there¹s no wine like the blood¹s crimson!

IV

And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.
And I watch his spears throught he dark clash
and it fills my heart with rejoycing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music
When I  see him so scorn and defy peace,
His lone might Œgainst all darkmess opposing.

V

The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But it is fit only to rotin womanish peace
Far from where worth¹s won and the swords clash
For the death of sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.

VI

Papiols, Papiols, to the music!
There¹s no sound like to swords swords opposing,
No cry like the battle¹s rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges Œgainst "The Leopard's" rush clash.
May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace!"

VII

And let the music of the swords make them crimson!
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
Hell blot black for always the thought "Peace"!


Sestina: Altaforte is a poem filled with masculine energy. The speaker regards peace as "womanish," and each time he refers to the idea of peace, it is in a negative context: "May God damn for ever all who cry 'Peace!'" "earth's foul peace," etc. Also intriguing is his use of "music," another repeated word. To the speaker, "music," is not the sweet harmonious sounds one might associate with the word, but the clanging sounds of war. Repition is incredibly important in sestina's, as the last word of each line is repeated in each stanza, in a different order. Here, the words all relate to the theme of war and peace, especially in the context they are in. The imagery of "crimson," a vivid color, brings to mind bloodiness. There is also cacophany found in words like "clash," "crimson," "destoryers," "breast," and others in the piece. Alliteration is seen in the piece, with pairings such as "blot black," "where worth's won," and "boards, bawds."  Elision is also notable in the poem, as seen in stanza six, against is turned to "'gainst." There is also an allusion in the beggining of the poem to Dante's Inferno which is regarded as one of the most concrete literary suggestions of hell.


Here is a dramatic reading of Sestina: Altaforte

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OEhgX3e8b4M

Sestina

Sestina's consist of six, six line stanzas followed by a tercet (three lines).  From Wikipedia: " The same set of six words ends the lines of each of the six-line stanzas, but in a different order each time; if we number the first stanza's lines 123456, then the words ending the second stanza's lines appear in the order 615243, then 364125, then 532614, then 451362, and finally 246531. This organization is referred to as retrogradatio cruciata ("retrograde cross"). These six words then appear in the tercet as well, with the tercet's first line usually containing 6 and 2, its second 1 and 4, and its third 5 and 3 (but other versions exist, described below"

The chart below is useful in understanding the structure of sestinas.