Literary Analysis
Posted on | Wednesday, June 1, 2011 | No Comments
For this literary analysis I will be showing you a piece I wrote about a character in "Hamlet" by William Shakespeare. The character is Ophelia and I wrote about he downspiral in the play.
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Poem Analysis (Typed out)
Since my "Scanner" is out of order, here is a peom I analysised, the poem being on the left, and what I analysised on the right seperated by the dash (-).
Introduction to Poetry by Billy Collins
I asked them to take a poem
and hold it up to light - He is comparing a poem to a light(color-slide)
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive. - Compares poem to a hive (beehive)
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch hime probe his way out - Compares a poem and a mouse (maze)
or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch. - A poem in a dark room
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a peom - The paper of the poem is compared to water
waving at the author's name on the shore.
SHIFT
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But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope - Poem to a person being tortured (criminal)
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means. - Poem to someone in need of information.
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The poem is about people trying to understand poetry. Billy collins uses a different metaphor in each stanza in the poem as I have stated to the right of the poem itself.
Prosody 101
Posted on | Monday, May 23, 2011 | No Comments
Essentially, Prosody is a poem that was made from a story. For instance here was my poem that I made from a story:
After hearting the news
About Osama Bn Laden being dead
I was happy.
Justice has finllay been served, after nine years
He was a monster who should have died long ago.
Revenge has finally been accomplished,
For every victim of the 9/11 attacks.
I am happy,
Knowing it puts a lot of victims families
Hearts at ease.
I can only hope,
That no one will follow in Osama Bin Laden's footsteps.
I can only hope,
That this war may have finally ended.
I can only hope.
But in all reality it was in paragraph form first:
After hearing the news about Osama Bin Laden being dead I was happy. Justice has finally been served, after nine years. He was a monster who should have died long ago. Revenge has finally been accomplished, for every victim of the 9/11 attacks. I am happy, knowing it puts a lot of the victims' families hearts at ease. I can only hope, that no one will follow in Osama Bin Laden's footsteps.I can only hope, that this war may have finally ended. I can only hope.
Creative writing peice
This is my creative writing of the character in "The City of the Beast" by Isabel Allende. Hes not a main character in the story, and I wrote it in his perspective. This is a scene that I thought portrayed LeBlanc's character the most and was important to understanding the book more clearly, here is my creative writing:
The character that I chose is Professor LeBlanc. He is a character who acts like he knows everything but in all reality does not know what he is doing at all. In fact he's famous for all of the wrong reasons. Even if he isn't a "main character", he is the leader of the expedition.
My name is Professor Ludovic LeBlanc. This year's expedition of International Geographic is to search for the mysterious "Yeti" that terrorizes this jungle. But there are some things that are there, such as Indians that I happen to know all about. I have written more than three books on Indian wildlife. I looked at the crowd with an intense gaze to make my point come across. "Do not talk to them and if they come near you, you should always be cautious. They are the most dangerous beings on this Earth." I stared with intimidation at this year's expedition group and was not satisfied. The guide that I had hired, had a kid that he was going to bring with him, probably going to mess this whole expedition up.
I wasn't only that, but the older lady, Kate Cold, also brought her grandson Alexander Cold with her. This expedition is going to be a lot slower than usual. Unless I can get them to stay behind. Not to mention the female doctor who wants to treat the Indians in the forest with vaccinations. "Well I don't think there will be room for the two kids and the doctor on this trip." I said. Then that minute, the man who was paying for this whole expedition stepped out of his tent. "Sure there is, that's why I bought two boats from the locals." Cauricas said to everyone. He was the rich man, you could even say billionaire. "Well if you say so....", I said in exasperation.
So after that argument we had all set sail and went on. But not even halfway through the jungle, it had gotten more rampant than ever. The boats were rocking and I was getting a little seasick in all honesty. So that is when disaster had struck. One of the photographers that joined our adventure suddenly fell over. To everyone's surprise, but mine, he had a dart sticking in his neck. No doubt a poison dart. That is when our hired militia started to fire in the woods with their rifles. But before we knew it, that photographer was dead, from the poison dipped dart. "There was no chance of saving that guy", I had though to myself. Before long we were at a spot where we could rest, and that was a village that cauricas had bought.
Cauricas had led the way, and we all followed. He led us straight to his personal housing, where there was a black jaguar in the back. The strangest thing happened just ten. The young boy, Alexander Cold, had went straight up to the cage, where the jaguar was being fed a monkey. He almost felt intimidating that moment. But right then he tried to unlock the cage, and the expected happened. Our guide for the jungle shot the ca as it was about to attack. This trip in the Amazon is going to be alot different than the other expeditions.
Metapoetry Poem
Posted on | Wednesday, April 27, 2011 | No Comments
Metapoetry, is when you make a poem about a poem. Here is mine:
Sitting there staring at this poem,
thinking its an endless void
The words, just a bunch of letters,
tangled together like the trees in the Amazon.
The paper, a canvas for a poet,
because words can be worth a tousand pictures
The artist, pouring his soul into the paper,
just to let his emotions flow freely
The reader, becomes the interrogator
to find out the meaning of it all.
When the time comes, the true meaning of the poem
will be there for you
So take your time in the endless void,
Just don't get lost in the jungle
and let your emtions flow freely.
Study the pictures that come to you,
Just dont interrogate them.
Extended Metaphor
Posted on | Monday, April 25, 2011 | No Comments
A metaphor that governs throughout the poem is called an extended metaphor. Heres one that I wrote for poetry month about my life.
"Fib" poem.
A "Fib" poem is poetry that combines syllable count and the Fibonacci sequence. Its when math, meets poetry. Here is one that I wrote:
As you can see it follows the rules of 1/1/2/3/5/8, and still makes sense.