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Poetry -- The beauty of words

When I say “poetry” you say....?

Poetry is difficult Because the best things in life are the hard things

Poetry is the perfection of words Witnessing perfection inspires us, uplifts us, and quiets us.

Poetry Is Music Music makes us feel deep emotions some we didn’t even know were there

Most Critical Poetry Terms Line -- row of words Stanza -- a group of lines rhyme -- words with similar end sounds, within or at the end of lines. rhythm -- arrangement of words to create a pattern/beat to the poem speaker -- the voice of the poem, who is saying the words/thoughts of the poem Theme -- what is the point of the poem. What is it saying?

Steps to Analyzing Poetry Read it silently -- first impression Define any words you don’t know Identify the rhythm & any rhyme Read it aloud -- second impression Identify the speaker Read/Hear it once more -- identify the theme and the tone/mood

“For a Lady I know” By: Countee Cullen She even thinks that up in heaven Her class lies late and snores While poor black cherubs rise at seven To do celestial chores.

“Alone” By: Edgar Allen Poe From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen As others saw—I could not bring My passions from a common spring— From the same source I have not taken My sorrow—I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone— And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— Then—in my childhood—in the dawn Of a most stormy life—was drawn From ev’ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still— From the torrent, or the fountain— From the red cliff of the mountain—

“Alone” By: Edgar Allen Poe From the sun that ’round me roll’d In its autumn tint of gold— From the lightning in the sky As it pass’d me flying by— From the thunder, and the storm— And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view—

“Homage to My hips” by: Lucille Clifton these hips are big hips. they need space to move around in. they don't fit into little petty places. these hips are free hips. they don't like to be held back. these hips have never been enslaved, they go where they want to go they do what they want to do. these hips are mighty hips. these hips are magic hips. i have known them to put a spell on a man and spin him like a top

“Crossing The Bar” By: Alfred Lord Tennyson Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home.

“Crossing The Bar” By: Alfred Lord Tennyson Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.

Poem as Song