Friday, October 19, 2007

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds" By Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

In my personal opinion this poem is the definition of an iconic poem. The reason being it is incredible well known and represents the time period that could be referred to as, "the era of Shakespeare." The language in this poem and the idea that love never "alters". It just represents everything Shakespeare was known for, his tragic yet o so romantic love stories. The words he used and images he portrays are ones that could never be recreated or ever be forgotten. Almost all of Shakespeare's works could be considered iconic because they are known so well and represent everything about his time period.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

"Mirror" By Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful --
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

This poem, although written by a very "dark" poet, has something special. Reflections are such an amazing thing to talk about because they are you and no one else. When looking at your reflection you can't hide anything or pretend, for that time, in the mirror, or in water, what's looking back is exactly what is there, imperfections and all. My favorite lines of this poem are in the beginning when she says, "I have no preconceptions. Whatever I see I swallow immediately" and then later she states, "I am not cruel, only truthful." These three lines are what i believe makes the poem come to life. Making the mirror seem real, like it's a person not judging you and not holding any grudges. Although towards the end of the poem it gets to be a little bit more depressing when it speaks of the young girl lost within the women. I believe this poem has a whole is beautiful and worthy of reading.

Monday, October 8, 2007

"Sick" By Shel Silverstein

'I cannot go to school today, '
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
'I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more-that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut-my eyes are blue-
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke-
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is-what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play! '

I love this poem because of the way it is written. When reading it you feel as if it is truly a young child speaking. It's a poem that has the ability to bring back the child within you. You can't help but wonder if you ever sounded like this when attempting to fake sick. I love at the end when this the little child finds out it is Saturday. It's funny because all that effort to stay home from school and then to find out it is a weekend, it makes you smile! Some of the excuses used are so funny, it just makes the poem interesting to read and more enjoyable!