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Approaches To Lit

by: Westley Gleichner

Approaches To Lit ENG 2012

Westley Gleichner
GPA 3.88


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This 12 page Class Notes was uploaded by Westley Gleichner on Monday October 12, 2015. The Class Notes belongs to ENG 2012 at Florida International University taught by Staff in Fall. Since its upload, it has received 24 views. For similar materials see /class/221846/eng-2012-florida-international-university in ENGLISH (ENG) at Florida International University.


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Date Created: 10/12/15
Robert Browning 18121889 Love among the Ruins Where the quietcoloured end of evening smiles Miles and miles On the solitary pastures where our sheep Halfasleep Tinkle homeward thro39 the twilight stray or stop As they crop Was the site once of a city great and gay 80 they say Of our country39s very capital its prince Ages since Held his court in gathered councils wielding far Peace or war Nowthe country does not even boast a tree As you see To distinguish slopes of verdure certain rills From the hills Intersect and give a name to else they run Into one Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires Up like fires O39er the hundredgated circuit of a wall Bounding all Made of marble men might march on nor be pressed Twelve abreast And such plenty and perfection see of grass Never was Such a carpet as this summertime o39erspreads And embeds Every vestige of the city guessed alone Stock or stone Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe Long ago Lust of glory pricked their hearts up dread of shame Struck them tame And that glory and that shame alike the gold Bought and sold IV Nowthe single little turret that remains On the plains By the caper overrooted by the gourd Overscored While the patching houseleek39s head of blossom winks Through the chinks Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time Sprang sublime And a burning ring all round the chariots traced As they raced And the monarch and his minions and his dames Viewed the games V And I know while thus the quietcoloured eve Smiles to leave To their folding all our manytinkling fleece In such peace And the slopes and rills in undistinguished grey Melt away That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair Waits me there In the turret whence the charioteers caught soul For the goal When the king looked where she looks now breathless dumb Till I come Vl But he looked upon the city every side Far and wide All the mountains topped with temples all the glades39 Colonnades All the causeys bridges aqueductsand then All the men When I do come she will speak not she will stand Either hand On my shoulder give her eyes the first embrace Of my face Ere we rush ere we extinguish sight and speech Each on each Vll In one year they sent a million fighters forth South and North And they built their gods a brazen pillar high As the sky Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force Gold of course Oh heart oh blood that freezes blood that burns Earth39s returns For whole centuries of folly noise and sin Shut them in With their triumphs and their glories and the rest Love is best Robert Frost 18741963 Fire and Ice Some say the world will end in fire Some say in ice From what I39ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire But if it had to perish twice I think I know enough of hate To know that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice John Donne 15721631 Go and Catch a Falling Star Go and catch a falling star Get with child a mandrake root Tell me where all past years are Or who cleft the devil39s foot Teach me to hear mermaids singing Or to keep off envy39s stinging And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind If thou be39st born to strange sights Things invisible to see Ride ten thousand days and nights Till age snow white hairs on thee Thou when thou return39st wilt tell me All strange wonders that befell thee And swear No where Lives a woman true and fair lf thou find39st one let me know Such a pilgrimage were sweet Yet do not I would not go Though at next door we might meet Though she were true when you met her And last till you write your letter Yet she Will be False ere I come to two or three Ernest Dowson 18671900 Non Sum Qualis eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae I am not as I was under the reign of the good Cynara Horace Last night ah yesternight betwixt her lips and mine There fell thy shadow Cynara thy breath was shed Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine And l was desolate and sick of an old passion Yea I was desolate and bowed my head I have been faithful to thee Cynara in my fashion All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat Nightlong within mine arms in love and sleep she lay Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet But I was desolate and sick of an old passion When I awoke and found the dawn was gray l have been faithful to thee Cynara in my fashion l have forgot much Cynara gone with the wind Flung roses roses riotously with the throng Dancing to put thy pale lost lilies out of mind But I was desolate and sick of an old passion Yea all the time because the dance was long I have been faithful to thee Cynara in my fashion I cried for madder music and for stronger wine But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire Then falls thy shadow Cynara the night is thine And I am desolate and sick of an old passion Yea hungry forthe lips of my desire I have been faithful to thee Cynara in my fashion Kenneth Rexroth 19051982 THOU SHALT NOT KILL A Memorial for Dylan Thomas I They are murdering all the young men For half a century now every day They have hunted them down and killed them They are killing them now At this minute all overthe world They are killing the young men They know ten thousand ways to kill them Every year they invent new ones In the jungles of Africa In the marshes of Asia In the deserts of Asia In the slave pens of Siberia In the slums of Europe In the nightclubs of America The murderers are at work They are stoning Stephen They are casting him forth from every city in the world Under the Welcome sign Under the Rotary emblem On the highway in the suburbs His body lies underthe hurling stones He was full of faith and power He did great wonders among the people They could not stand against his wisdom They could not bear the spirit with which he spoke He cried out in the name Of the tabernacle of witness in the wilderness They were cut to the heart They gnashed against him with their teeth They cried out with a loud voice They stopped their ears They ran on him with one accord They cast him out of the city and stoned him The witnesses laid down their clothes At the feet of a man whose name was your name You You are the murderer You are killing the young men You are broiling Lawrence on his gridiron When you demanded he divulge The hidden treasures of the spirit He showed you the poor You set your heart against him You seized him and bound him with rage You roasted him on a slow fire His fat dripped and spurted in the flame The smell was sweet to your nose He cried out I am cooked on this side Turn me over and eat You Eat of my fleshquot You are murdering the young men You are shooting Sebastian with arrows He kept the faithful steadfast under persecution First you shot him with arrows Then you beat him with rods Then you threw him in a sewer You fear nothing more than courage You who turn away your eyes At the bravery of the young men You The hyena with polished face and bow tie In the office of a billion dollar Corporation devoted to service The vulture dripping with carrion Carefully and carelessly robed in imported tweeds Lecturing on the Age of Abundance The jackal in doublebreasted gabardine Barking by remote control In the United Nations The vampire bat seated at the couch head Notebook in hand toying with his decerebrator The autonomous ambulatory cancer The Superego in a thousand uniforms You the finger man of behemoth The murderer of the young men What happened to Robinson Who used to stagger down Eighth Street Dizzy with solitary gin Where is Masters who crouched in His law office for ruinous decades Where is Leonard who thought he was A locomotive And Lindsay Wise as a dove innocent As a serpent where is he Timor mortis conturbat me What became of Jim Oppenheim Lola Ridge alone in an Icy furnished room Orrick Johns Hopping into the surf on his One leg Elinor Wylie Who leaped like Kierkegaard Sara Teasdale where is she Timor mortis conturbat me Where is George Sterling that tame fawn Phelps Putnam who stole away Jack Wheelwright who couldn t cross the bridge Donald Evans with his cane and Monocle where is he Timor mortis conturbat me John Gould Fletcher who could not Unbreak his powerful heart Bodenheim butchered in stinking Squalor Edna Millay who took Her last straight whiskey Genevieve Who loved so much where is she Timor mortis conturbat me Harry who didn t care at all Hart who went back to the sea Timor mortis conturbat me Where is Sol Funaroff What happened to Potamkin lsidor Schneider Claude McKay Countee Cullen Clarence Weinstock Who animates their corpses today Timor mortis conturbat me Where is Ezra that noisy man Where is Larsson whose poems were prayers Where is Charles Snider that gentle Bitter boy Carnevali What became of him Carol who was so beautiful where is she Timor mortis conturbat me quotI Was their end noble and tragic Like the mask of a tyrant Like Agamemnon s secret golden face Indeed it was not Up all night In the fo c sle bemused and beaten Bleeding at the rectum in his Pocket a review by the one Colleague he respected If he Really means what these poems Pretend to say he has only One way out quot Into the Hot acrid Caribbean sun Into the acrid transparent Smoky sea Or another lice in his Armpits and crotch garbage littered On the floor gray greasy rags on The bed I killed them because they Were dirty stinking Communists I should get a medalquot Again Another Simenon foretold His end at a glance I dare you To pull the triggerquot She shut her eyes And spilled gin over her dress The pistol wobbled in his hand It took them hours to die Another threw herself downstairs And broke her back It took her years Two put their heads under water In the bath and filled their lungs Another threw himself under The traffic of a crowded bridge Another drunk jumped from a Balcony and broke her neck Another soaked herself in Gasoline and ran blazing Into the street and lived on In custody One made love Only once with a beggar woman He died years later of syphilis Of the brain and spine Fifteen Years of pain and poverty While his mind leaked away One tried three times in twenty years To drown himself The last time He succeeded One turned on the gas When she had no more food no more Money and only half a lung One went up to Harlem took on Thirty men came home and Cut her throat One sat up all night Talking to HL Mencken and Drowned himself in the morning How many stopped writing at thirty How many went to work for Time How many died of prefrontal Lobotomies in the Communist Party How many are lost in the back wards Of provincial madhouses How many on the advice of Their psychoanalysts decided A business career was best after all How many are hopeless alcoholics Rene Crevel Jacques Rigaud Antonin Artaud Mayakofsky Essenin Robert Desnos Saint Pol Roux Max Jacob All over the world The same disembodied hand Strikes us down Here is a mountain of death A hill of heads like the Khans piled up The firstborn of a century Slaughtered by Herod Three generations of infants Stuffed down the maw of Moloch IV He is dead The bird of Rhiannon He is dead In the winter of the heart He is Dead In the canyons of death They found him dumb at last In the blizzard of lies He never spoke again He died He is dead In their antiseptic hands He is dead The little spellbinder of Cader ldris He is dead The sparrow of Cardiff He is dead The canary of Swansea Who killed him Who killed the brightheaded bird You did you son of a bitch You drowned him in your cocktail brain He fell down and died in your synthetic heart You killed him Oppenheimer the MillionKiller You killed him Einstein the Gray Eminence You killed him Havanahavana with your Nobel Prize You killed him General Through the proper channels You strangled him Le Mouton With your mains tendues He confessed in open court to a pincenezed skull You shot him in the back of the head As he stumbled in the last cellar You killed him Benign Lady on the postage stamp He was found dead at a Liberal Weekly luncheon He was found dead on the cutting room floor He was found dead at a Time policy conference Henry Luce killed him with a telegram to the Pope Mademoiselle strangled him with a padded brassiere Old Possum sprinkled him with a tea ball After the wolves were done the vaticides Crawled off with his bowels to their classrooms and quarterlies When the news came over the radio You personally rose up shouting Give us Barabbasquot In your lonely crowd you swept over him Your custombuilt brogans and your ballet slippers Pummeled him to death in the gritty street You hit him with an album of Hindemith You stabbed him with stainless steel by lsamu Noguchi He is dead He is Dead Like lgnacio the bullfighter At four o clock in the afternoon At precisely four o clock I too do not want to hear it I too do not want to know it I want to run into the street Shouting Remember Vanzettiquot I want to pour gasoline down your chimneys I want to blow up your galleries I want to bum down your editorial offices I want to slit the bellies of your frigid women I want to sink your sailboats and launches I want to strangle your children at their finger paintings I want to poison your Afghans and poodles He is dead the little drunken cherub He is dead The effulgent tub thumper He is Dead The ever living birds are not singing To the head of Bran The sea birds are still Over Bardsey of Ten Thousand Saints The underground men are not singing On their way to work There is a smell of blood In the smell of the turf smoke They have struck him down The son of David ap Gwilym They have murdered him The Baby of Taliessin There he lies dead By the Iceberg of the United Nations There he lies sandbagged At the foot of the Statue of Liberty The Gulf Stream smells of blood As it breaks on the sand of Iona And the blue rocks of Canarvon And all the birds of the deep sea rise up Overthe luxury liners and scream You killed him You killed him In your God damned Brooks Brothers suit You son ofa bitchquot William Shakespeare 15641616 Sonnets Sonnet 94 They that have power to hurt and will do none That do not do the thing they most do show Who moving others are themselves as stone Unmoved cold and to temptation slow They rightly do inherit heaven39s graces And husband nature39s riches from expense They are the lords and owners of their faces Others but stewards of their excellence The summer39s flower is to the summer sweet Though to itself it only live and die But if that flower with base infection meet The basest weed outbraves his dignity For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds Sonnet 29 When in disgrace with fortune and men39s eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state And trouble deal heaven with my bootless cries And look upon myself and curse my fate Wishing me like to one more rich in hope Featured like him like him with friends possess39d Desiring this man39s art and that man39s scope With what I most enjoy contented least Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising Haplyl think on thee and then my state Like to the ark at break of day arising From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven39s gate For thy sweet love remember39d such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings Sonnet 30 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought And with old woes new wail my dear time39s waste Then can I drown an eye unused to flow For precious friends hid in death39s dateless night And weep afresh love39s long since cancell39d woe And moan the expense of many a vanish39d sight Then can I grieve at grievances foregone And heavily from woe to woe tell o39er The sad account of forebemoaned moan Which I new pay as if not paid before But if the while I think on thee dear friend All losses are restored and sorrows end


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