Cape of Storms- Thomas Pringle
O Cape of Storms! although thy front be dark,
And bleak thy naked cliffs and cheerless vales,
And perilous thy fierce and faithless gales
To stanchest mariner and stoutest bark;
And though along thy coasts with grief I mark
The servile and the slave, and him who wails
An exile’s lot – and blush to hear thy tales
Of sin and sorrow and oppression stark:-
Yet, spite of physical and moral ill,
And after all I’ve seen and suffered here,
There are strong links that bind me to thee still,
And render even thy rocks and deserts dear;
Here dwell kind hearts which time nor place can chill-
Loved Kindered and congenial Friends sincere.
The poet despite the bad memories, proves that goodness prevails, The Cape and It’s people have left an impression on him so strong that “bind” him to Cape. The poet considers the harshness of the Cape Colony: its bleak mountains, its gales and shipwrecks, and its slavery and other civil crimes. He nevertheless concludes that there are some strong links which hold him to the Cape, links of family and friends.
Italian Petrarchan Sonnet – Octave and Sestet, separated by conjunction “Yet” which indicates a change in the poem.
Octave: Negative aspects associated with the Cape.
Sestet: “Yet” strong feelings of the bonds he made with both the people and the land bind him to the Cape.
- Physical- Landscape & Weather
- Social Ills – Slavery & Oppression
- Personal suffering- Loss of livelihood yet has a strong bond with the Cape in spite of negativity
“Either move or be moved.” – Ezra Pound
Of all the major literary figures of the twentieth century, Ezra Pound has been one of the most controversial. He has however, also been one of modern poetry’s most important contributors.
He was born in Hailey, Idaho, on October 30, 1885.
T.S. Eliot, said about Pound – “…is more responsible for the twentieth-century revolution in poetry than is any other individual.”
Pound would write that he was: “concerned solely with language and presentation”.
His aim was clarity: a fight against abstraction and romanticism.
With regard to his poetry, he focused on
1. Direct treatment of the “thing” whether subjective or objective.
2. To use absolutely no word that does not contribute to the presentation.
3. As regarding rhythm: to compose in the sequence of the musical phrase, not in sequence of a metronome.
This can be seen most obviously in his poem:
In a Station of the Metro
“The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.”
These PRINCIPLES and his vivid imagery is also seen in:
These fought, in any case (from Hugh Selwyn Mauberly)
Ezra Pound was one of the expatriates, disillusioned with the world and with the sort of nationalism that had led so many countries into a devastating and senseless war. The expatriates sought to explore their own artistic work, to challenge the nature of their work, and, in many cases (certainly in the case of Pound), to “make it new.” In this poem, Pound explores his devotion to art by creating two alter-egos to review his own career and his beliefs about his own art, poetry.
The mood of this poem is negative, disillusioned. As the speaker outlines the attempt to “resuscitate the dead art/
Of poetry”, he alludes to both the temptuous travels of Odysseus and the horrors of WWI. There is a feeling of being lost. The tone is self-depracating and critical. The first stanza oulines the goals of the speaker as being “Wrong from the start”. Near the end, the second alter-ego quotes: “I was/“And I no more exist;/“Here drifted/“An hedonist.” Again, the tone is critical and the feeling left is a sense of uselessness.
The diction in this poem, as in all of Pound’s, is concrete. Despite the use of allusions, there is little symbolism developed and a lack of flowery or overly-descriptive passages. Pound, like many of the artists of the time, was a minimalist, removing all but the most necessary words from his work. He uses free verse and avoids traditional poetic diction.
“When one burns one’s bridges, what a very nice fire it makes.”
Dylan Thomas was born in 1914 October 27 in Swansea. His father was an English Literature professor at the local school. Thomas was a neurotic and sickly child. He of course excelled in English and reading due to the fact that his father recited Shakespeare to him before he could read, but he was a rather undistinguished school pupil and neglected other subjects. He dropped out of school at the age of 16 to become a junior reporter for the South Wales Daily Post. He left after 18 months but continued to work as a freelance journalist for several years during which time he also decided to concentrate on his poetry full-time. It was at this period that Thomas wrote more than half of his collected poems.
In 1934 when Thomas was 20 he moved to London and published an anthology of poems entitled . It was noted for its exceptional visionary qualities. Unlike his contemporaries like T.S. Eliot and W.H. Auden who focused on exhibiting social and intellectual issues, he opted for more intense lyricism and highly charged emotions. The volume won the Poets’ Corner book prize. This showered him with admirers from the London poetry world.
Two years later Thomas met a 18 year old blonde-haired, blue-eyed dancer of Irish descent in a pub. At the time she was the mistress of a painter named Augustus John. Thomas and CaitlinMacnamara engaged in an affair. on 11 July 1937 they married at the register office in Penzance. Despite the passionate love letters Thomas wrote to his wife,the marriage was turbulent, rumors of both Thomas and Macnamara were having multiple affairs. Their first child, Llewelyn Edouaurd, was born 30 January 1939.
In 1940 Thomas served as an anti-aircraft gunner but due to an ailment referred to as “an unreliable lung” he eventually managed to be classified Grade lll, which meant that he would be among the last to be called up for service. In 1941 the Thomases moved to London to find employment in the film industry, he worked with strand Films. In 1944 they left London to avoid the air raids, they eventually settled at Laugharne, in the boat house where Thomas would write many of his later poems.
In 1950 he embarked on the first of a number of tours of the USA. During these tours Thomas was invited to many parties and functions and often became drunk – going out of his way to shock people. Thomas drank before some of his readings, though it is argued he may have pretended to be more affected by it than he actually was.
Thomas’s last collection Collected Poems, 1934–1952, published when he was 38., One critic declared that “Thomas is the greatest living poet in the English language”.
Thomas arrived in New York on 20 October 1953 to undertake another tour of poetry reading and talks. He was ill and complained of chest trouble and gout . He was depressed about the trip and his health was poor. On 5 November, Thomas’s breathing became more difficult and his face turned blue. An ambulance was summoned.
Thomas was admitted to the emergency ward. He was comatose. Caitlin flew to America the following day and was taken to the hospital. Her reported first words were, “Is the bloody man dead yet?“
Thomas died at noon on 9 November. A post mortem gave the primary cause of death as pneumonia, with pressure on the brain and a fatty liver as contributing factors.
In his “ Poem in October” written on his thirtieth birthday he honours and remembers the child he once was :
“ And I saw in the turning so clearly a child’s forgotten mornings……where a boy…..whispered the truth of his joy
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.”
In the poem’s last verse, he writes
“And the true
Joy of the long dead child sang burning
In the sun.” (iii)
The lines remind us that nature can powerfully evoke that within us which never ages, which rejoices in being alive, and is powerfully connected to the endless cycle of birth, maturation, decline, death…
POEM IN OCTOBER
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the webbed wall
Myself to set foot
In the still sleeping town and set forth.My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In a rainy autumn
And walked abroad in shower of all my days
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.
A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
On the hill’s shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.
Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
With its horns through mist and the castle
Brown as owls
But all the gardens
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
There could I marvel
Away but the weather turned around.
It turned away from the blithe country
And down the other air and the blue altered sky
Streamed again a wonder of summer
Pears and red currants
And I saw in the turning so clearly a child’s
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
Through the parables
And the legends of the green chapels
And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.
These were the woods the river and the sea
Where a boy
In the listening
Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.
And the mystery
Still in the water and singing birds.
And there could I marvel my birthday
Away but the weather turned around. And the true
Joy of the long dead child sang burning
In the sun.
It was my thirtieth
Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
O may my heart’s truth
Still be sung
On this high hill in a year’s turning.
La Figlia Che Piange T. S. Eliot, 1888 – 1965
O quam te memorem virgo
Stand on the highest pavement of the stair—
Lean on a garden urn—
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair—
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise—
Fling them to the ground and turn
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
So I would have had him leave,
So I would have had her stand and grieve,
So he would have left
As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,
As the mind deserts the body it has used.
I should find
Some way incomparably light and deft,
Some way we both should understand,
Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.
She turned away, but with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days,
Many days and many hours:
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.
And I wonder how they should have been together!
I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight and the noon’s repose.
Questions to consider:
- The poet is presenting the first few lines as if he is a director instructing an actress on her actions.
What is the effect of this with regard to the intention of the poet?
- What is implied in the words “fugitive resentment”?
- How does Eliot, throughout this poem, emphasise the interpretation of the reader as being just as or even more important that the poet’s interpretation?