BC: THE END
FC: Marisa's Magical Poetry Booklet
1: Table of Contents | Poetry terms...........pages 2-3 Poetry analysis-birches..........pages 4-5 birches poem..........pages 6-7 Narrative poem.........pages 8-9 | Ode poem......pages 10-11
2: Poetry Terms | Caesura: A natural pause or break in a line of poetry usually near the middle. Ex: How do i love thee? Let me count the ways | Lay: A long narrative poem especially one that was sung my medieval minstrels called trouveres. Ex: The lais of Marie de France
3: Couplet: In a poem a pair of lines that are the same length and usually rhyme and form a complete thought. Ex: Shakesperean sonnets usually end in a couplet
4: Literary analysis Birches by: Robert Frost | T: I think of trees becasue birches are a type of tree. P: The poem is reality (adutlhood) and imagination (childhood). The author is saying that being immature isnt a bad thing, swinging on birches is heaven. C: Imagery- Soon the the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells. The author is trying to have the reader visualize the sun melting and ice of the tree. Simile: You may see their trunks arching in the woods year afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair before them over their heads to dry in the sun. The author is saying that the way trees branches blow is like the girls hair blowing around. Simile: life is too much like a pathless wood where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs. Its comparing a pathless wood and life becasue life is unexpected and you'll never know where it will take you next. Metaphor: One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. Somone could do worse than not grow up and be immature, its a metaphor of childhood.
5: A: The author is speaking longingly to be free spirited like childhood and imagination. To be fun and carefree. S: The author shifts from imagination (childhood) to reality (adulthood). T": childhood vs. adulthood. T: Birches is a symbol of free spirit.
6: Birches | When I see birches bend to left and right Across the line of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay. Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-stormI should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows— Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or winter, and could play alone. One by one he subdued his father's trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup
7: Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches; And so I dream of going back to be. It's when I'm weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig's having lashed across it open. I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate wilfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
8: Narrative Poem | Ring ring ring the sound of my alarm clock went off ^ 6:59 oh no I slept in my bus comes at 7:19 how am i going to make it? I pulled out a pair of jeans and white t-shirt and yelled to my mom to start breakfast I ran down the stairs as quickly as I could I fed the cats and the dog there breakfast and realized mine was on the kitchen table I gulped down a huge glass of orange juice, grabbed my sack lunch and threw it in my bag as I was about to leave out the door I forgot my house key for after school I ran upstairs to my room then headed for the door I could see the people from my bus stop loading one by one I tried to yell but the bus drove off into the dark spring morning.
10: Ode Poem | O Greer, she is the summer to my year, She is the sunlight to my cold winter morning, the one who is there know matter how much I am yurning, The one who I think of when I eat chocolate covered cookies, The one who I see at the mall and yell Oh lookie, Oh Greer how you make everyones day more delightful, that is why my mornings are always so brightful.