S: Morrison's Poetry Portfolio
FC: Morrison Nolan's Poetry Portfolio 2/21/10 4th period "Notebook Pages Rustling in the Wind"
1: Table of Contents | Where I’m from poem – “Morrison Nolan est 1994” - pg 2 My Mother's Kitchen Poem – “My Grandmother's kitchen Poem” - pg 4 Mother to Son Poem - “Linda to Morrison” - pg 6 Ode to GSMST Poem - pg 9 Language Arts Poem - pg 12 1st Poem (with rhyme scheme) “The Cremation of Sam McGee”, by Robert W. Service - pg 14 2nd Poem (free verse) “I Hear America Singing” by Walt Whitman - pg 28
2: Where I’m from Poem "Morrison Nolan est 1994" I’m from those late-night calls When all others would be asleep But the customers still ring for the cheese and dough balls I am from all of those nights when they needed pizza boxes one and all I’m from those many trips, the large and the lean For business, to see family, to see a friend, our compatriots on the road of life The museums with knicks and knacks, the those verdant campgrounds a’green I am from the falls, the forests, the fields, the farms I’ve seen I’m from the projects I’ve worked, the projects I’ve helped The benches, the bridges, the buffers, and ridges The dirt, the grime, the glue, the thyme that I have smelt I always make the most from the hands that I am dealt
3: I’m from the meetings and the gatherings The troops and the teams The books that gave me my knowledgeable smatterings Musical concerts with voices and bells a ring I’m from those nights clear, like the notes from Ode to Joy and barks from our Tanner My favorite thick bagels with cream cheese besmeared I’m from all of my memories that live in my head and are remembered so dear
4: On any day, any week, any month, any year The red and grey flag outside will wave, the gates will creak The cows will wander, as will the steers The mousers run freely about on the driveway, never meek Grandma's wiping the dishes Aunt Peggy comes in with a basket of green beans ripe and raw And sets it next to a bunch of bananas for a bread delicious And Aunt Peggy starts to tell Grandma what she saw | "My Grandmother’s Kitchen Poem"
5: Grandma goes off to sew and Aunt Peggy gets to baking While Peggy puts the bread in the oven, Grandma gets her gloves She goes outside and digs out the old bulbs, now dead and flaking She plants new ones, it’s a job that she loves On the way back in she gives the cats their food One of them tries to sneak into the mud room, but Grandma and Aunt Peggy herd her out The smell of the banana bread gives the house an aromatic mood A nice gift for their relatives down South The day starts to wind down and Grandma gets back to sewing Aunt Peggy heads out towards Columbus in her car The cows still moo and the wind keeps blowing And the lights in the kitchen go out soon after the night sky starts to star
6: Mother to Son Poem "Linda to Morrison" | Well son, I will tell you; Life does not have to be all dark and bleak. It may have its ruts and its bumps, but remember all the same Hold your hands out to your neighbors; help and uphold them, and you may find that they return their hands holding out corn and friendship Keep your chin up and just try again Read a little every day, and watch the birds as they play Take time every day, to find something to laugh at When something is missing, never think, oh it is gone, instead realize that you just have not found it yet Enjoy all there is around you Even when things don’t go your way an application of effort will get you through
7: Things are not always easy, in fact they rarely are, but getting through them can always be done When you think that you cannot remember what you have already done and when you do that you will see that the task at hand is not impossible You can’t just apply yourself to goal, Spread out You might discover, that you are better off But if you don’t aim for many targets, you might not hit the one you are aiming for at all Try to see the good in everything You will be much happier than if you had not looked
8: Do what you love Learn as much as you can Sometimes it helps to relax and take a load off You will come down hard if you don’t Rest has its place But never try to get out of your work, You will know how to do your best
9: Ode to GSMST | Oh GSMST you school of knowledge, you repository of learning Your covered halls, your honored walls You have given us many things I need not state the obvious; The computers, the internships, and the lathes But there are more gifts bequeathed You give us time to watch the road (on that long drive to you) You’ve given us trips to the places we’ll go when our time with you is through We feel crowded together But won’t that soon be changed O how we both flex and shift to meet 45 minutes one way, 45 minutes back Yet worth it it is! For I have surely won! 8 classes yet only 7 hours to match, Daunted naught, see what I have done through you I work and am paid Truly we have done our best What more should we expect? Then to show what we know
10: I’ve learned what you’ve taught You’ve helped me a lot I hardly know what to say I given you my nights and my days We’ve both worked hard and we’ve both gained We shan’t cease to come to each other’s aid I have been with your activities extracurricular You have given me chances to prove I have enjoyed what I have done And I hope that you will remember my assistance We still have much to do I have three more years And you have one and a half more floors We will see how it goes Time will show that we took in our hands We’ll watch with anticipation, The future progression Through your doors and down your halls I will watch the wanderings We shall know what each does best
11: About the future none can say, Father time guards his secrets well But any who watch you would definitely speak Of our works, our accomplishments, our deeds Whether it is a movie or a speech, a painting A competition or a score I will learn, you will learn And we will be the better for it It will be hard, but are not the best things in life the hardest fought for? O GSMST, your hallowed halls of learning, your gloried walls of thought
12: Language Arts Poem There was once a class called Language Arts In which the students could show their smarts There was nary a day Sans a rhythm or play Oh the things we have learned come in carts The adverbs run so quickly, But the adjectives seem quite sickly The gerunds their showing Is ever so knowing Yet for all three their entwinement is sticky The many metaphors abound Is that rock a face or a clown? I would hardly know, But it goes to show That square is really very round
13: Those nouns and verbs run hand in hand For what could the conductor conduct sans a band? They run and they walk The sun and the chalk they surely agreement Yet demand The parts of speech, You’ll surely beseech Are numerous and many Horribly confusing and plenty But you have great need to learn them each
14: 1st Poem (with rhyme scheme) “The Cremation of Sam McGee”, by Robert W. Service There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee. Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows. Why he left his home in the South to roam ‘round the Pole, God only knows. He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell; Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”
15: On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail. Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail. If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see; It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee. And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow, And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe, He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess; And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.” Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan: “It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone. Yet ‘taint being dead—it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains; So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”
16: A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail; And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale. He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee; And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee. There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven, With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given; It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains, But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.” Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code. In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load. In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring, Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—O God! how I loathed the thing.
17: And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow; And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low; The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in; And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin. Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay; It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.” And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum; Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”
18: Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire; Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher; The flames just soared and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see; Then I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee. Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so; And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow. It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why; And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky. I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear; But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near; I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside. I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked;” . . . then the door I opened wide.
19: And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar; And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door. It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm— Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.” There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.
20: TPCASTT Analysis T – title – “The Cremation of Sam McGee” – The funeral of Sam McGee P – paraphrase – There are odd things to be seen, That are done by the Klondike Gold-miners Strange things have been done on the Trails of the Arctic And these things would scare you out of your skin But the strangest that ever happened Was the day the I held Sam McGee’s funeral It was on the shore of Lake Labarge I cremated Sam McGee Sam McGee was from Tennessee He left his home to search for gold He was very affected by the cold It even made him seem morbid
21: On Christmas Day, we were mushing on a trail It was very cold then It was so cold, our eyelashes would freeze together Sam was the only one who complained As we were about to sleep The dogs were fed and the stars were twinkling He said to me this will be my last trip If it is please honor my last request I couldn’t say no, then he moaned He said I am so cold and I fear an icy grave Swear that you will cremate my body A friend’s need is an important thing, So I promised him I would The next day he looked bad He sat on the sled and madly raved about Tennessee He died before nightfall
22: I was out of breath in that horrible place, but continued on, With a body I couldn’t get rid of because of my promise The body seemed to say that you may try and think, But you promised, and you will cremate the body A promise made is a debt unpaid, and the Yukon demands honor In the next days, I couldn’t talk and hated my duty The nights were lonely, with only the dogs in a ring Howled, oh how I hated my task Each day the body seemed to get heavier I pressed forth even though the dogs were tired and I had little food The trails were poor, I felt crazy, but I would not give up I would sing to the body, and the corpse held its permanent smile I found the coast of Lake Lebarge and an old boat was there It was stuck in ice, but I saw it was called the Alice May I looked at the boat and then my friend Then I exclaimed: “Here is my Cre-ma-tor-eum”
23: I broke some wood from the deck floor and started a fire in the boiler I found some fuel and put it in the fire The fire was huge I through the body in the boiler I walked away because I did not like the sound of the sizzle The sky was stormy, the dogs howled, and the wind was blowing It was amazingly cold, but I was sweating The smoke rose up in the sky I don’t know how long I stayed outside The stars were out, then I went back to the boat I was scared, but I wanted to peep inside “I think he’s charred, and I should check” I thought, then I opened the door
24: Sam sat in the fire seeming quite fine He smiled and said: “Please close that door It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm- Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first I’ve ever been warm.” Strange things have been done on the Trails of the Arctic And these things would scare you out of your skin But the strangest that ever happened Was the day the I held Sam McGee’s funeral It was on the shore of Lake Labarge I cremated Sam McGee
25: C-Connotation Service’s diction is made to replicate the words that miners in the Yukon would have spoken. Service uses extensive imagery in order to show the harsh conditions gold miners in the Yukon lived in. “Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.” This simile also serves to personify the extreme cold of the North and miners typically inadequate supplies. “Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.” This metaphor shows how the miners would have functioned; they would honor promises and were held by them. With the exception of the first and the last stanza the poem follows a very concrete rhyming scheme as follows. (internal rhyme aa)b (internal rhyme cc)b (internal rhyme dd)e (internal rhyme ff)e
26: This poem follows a story and as a result the whole thing could be considered one large example of enjambment. There is no alliteration, but his rhyming scheme includes both assonance and consonance. The mood is very dark, mystical and foreboding. There are many allusions, mostly to the Yukon and its vernacular. Punctuation is used and adds tension to the poem. Service personifies the elements and the other conditions that would harm the miners. A-Attitude The attitude is hurried and near maniac, as while no miner experienced a trip like this, they might have experienced similar requests and equally difficult treks. S-Shifts There are no marked shifts in the poem. The tone, rhyme, and rhythm are consistent throughout.
27: T-Title (reevaluation) The title has basically the same connotation when considered with or without a deeper meaning; “The story of the Cremation of Sam McGee.” T-Theme The theme of the poem is the harshness of a miner’s life and how even in death, the miners have trouble.
28: 2nd Poem (free verse) “I Hear America Singing” by Walt Whitman I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck, The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else, The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
29: T-Title: Without the reading the poem itself, the title lacks clear and definitive meaning. It might mean that it is about the may voices of America (Whitman would have written something like that). P-Paraphrase: I hear the sounds of America, and they are many Those of the technicians, singing strong The carpenter sings as he measures his wood The mason singing as he comes to his sight or leaves The captain declaring what is his on his boat, the cabin boy singing as he swabs The cobbler singing at his bench, the hat-maker singing when he is standing The lumberjack’s hearty song, the farmer going to his field, or resting at noon, or coming home at dusk The joyful singing of the mom, the young wife at work, or the seamstress or washer Each song is unique The day for work, the night for the young Singing their song of relaxation
30: C-Connotation: Whitman’s diction emphasizes what would have been common and identifiable at this time. He does not use physical imagery, but he does make vivid, non-concrete imagery to describe people. He does not use metaphors or similes. He has no rhyme scheme His poem does not have enjambment, each line is self-contained. There is no alliteration. Assonance and consonance are not present because this is a free verse poem. The mood is reflective and prideful. Allusions are made, however these allusions are not intentional on the author’s part; it just so happens that many of the icons of this poem are now anachronisms. Minimal punctuation is used and the punctuation present are comas used only to add pauses to the poem. Whitman personifies jobs as people’s songs or expressions of identity.
31: A-Attitude: The author is speaking in a very respectful way towards the average American. S-Shift: Due to the free verse nature, there is no rhyming or any particular amount of rhythm. Thus there are no shifts. T-Title (reevaluation): “The jobs and people of America” is what Whitman’s really means by his title. T-Theme: The theme Whitman expresses is the value of the working man.