"Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility." - William Wordsworth
Poetry is Powerful"The powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse." |
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In-Class: Activity #1
Choose one of the images below. Write a poem about it. You have about 10 minutes.
In-Class Activity #2: Review TP-CASTT as a method of poetry analysis
"Harlem" by Langston HughesWhat happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-- And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode? |
TP-CASTT - A strategy for analyzing poetry |
In-Class Activity #3: TP-CASTT practice and title analysis
TP-CASTT Practice and the Significance of the Title
Read the poems below carefully. The titles have been deleted. Using everything else in the TP-CASTT model, analyze the elements of the poems that give the poems meaning and weight. Then, produce a title for each poem based on the details provided in the poem. Be ready to defend your choice.
Poem #1When I taught you
at eight to ride a bicycle, loping along beside you as you wobbled away on two round wheels, my own mouth rounding in surprise when you pulled ahead down the curved path of the park, I kept waiting for the thud of your crash as I sprinted to catch up, while you grew smaller, more breakable with distance, pumping, pumping for your life, screaming with laughter, the hair flapping behind you like a handkerchief waving goodbye. by Linda Pastan |
Poem #2Suddenly his shoulders get a lot wider,
the way Houdini would expand his body while people were putting him in chains. It seems no time since I would help him to put on his sleeper, guide his calves into the gold interior, zip him up and toss him up and catch his weight. I cannot imagine him no longer a child, and I know I must get ready, get over my fear of men now my son is going to be one. This was not what I had in mind when he pressed up through me like a sealed trunk through the ice of the Hudson, snapped the padlock, unsnaked the chains, and appeared in my arms. Now he looks at me the way Houdini studied a box to learn the way out, then smiled and let himself be manacled. by Sharon Olds |
In-Class Activity #4: TP-CASTT practice
Crossing the Bar by Alfred, Lord TennysonSunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar. |
Landscape With The Fall Of Icarus by William Carlos Williams
According to Brueghel
when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field the whole pageantry of the year was awake tingling near the edge of the sea concerned with itself sweating in the sun that melted the wings' wax unsignificantly off the coast there was a splash quite unnoticed this was Icarus drowning |