Canonicity Poems-1 - Unit 3: Poetry and Canonicity Please...

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Unformatted text preview: Unit 3: Poetry and Canonicity Please find below a selection of poems by eleven poets: Maya Angelou Eavan Boland Seamus Heaney Langston Hughes Ted Hughes Nuala N Dhomhnaill Sylvia Plath Adrienne Rich Theodore Roethke Walt Whitman W.B. Yeats Please select one poem from these options for your writing assignments for this unit. Some are considered canonical and some are not. I leave it to you, your instincts or what Bloom refers to as necessary aesthetic judgments, and your research and argumentative skills to make evaluations as to why this should or shouldnt be so. If there are other poems or poets that youre desperate to write about, please send me an e-mail with a copy of the poem(s), so we can discuss the assignments further. Far Suathinseach by Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill from Pharaohs Daughter Translated as Miraculous Grass by Seamus Heaney There you were in your purple vestments half-way through the Mass, an ordained priest under your linen alb and chasuble and stole: and when you saw my face in the crowd for Holy Communion the consecrated host fell from your fingers. I felt shame, I never mentioned it once, my lips were sealed. But still it lurked in my heart like a thorn under mud, and it worked itself in so deep and sheer it nearly killed me. Next thing then, I was laid up in bed. Consultants came in their hundreds, doctors and brothers and priests, but I baffled them all: I was incurable, they left me for dead. So out you go, men, out with the spades and scythes, the hooks and shovels and hoes. Tackle the rubble, cut back the bushes, clear off the rubbish, the sappy growth, the whole straggle and mess that infests my green unfortunate field. And there where the sacred wafer fell you will discover in the middle of the shooting weeds a clump of miraculous grass. The priest will have to come then with his delicate fingers, and lift the host and bring it to me and put it on my tongue. Where it will melt, and I will rise in the bed as fit and well as the youngster I used to be. Oilen by Nuala N Dhomhnaill from Pharaohs Daughter Translated as Island by John Montague Your nude body is an island, asprawl on the ocean bed. How beautiful your limbs, spread- eagled under seagulls wings. Spring wells, your temples, deeps of blood, honey crests. A cooling fountain you furnish in the furious, sweltering heat and a healing drink when feverish. Your two eyes gleam like mountain lakes on a bright Lammas day when the sky sparkles in dark waters. Your eyelashes are reeds rustling along the fringe. And if I had a tiny boat to waft me towards you, a boat of findrinny, not a stitch out of place from top to bottom but a single plume of reddish brown to play me on board, To hoist the large white billowing sails; thrust through foaming seas and come beside you where you lie back, wistful, emerald, islanded. An Prionsa Dubh by Nuala N Dhomhnaill from The Water Horse Translated as The Ebony Adonis by Medbh McGuckian...
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This note was uploaded on 05/09/2011 for the course ENGL 102 taught by Professor Christinmulligan during the Spring '11 term at University of North Carolina School of the Arts.

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Canonicity Poems-1 - Unit 3: Poetry and Canonicity Please...

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