The Eagle - Alfred Tennyson

Composed in 1851, Tennyson's poem 'The Eagle' is a brief but vivid glimpse into the world of this powerful bird. In the initial three-line stanza, the eagle is pictured in a lofty position, on a crag 'close to the sun'. Tennyson uses alliteration in the first line: 'He clasps the crag with crooked hands', a hard 'c' sound recurring and then continuing in the word 'Close' at the beginning of the second line. The harsh consonant suggests the lack of comfort on this mountain top. Rather than using a word such as claws or talons, Tennyson likens the eagle to a person with the term 'hands'. The alliteration of the phrase 'lonely lands' in the second line emphasises the bird's solitude. In the final line of the third stanza, the eagle is seen is being 'Ring'd with the azure world”, in other words the sky, so once again his elevated position is focused on.

The opening line of the second stanza switches to the view below the mountain top in the personifying phrase 'The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls'. The waves are reduced to the size of wrinkles, again emphasising how far above the sea the eagle is. In the second line, the eagle is watching 'from his mountain walls', making his position sound secure, protected. In the final line, Tennyson uses a simile to create an image of the bird's swift and powerful descent on his prey: 'And like a thunderbolt he falls.'

The rhyming triplets used in each stanza give a feeling of harmony, where a creature is at one with its environment. The rhythm serves to reinforce this atmosphere. In the second and third lines of the first stanza, the stress falls on the first syllable – 'Close' and 'Ring'd' – again emphasising the eagle's position high up and in the centre of the sky.

In a mere six lines of poetry, Tennyson has constructed a masterly portrayal of the eagle in its natural surroundings.

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls,

And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Alfred Tennyson

1851

Patrolling Barnegat - Walt Whitman

'Patrolling Barnegat' is a poem that explores nature in all its fury, during a storm at sea. Whitman begins with the repetition of 'wild', leaving us in no doubt as to the mood of the poem. The focus is immediately made clear by the words 'storm' and 'sea'. The personification in the second line, 'roar of the gale', describes the ferocity of the wind, but there is also an 'incessant undertone muttering' – a more subtle sound that never lets up. Sound is again emphasised in the third line with 'Shouts of demoniac laughter'; this is no happy sound, but one associated with evil that is 'piercing' the air every so often.

The cluster of three – 'Waves, air, midnight' – at the start of line four add to the atmosphere, as we now know that this is occurring in the darkest hour. These three are referred to as the 'savagest trinity', a most dangerous combination. Line five tells us that the 'milk-white combs', the crests of the waves, can be distinguished among the shadows, and they are 'careering,' giving a sense of wild, uncontrolled movement. In line six Whitman uses alliteration to create an image of snow falling on the shore: 'On beachy slush and sand spirts of snow fierce slanting'; the repetition of the s gives an impression of the sound of melting snow hitting the ground.

Line seven reminds us of the darkness with 'murk' and the severity of the gale in the phrase 'easterly death-wind' – lives may in fact be in danger. The final word of this line, 'breasting', signals the presence of the coastguards confronting the wind. In line eight they are moving forward, 'watchful and firm' through the 'cutting swirl and spray' of the wind, snow and waves. Line nine is a snatch of conversation in parentheses, as an object is spotted in the distance that may be the wreck of a ship. Someone asks if the red light is flashing, as conditions make this difficult to ascertain.

In line ten the 'slush and sand' of line six are reiterated, and the coastguards are described as 'tireless' as they trudge along until daybreak. Line eleven tells is that they make their way through the storm 'steadily' and 'slowly', and once again the sound is described as a 'hoarse roar', rough and fierce. It is relentless, 'never remitting', echoing the 'incessant ... muttering' of the second line. Line twelve emphasises again that it is midnight, and echoes the alliterative 'milk-white combs careering' of line five.

In line thirteen a direct reference is finally made to the coastguards who are the subject of the poem. They are seen as 'a group of dim, weird forms', a description that again underlines the darkness and difficult conditions which make it impossible to see clearly. They are 'struggling, the night confronting', emphasising just how hard it is for them to move along the shore during a storm and in darkness. The final line of the poem refers again to the 'savage trinity' of line four, in other words the waves, the air and the night. The patrollers are watching all of these 'warily', vigilant, knowing that disaster may strike at any moment.

Were it not for the snatches of conversation in line nine, the poem would consist of one long sentence, creating the impression of the constant wildness of the storm, unceasing. Even in line nine, the exclamation mark and the first question mark are not followed by capital letters, as though separate sentences were not intended. There is no real rhyme scheme, but each line ends with an -ing form, emphasising the movement as the waves lash on the shore and the wind blows mercilessly.

Walt Whitman has painted a picture of nature at its harshest and shown how those who patrolled Barnegat Bay in New Jersey braved such adverse conditions, ever watchful for those in danger at sea.

October - Gillian Clarke

The first stanza of Gillian Clarke's poem 'October' sets an autumnal atmosphere for the poem. The metaphor of 'a dead arm' in line 2 for a branch of a tree that has broken forewarns us of the theme of the poem. Yet there is contrast here too, as the decay is seen against the 'bright' poplar trees whose leaves 'tremble gradually to gold'. Alliteration is skilfully used here as well as in the 'broken branch' and then again in line 4 as a 'sharp shower' turns the face of a stone lion a darker shade. This gloom is underlined at the end of the stanza where the lobelia, seen as the lion's 'dreadlocks', is changing from blue to brown as it dies. The imagery here is rich and describes both the beauty and decay of the season.

At the start of the second stanza, Clarke confronts us with the blunt phrase 'My friend dead', leaving us in no doubt as to the central focus of 'October'. The setting is the graveyard, where alliteration appears again as the coffin is carried to the 'hawthorn hedge'. Clarke portrays her lost friend as being but a slight burden in her coffin: 'lighter / than hare-bones on men's shoulders'. The mourners have 'stony' faces, echoing the statue of the lion from the first stanza. Rain mingles with tears, as there is 'weeping in the air'; there is a softer feel here than the 'sharp shower' stanza 1. Clarke describes the grave with the simile 'deep as a well', perhaps feeling that her friend will be separated from her by a considerable gulf. 'Thud' describes the heavy fall of the earth into the grave, while in contrast the alliterative 'fall of flowers' is a slow one, emphasising their lightness.

The final line of the second stanza consists merely of the phrase 'fall of flowers', and the opening line of the third and final stanza is indented to appear as a continuation of the preceding line, thus forming a stronger link between the second and third stanzas. This final stanza has a tremendous feeling of speed and urgency that is in sharp contrast to the initial part of the poem. Clarke's reaction to her friend's death is that of feeling a need to accomplish as much as possible before the time of her own death. In lines 12 to 13 of the poem she describes how 'the pen / runs faster than wind's white steps over grass'. Her pen is personified, and again alliteration creates a vivid image in 'wind's white steps'. The statement in line 14 'For a while health feels like pain' gives the impression that her grief for her friend was hard to bear at first. This feeling, however, was followed by 'panic', and the pace of the stanza increases again with phrases such as 'running the fields' and 'the racing leaves'. Clarke is desperate to capture the fleeting images of nature: 'holding that robin's eye / in the laurel'. Comparison with the speed of the wind is made once again in the simile of line 18: 'I must write like the wind'. Clarke ends her poem with a sense that she can win the struggle against time and the moment of her death as she continues writing, 'winning ground'.

'October' is a compact poem that gathers pace as it moves forward, beginning with leaves 'gradually' turning gold and ending with the need to 'write like the wind'. Out of the decay of the season of autumn and the sadness at the death of a friend comes motivation and the urgency to write faster and put the transient images of the changing seasons into words before time runs out. Language is used here to create powerful imagery with alliteration, metaphor, simile and contrast all playing a part. 'October' is a skilfully constructed poem that imparts a sense of using every available moment of life to the full.

Kid - Simon Armitage

From the first word of the poem we know that there is a connection here with Batman, and reading on we discover that the narrator here is his sidekick, Robin, now grown up and brimming with confidence.

This is a terrifically fast-paced poem, conveying a sense of the energy and exuberance of youth. The repetition of words ending in -er at the end of each of the twenty-four lines adds to the feeling of speed, with one line rushing into the next.

The poem is packed with witty, self-assured language, plays on words that leave us in no doubt that Robin is taking over the major role from Batman. Abandoned by the 'father figure' that he no longer needs, Robin tells us that he has now 'turned the corner'. He doesn't need to play second fiddle any more, as he tells us in line fourteen 'I'm not playing ball boy any longer'. He has cast off his garish green and red clothes and made his own choice of 'jeans and crew-neck jumper'. He paints a sad picture of Batman, now alone or 'without a shadow', with Robin taking over the role of hero: he triumphantly ends the poem with 'now I'm the real boy wonder.'

Taking a closer look at the language, Armitage has made skilful, witty use of imagery in this poem. There is the alliteration of 'let me loose to wander leeward' overlapping the assonance of 'leeward, freely' in lines 2 to 3 and the idiomatic 'let the cat out on that caper' in line 9. The twelfth and thirteenth lines present us with whole strings of hyphenated phrases that seem to rush along at breakneck speed: 'Holy robin-redbreast-nest-egg-shocker!' to describe Robin's reaction to Batman's brief affair with a married woman where he claimed expenses for dating her. The irony here too is the reference to 'robin-redbreast', as it appears that it was Robin himself who exposed Batman's behaviour in this incident.

In lines 20 to 21 we are presented with the image of Batman 'stewing over chicken giblets' – a clever metaphorical play on words, as Robin builds up a pitiful picture of Batman, now a fallen figure, not even having enough to eat, 'punching the palm of your hand all winter'. In the last line he audaciously refers to the formerly revered hero as 'baby' before making his final 'boy wonder' statement.

Armitage shows us here that even a superhero does not prevail for ever; the trusty sidekick grows up, builds up strength and confidence, and is soon ready to take over the leading role. It's a poem that any younger brother or downtrodden son with a domineering father can take inspiration from. Perhaps any hero-worshipping teenager, aspiring to be famous in one way or another, will find a theme to relate to here. As for the heroes themselves, be warned – one day, someone else is going to take over!

My Last Duchess - Robert Browning

In his dramatic monologue 'My Last Duchess', written in 1842, Robert Browning gives us a glimpse into the world of Alfonso, Duke of Ferrara, in the sixteenth century. Ferrara is a city in what is now northern Italy. Alfonso was a real person, but the situation described in this poem is fictional. The Duke is addressing an envoy from a Count and is showing him a portrait of his former wife.

In the opening line, the Duke states plainly that the painting is of his 'last Duchess'. His comment in the second line that she is 'looking as if she were alive' gives the impression that this is a masterpiece, but as we read on we realize that there is a more sinister meaning to this phrase. The artist referred to, Fra Pandolf, is a fictional one. The Duke explains that he is the only one who shows off the portrait by drawing back the curtains that normally cover it. Everyone who sees it comments on the 'depth and passion' in the facial expression of the Duchess, and wonders what the reason for it was. The Duke refers to her expression as a 'spot of joy', and we begin to understand his attitude as he tells the envoy that he was not the cause of it: the artist was. The Duke imagines the compliments that Fra Pandolf might have paid to the Duchess as he was painting: 'Paint/Must never hope to reproduce the faint/Half-flush that dies along her throat.' It is clear that the Duke disapproved of his wife's reactions to such remarks, as he says that she was 'too soon made glad'.

The Duke's comment that 'her looks went everywhere' (line 24) suggests that he could not tolerate the fact that the Duchess delighted in beauty and appreciated gifts from others. He recalls that she considered his 'favour at her breast' no more important than the setting of the sun or a present of cherries from the orchard. He admits that she was right to thank people for gifts, but resents the fact that she did not seem value his gift to her, his 'nine-hundred-years-old name' above anything else.

On two occasions the Duke mentions the idea of stooping to explain to his former wife what it was that displeased him about her (lines 34 and 42-43). This clearly shows that he considered himself to be far above her. His language is very direct when he tells the envoy that he might have said to her 'Just this/or that in you disgusts me'. Again, in lines 39-40, the Duke refers to how the Duchess might 'let/herself be lessoned', leaving us in no doubt as to his attitude towards her. She is seen as an inferior being that would need to be taught how to behave, almost like an unruly child. He admits that she smiled when she saw him, but comments that she did the same to everyone she saw. As this went on, the Duke could no longer bear her behavior and 'gave commands;/Then all smiles stopped together' (lines 45-46). It soon becomes obvious that the Duchess did not merely cease to smile, but ceased to live: the Duke's orders had been to kill her. Once more he says 'There she stands/As if alive', and we are in no doubt this time that she is no longer alive.

The Duke's comments on his former wife are over and he asks the envoy to come downstairs with him. Only at this point is the purpose of the envoy's visit made clear: the Duke wishes to marry the Count's daughter, and the dowry is being discussed. Before they leave the upstairs room, however, the Duke draws the envoy's attention to another painting. This one, again by a fictional artist (Claus of Innsbruck) depicts Neptune 'Taming a sea-horse'. There seems to be a clear parallel here with the concept of the Duke 'taming' his last Duchess.

Browning's use of the dramatic monologue is of course ideal for emphasizing the Duke's dominant role in this situation. His is the only voice we hear, and his view of his relationship with his former wife is the one we are given. Our impression of the Duke is one of arrogance, intolerance, jealousy and cruelty. Does a wife who has looked at others and been generous with her thanks deserve to die? We are told (line 31) that on some occasions she merely blushed on meeting people when she went out for a ride; this would seem to suggest shyness and modesty. She appears to have been a lady who felt it right to express gratitude or smile in a friendly way, and we are left with the feeling that the Duke was a proud and ruthless man who over-reacted to his wife's charming manner.

Browning has composed his poem in rhyming couplets with iambic pentameter (ten syllables to a line, with stressed and unstressed syllables alternating). The use of enjambement, where one line flows into the next without a period, gives a more natural, conversational feel to the poem. Without this, the use of rhyme might have seemed a little too contrived. The poem is virtually devoid of metaphors and similes: as the Duke tells the envoy, he has no 'skill in speech'. The dashes in particular give the impression that thoughts are occurring to the Duke spontaneously as he speaks.

The use of the word 'you' throughout the poem may make us feel that the Duke is addressing us personally as we read, since it does not become clear until the final few lines that he is talking to an envoy. We should remember that at this time 'you' was actually a polite form of address, as the familiar form 'thee or 'thou' was also in use.

Browning has, in 'My Last Duchess', skilfully portrayed a domineering character, full of his own self-importance, in the Duke. It is hard to read the poem without feeling compassion for the Duchess who died at his hand, apparently for having a warm, friendly and polite manner. I am left wondering how the next Duchess was to fare, and whether there was hope for a little more tolerance.

Cold Knap Lake - Gillian Clarke

Gillian Clarke's poem 'Cold Knap Lake' centres around a childhood memory of a girl almost drowning in a lake in Glamorgan (South Wales). The poet, with her parents, 'watched a crowd' of people pull the girl out of the water. It seemed at first that they were too late: the girl's lips were blue and she 'lay for dead'. The metaphor 'dressed in water's long green silk' tells us that she was covered in weeds from the lake.

In the second stanza, Clarke describes her mother as a 'heroine' as she knelt down to resuscitate the girl. The act of kneeling, 'her red head bowed', perhaps suggests a religious act. The mother seems to have been part of the whole rescue operation, 'her wartime cotton frock soaked'. The mention of her red hair is in sharp contrast to the girl's blue lips and gives a feeling of life. Clarke was obviously struck by the idea of her mother reviving 'a stranger's child' with 'her breath'. The crowd of onlookers dare not speak but are compelled to watch, as Clarke tells us in the alliterative phrase 'drawn by the dread of it'.

The third stanza tells us that the girl began breathing; 'bleating' suggests the idea of a baby animal calling for its mother. She is now 'rosy in my mother's hands', the color assuring that she is alive. The poet's father took the girl back to her home; we are told that she came from a poor family. Rather than expressing gratitude for the fact that she survived, her parents 'thrashed' her for having got herself into such danger.

The question 'Was I there?' that opens the fourth stanza signals a change in the poem. It stands out, as it is the shortest line in the entire poem and comes at the beginning of a stanza. It suggests that the poet, now of course an adult, is unsure as to whether she actually saw the girl being beaten or whether this is something her father told her about. The following five lines of the stanza form one long question that centres around an extended metaphor where the waters of the lake represent the memory. This second question refers to the 'troubled surface' of both the mind and the water. The imagery here is rich, from the alliteration of 'surface something else/shadowy' continuing with the personification of the 'dipped fingers of willows', which links back to the fingers of the child in the water. The 'satiny mud blooms' of line 18 are reminiscent of 'water's long green silk' in the first stanza. The 'cloudiness' of the muddy water is a symbol of the haziness of our memories. The assonance in the phrase 'treading heavy webs' in the following line creates a vivid image where it is the webbed feet of swans that are disturbing the water, just as certain events provoke unclear thoughts about the past in our minds. The stanza and the extended question close with the evocative sounds of the swans' wings that 'beat and whistle'.

The poem ends with a pair of rhyming couplets:

'All lost things lie under closing water

in that lake with the poor man's daughter.'

'Lost things' suggests memories that we can no longer recall, buried deep in our minds. The final line connects back to the initial focus of the poem, the girl who almost drowned. Alliteration of 'All lost things lie ... in that lake' serves to tie together the ideas of the memory and the drowning incident. 'Water' and 'daughter' are in fact the only rhyming words that appear in successive lines in the entire poem. In the first stanza, we could consider 'lake' and 'silk' (lines 3 and 4) as a half rhyme. Stanza two has 'earth' at the end of the opening line and 'breath' at the end of the fourth line, another half rhyme. The third stanza's first line ends with 'bleating' and its last line with 'drowning'. The fourth stanza does have two rhyming words, 'there' and 'air', one at the end of its first line and the other at the end of its last line, and each is the final word in a question.

The pattern of the stanzas is an interesting one, as the first and third stanzas have four lines each and the second and fourth six lines each, with the rhyming couplets standing out at the end of the poem. The lines vary in length, with the shortest one, 'Was I there?', drawing attention at the start of the fourth stanza.

In 'Cold Knap Lake', Gillian Clarke has created a fascinating poem that seems to focus on one particular dramatic event she witnessed in her childhood but develops into an expression of how our memories of the past are a part of us that may fade or play tricks on us with the passage of time.

Baby-sitting - Gillian Clarke

Gillian Clarke's poem centres on her experience of baby-sitting for a baby that is asleep but will wake up to find the baby-sitter, a stranger, and feel that it has been abandoned by the mother.

The first stanza opens with the baby-sitter sitting in a 'strange room', telling us that this must be the first time that the sitter has looked after that baby. She is waiting for 'the wrong baby' to wake up, and so we assume that the baby-sitter is a mother herself. Speaking in the first person, the poet tells us quite openly that she doesn't love the baby, and this emphasizes the fact that she is a stranger. She goes on to describe the baby in quite an endearing way; snuffling in its sleep, it is fair haired and not unattractive. The narrator, however, actually feels afraid that the baby will hate her when confronted with her on waking; 'she will shout / her hot midnight rage' conveys the idea of angry cries and screams. The description of the baby towards the end of the stanza, now that it is no longer sleeping peacefully, becomes less flattering. Her nose will run 'disgustingly', and the baby-sitter will find the smell of her breath unpleasant.

At the start of the second stanza, the baby-sitter imagines that the baby, on seeing her, will feel that she has been deserted by her mother: 'To her, I will represent absolute / Abandonment.' The baby's situation and feelings are then compared to other extremely lonely situations, such as a lover alone in bed, 'cold in lonely / Sheets.' The baby's loneliness will be worse than this, worse even than the sorrow of a woman visiting her husband in the terminal ward of a hospital. Sleep is depicted by the metaphor 'the monstrous land' from which the baby will awaken, crying. It will expect to be breastfed by the mother: 'stretching for milk-familiar comforting', but instead will be held by a stranger. The repetition in the final line of the phrase 'It will not come' serves to illustrate the fact that there is no bond between the baby-sitter and the baby; no comfort will be found.

The poem consists of two ten-line stanzas with lines of slightly varying length. There is no rhyming, and in fact many of the lines run straight into the following one, so that breaks occur frequently in the middle of the line, particularly in the first stanza.

Alliteration and assonance are used in the poet's description of the baby: 'She is sleeping a snuffly / roseate, bubbling sleep;' 'absolute / Abandonment' in the second stanza uses alliteration to emphasize the fact that the baby feels deserted by its mother. 'Beside the bleached bone' combines alliteration and metaphor to create a harrowing image of a person dying in hospital.

Gillian Clarke has painted a sensitive picture here, seeing the situation from the point of view of the baby, imagining exactly how it must feel on awakening to find a stranger instead of its mother. She also understands how the baby-sitter will react, actually feeling fear because the baby will not welcome her presence. It is a convincing picture, giving an unusual slant on what to us is probably a commonplace situation.

(Note: I have referred to the baby here as 'it' to try to avoid confusion between the baby-sitter and the baby; in the poem itself, the baby is referred to as 'she'.)

Before you were mine - Carol Ann Duffy

This is a delightful poem written by a daughter about how she imagines her mother's life to have been in her teenage years, ten years before her daughter was born.

The first line initially seems a little confusing as we read 'I'm ten years away from the corner you laugh on', but it becomes clear that the narrator (the daughter) is looking at a photograph of her mother with three of her friends. They 'shriek at the pavement' and seem to be sharing a great joke, young and carefree. As the daughter looks at her mother's dress blowing round her legs in the photo, she is reminded of Marilyn Monroe: the one-word sentence 'Marilyn' that closes the first stanza tells us how glamorous the future mother looked as a teenager.

As the second stanza begins, the narrator reminds us that all thoughts of her are still distant as the girl in the photo goes dancing 'in the ballroom with the thousand eyes': it sounds as though all these eyes were on her mother-to-be. She imagines how her mother must have danced, and can understand that if the right person walked her home, she would have been in a dream-world the following day: 'those fizzy, movie tomorrows' conjures up the magical feeling perfectly. The daughter also knows that her grandmother would have been waiting 'with a hiding' (a spanking) if her mother was late home, but that this would have been a small price to pay for such a night out.

In the third stanza, the daughter refers to the moment of her birth with the phrase 'my loud, possessive yell', conveying the idea that this was a pivotal, life-changing moment. She realizes that the ten years preceding her birth, as her mother approached adulthood, must have been the best ones. She can remember playing with an old pair of her mother's 'high-heeled red shoes, relics,' and pictures her mother walking in them, strangely referring to her 'ghost' as she approaches. Her imagination takes on the senses of both sight and smell as the picture becomes more vivid: 'till I see you, clear as scent'; she refers to her mother as 'sweetheart', and imagines that she would have had love bites on her neck.

The fourth and final stanza begins with an expressive Cha cha cha! in italics, and the daughter remembers how her mother taught her to dance on the way home from church. There is the sense of the forbidden here, echoing the idea of her mother going home late to a punishment perhaps. These dancing lessons seem to have taken place when the daughter was still a child, as she says 'Even then / I wanted the bold girl winking in Portobello'. The last two lines of the poem describe the mother's love as glamorous, and in the final one, the daughter captures the essence of her mother's teenage years where she used to 'sparkle and waltz and laugh', creating a picture of a vivacious, carefree young woman.

The poem is a four stanza one, each stanza being made up of five lines, with some variation in length of line. The first two stanzas focus purely on the life of the mother before the daughter was born, whilst the third stanza opens with a reference to the daughter's birth and then moves to the daughter's vision of her mother in her earlier life, thus providing a link with the previous stanzas. The fourth stanza begins with a recollection from the daughter's younger life with her mother, and then takes us back once again to the mother's days of dancing.

It's refreshing to read a poem in which a daughter enthuses over her mother, imagining how full of life and fun she must have been before she was born. Her admiration of her mother is conveyed in a delightfully direct way, and words such as 'shriek', 'sparkle' and 'fizzy' conjure up the lightheartedness of youth. I never tire of going back to read it again and to enjoy the way in which a daughter can see her mother as a young person, just like herself.

On My First Sonne - Ben Johnson

This outpouring of a father's grief on the death of his young son, although written almost four hundred years ago, is so poignant that we can easily identify with the poet's experience.

The fact that the poem was written several hundred years ago means that the language is not always particularly easy to understand. We know from the title that the child that has died was the poet's first-born son, so losing him must have been an especially painful experience. The first line tells us that Johnson considered him to be the child of his 'right hand', signifying the importance of the role that the child would have played had he grown older. The second line reveals the idea that the poet had enormous hopes of his son. We begin to sense how religious a person Johnson was as he expresses the notion that having such great hopes was actually a sin.

The following line continues the religious theme, as Johnson considers that his son was actually lent to him by God: 'Seven yeeres tho'wert lent to me,' and we now know that the child died at the age of seven. Johnson thus believes that all life is a gift from God, and that he had to give his child back to God at this tender age. In line 5 Johnson pours out his grief in the phrase 'O, could I loose all father', wishing that he did not have to take on the role of a father who loves his son so dearly, because it is so painful to mourn a child. However, the poet then goes on to say 'For why / Will man lament the state he should envie?' meaning that it is strange to grieve over death, as death is something to be envied, something to look forward to. He explains this feeling in line 7 when he says that death is an escape from 'worlds, and fleshes rage', an escape from the turmoil and anger that we encounter throughout our lives. Then in line 8 Johnson says that even if there are no problems in life, death is at least an escape from age, in other words old age.

'Rest in soft peace' is a gentler version of the usual 'Rest in peace' that is inscribed on tombstones, expressing very tender feelings for a young child. Johnson goes on to say that if anyone were to ask who was buried in that grave, the answer should be that it is Ben Johnson's 'best piece of poetrie': the best thing that he ever created, better in actual fact than any of his poems. Johnson concludes his poem by making a vow that whatever or whoever he loves he will not become too attached to in future: 'may never like too much', meaning that he would not find it so painful to lose another person if he remained more detached from them. At that time in history of course infant deaths were far more common than they are now, and Johnson must have feared that if he were to have more children they too might not reach adulthood.

This is a concise twelve-line poem with six pairs of rhyming couplets. The middle section, from line 5, is the most emotional one, but Johnson tries to be philosophical about his grief, seeing death as an escape from a troubled world. A calmer atmosphere pervades in the last four lines, where the poet is in positive mood, seeing his son as his finest creation. We know from the final line that he never wishes to feel such intense pain again if another family member were to die. Here is the full text of the poem:

On my first Sonne

Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;

My sinne was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy;

Seven yeeres tho' wert lent to me, and I thee pay,

Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.

Oh, I could loose all father, now. For why

Will man lament the state he should envie?

To have so soone scap'd worlds, and fleshes rage.

And, if no other miserie, yet age?

Rest in soft peace, and ask'd, say here doth lye

Ben. Johnson his best piece of poetrie.

For whose sake, hence-forth, all his vowes be such,

As what he loves may never like too much.

Ben Johnson

1616

Education for Leisure - Carol Ann Duffy

Carol Ann Duffy's poem 'Education for Leisure' immediately shocks us with its opening line 'Today I'm going to kill something. Anything.' As we continue through the first stanza, we realize that the narrator is an attention-seeker, someone who wants to 'play God', someone who wants to relieve boredom in no uncertain terms.

The first thing to be killed is a fly, squashed against the window. Almost anyone could do this, so we are not taken aback by the action. The cat, however, hides away, more sensitive to an approaching threat. Then the goldfish goes down the toilet, or 'bog' to use Duffy's word here, and we begin to wonder how far this is going to go. The budgie starts to panic. In the final stanza it seems that perhaps the cat and the bird met the same fate as the fish, as 'there is nothing left to kill'. The narrator takes the bread-knife and goes out into the street; the ominous final phrase 'I touch your arm' strikes us all the more forcefully because it is the first time that the reader has been addressed directly, and therefore threatened personally, during the entire poem.

The title 'Education for Leisure' highlights the plight of those who, having gone through their schooling and been pressured to pass exams, are then unable to find a job; it is as though they have been educated just to have free time, and the result here is an extreme case of the effect of boredom, of being ignored. The narrator here is suffering from delusion, 'breathing out talent' on the window, believing himself to be a genius who could 'change the world'. Not having been given the opportunity to do so, he takes matters into his own hands by deciding to kill. This is the most powerful option open to him. We understand that he is on the dole from the sentence 'Once a fortnight I walk the two miles into town for signing on.' Referring to his signature as his 'autograph' reminds us that this is a person who craved fame but found only emptiness in his life. The sentence 'I see that it is good' following the flushing away of the goldfish is a biblical reference, echoing the narrator's idea to 'play God' in the first stanza. As we come to the final stanza, he phones a radio announcer in desperation and tries to convince him that he is a 'superstar'.

It is a little surprising that the poem is so tidily organized into five stanzas of four lines each, but this perhaps serves to emphasize the fact that the narrator's mind has in fact planned a certain course of action. The straightforward, matter-of-fact language is underlined by a number of very short and concise sentences such as 'I pull the chain.'

This is an interesting poem to compare with Simon Armitage's 'Hitcher'. The latter deals with a person who can no longer face the daily grind and resorts to violence when confronted with a hitchhiker who seems to have all the freedom he could wish for. Both poems portray extreme behavior by people who do not somehow fit into what society demands that they be: on the one hand, boredom is intolerable and inspires senseless killing; on the other, not being able to escape the rat race leads to a desperate outburst of anger and violence.

Anne Hathaway - Carol Ann Duffy

n her poem entitled 'Anne Hathaway', Carol Ann Duffy adopts the persona of Shakespeare's widow. The introductory quote from Shakespeare's will 'Item I gyve unto my wife my second best bed' reminds us that Shakespeare's best bed was reserved for guests, and that Anne inherited the one that she and her husband slept in. This bed becomes the focus of the fourteen-line poem.

In the opening two lines, Duffy uses a metaphor to express the magic of the bed in which Shakespeare made love to Anne: it was 'a spinning world / of forests, castles, torchlight, clifftops, seas'. More metaphors follow in lines three and four as Anne Hathaway recalls their lovemaking; she expresses the notion that Shakespeare would 'dive for pearls', and she describes the sweet words he said to her as 'shooting stars' that landed on her lips when he kissed her.

From line five to line ten Duffy uses imagery in a fascinating way that relates directly to the fact that Shakespeare was a writer. Anne sees her body as 'a softer rhyme to his ... now assonance', assonance being a figure of speech in which the same vowel sound is repeated. Then follows the charming personification of his touch, portrayed as 'a verb dancing in the centre of a noun', giving a feeling of grace and delicacy. Anne says that she sometimes dreamed that Shakespeare had 'written' her, wishing that she herself were part of his artistic creation. She metaphorically imagines the bed as 'a page beneath his writer's hands'. She sees their lovemaking as drama enacted through 'touch', 'scent' and 'taste'.

In lines eleven and twelve a contrast is created to the early magic of the poem in the description of how the guests, in the best bed, 'dozed on, / dribbling their prose'; no poetic lovemaking for them! But line twelve then switches to Anne's alliterative description of Shakespeare as 'My living laughing love'. She tells us in line thirteen how she treasures her memories of him with the metaphor 'I hold him in .the casket of my widow's head'. The final line compares this act to the way in which Shakespeare held Anne so lovingly in that second-best bed. The last two lines are a rhyming couplet, just as the last two lines of a Shakesperian sonnet would be, ending the poem with a sense of unity.

Duffy's 'Anne Hathaway' is a poem full of rich imagery, the tale of a woman who remembers her husband in a wonderful, loving way with no hint of sorrow. It is beautiful to read and to dwell on the magical pictures that are painted within it.

Tichborne's Elegy - Chidiock Tichborne

Composed the night before his execution, Tichborne's Elegy piles metaphor upon metaphor to express his regret and frustration upon his life being cut short whilst he is still in his prime. He was only twenty-eight years old at the time, but was sentenced to death because he had been involved in a conspiracy to assassinate Queen Elizabeth I. Written in the first person, almost every line begins with the word 'I' or 'My', showing us how self-absorbed the poet was in his last hours.

The poem comprises three stanzas, each of six lines. The word 'but', appearing in each of the first four lines, might be translated as 'just' in contemporary English. The first line tells us that although the poet is young, his life is a 'frost', cold and joyless, and full of worries because of his actions and his impending death. The following line refers again to his life, or his youth, which should have been the most fulfilling period but instead is 'a dish of pain', a time that is hard to bear. Then there is an agricultural metaphor, in which the poet expresses the fact that his 'crop of corn' has actually yielded a field of weeds (tares), meaning that nothing worthwhile has resulted from his short life. Line 4 explains that the only way the poet has benefited from his life is in hoping to make an achievement, but he has not in fact done so. The following line begins 'The day is past', a metaphor meaning that the poet's life has ended, and concludes 'and yet I saw no sun' – nothing worthwhile or advantageous has resulted from his life. The final line of the first stanza is identical to the last line of the second and third stanzas, emphasizing the fact that although the poet is alive at the actual time of composing the poem, he knows that his life has virtually come to an end.

The second stanza continues the pattern of metaphors, 'My tale was heard' meaning that the poet has had a life, 'and yet it was not told' expressing the frustration that his life was not lived to the full. Tichborne then compares his life to a tree, where the fruit has ripened and fallen to the ground, because his life is about to end; but 'my leaves are green' tells us that he is still young. This same idea is clearly conveyed in line 9, and line 10 expresses the concept that although the poet 'saw the world', because he was born, he 'was not seen', as nothing positive has come of his short life. Another metaphor follows, 'My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun' telling us that his life is ending even though he has not lived it out. The stanza concludes in exactly the same way as the first one.

The opening of the third and final stanza shows us the the poet considers that he was doomed even before he was born, and that as his life progressed he sensed it was to be cut short. He feels that his life has only just begun and yet it is about to end. Line 17 is a metaphor centred around the image of an hourglass, a little device like an egg-timer through which sand runs from top to bottom in the space of a few minutes. Tichborne knows that because of his youth he should have years of his life left, but his 'glass is run', meaning that the sand has all passed through and his time on earth has run out. Once again, the final line is exactly like that of the first two stanzas.

The poem is regular in its rhythm and rhyme scheme; the repetition or similarity in the structure of many of the lines is offset by the abundant use of metaphors which are the highlight of this work. The poet focusses purely on his own situation here and there is no reference at all to loved ones he is leaving behind or to his fellow conspirators.

'Tichborne's Elegy' is a fine poem full of metaphorical imagery. There is perhaps an element of irony in that the poet expresses the idea that he has achieved nothing in his short life, and yet he composed a masterpiece on the eve of his execution. His frustration and deep regret in fact inspired him to do so; to create such a poem when he must have been in the depths of despair is to be wondered at.

Here is the full text of the poem:

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,

My feast of joy is but a dish of pain;

My crop of corn is but a field of tares,

And all my good is but vain hope of gain.

The day is past, and yet I saw no sun;

And now I live, and now my life is done.

My tale was heard, and yet it was not told,

My fruit is fallen, and yet my leaves are green;

My youth is spent, and yet I am not old,

I saw the world, and yet I was not seen.

My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun;

And now I live, and now my life is done.

I sought my death, and found it in my womb,

I looked for life and saw it was a shade;

I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb,

And now I die, and now I was but made.

My glass is full, and now my glass is run;

And now I live, and now my life is done.

Chidiock Tichborne

1586

Song of the Old Mother - W. B. Yeats

In his brief and compact ten-line poem, 'Song of the Old Mother', Yeats takes on the persona of an elderly woman who contrasts her harsh, unrelenting daily routine with that of carefree young people.

In the first four lines, the old mother tells us that she has to get up at sunrise and work until it gets dark. The word 'and' is used seven times in these initial four lines, emphasising the fact that the woman has a string of household chores to carry out, one after the other. The fact that she says 'I must scrub and bake and sweep' gives the impression that she has no choice in the matter, and probably does not enjoy these endless chores. In the fourth line the stars are personified: they 'blink and peep', perhaps to give the old woman a hint that her day's work is finally over.

Over the course of the next four lines, the old mother comments on the life of the young people around her, which is in stark contrast to her own. They have no work to do, but spend their lives in 'idleness'. They don't have to get up early like she does, staying in bed as long as they wish. All they have to worry about is whether the ribbons for their hair and their clothes match each other. It bothers these young girls if the wind merely blows a lock of hair (tress) out of place.

In the final two lines of the poem, the old mother returns to thoughts of how she has to spend her days: she repeats the word 'must', again leaving us in no doubt that her work is forced upon her. The very last line repeats the phrase 'seed of the fire' from line two, but here it appears to be used metaphorically. The fire is said to be growing weak and cold, but this in fact symbolises what is happening to the woman as her life nears its end.

There is no outpouring of emotion here, yet we can sense that the old mother feels a degree of injustice. Her own life is so hard whilst that of the young women, who surely have more energy than her, is so carefree.

Yeats uses rhyming couplets in this poem, which has a strong, regular rhythm. The repetitive routine of the old mother's day-to-day life is reflected in the regularity of the poem's rhyme and rhythm. It is a straightforward poem whose message, in the first person, comes over clearly with the use of contrast between the life of an old woman and that of the young girls she sees around her.

I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow

Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;

And then I must scrub and bake and sweep

Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;

And the young lie long and dream in their bed

Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head,

And their day goes over in idleness,

And they sigh if the wind lift but a tress:

While I must work because I am old,

And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.

William Butler Yeats

1899

Mother - Simon Armitage

The central theme of Simon Armitage's poem 'Mother' is that of the bond between a mother and son, and the moment at which the son finally becomes independent as he embarks upon adult life. The poem is in fact an extended metaphor, as the situation described is that of the mother helping her son to measure up his new house. The son gradually moves further and further away, upstairs, extending the measuring tape, while his mother desperately holds on to the end of the spool.

Armitage begins the poem by saying 'any distance greater than a single span / requires a second pair of hands', recognising from the outset that he still needs his mother. As we are told that it is the measurements of a house that are being taken, Armitage uses metaphors such as 'the acres of the walls, the prairies of the floors' that convey an image of vast empty spaces: it's the first time that he has a house of his own, and there is a sense of adventure, exploring wide open spaces.

The opening line of the second stanza explains that it is the mother that is holding the 'zero-end' of the tape, thus being the stationary base, whilst the son is the one gradually moving away, taking the measurements. This eventually leads to him climbing the stairs, 'leaving', and the unwinding of the tape is seen as a metaphor for the years that the mother and son have spent together. The one-word 'sentences' 'Anchor. Kite.' close the second stanza and it is obvious that the anchor is the mother, whilst the kite is the son, about to fly away and experience independence.

In the third and final stanza, Armitage describes his tour of the bedrooms as a 'space-walk', once again making this sound like a great adventure. Going up into the loft, he realizes that this is 'breaking-point': the spool of tape has been fully extended, and if the son is to go any further, 'something / has to give'; either the mother or the son will have to let go. The mother, however, is described as pinching 'the last one-hundredth of an inch': we feel how desperately she is trying to hold on, she cannot bear to let her son go. The son, on the other hand, opens a hatch in the roof, knowing that he must keep on going. Outside the 'endless sky' awaits him, and the final brief line tells us that he will 'fall or fly': will success or failure meet him? He has no idea what the future holds, yet knows that he has to take this step and rely purely on his own resources for the first time.

The poem consists of two four-line stanzas and a third stanza of seven lines, of which two are extremely short. The length of lines throughout the whole poem is in fact very uneven, perhaps mirroring the situation where objects being measured are of varying lengths. Sentences, too, range from one brief word to an extension over five lines. Often one line spills over into the next, giving a sense of length of the relationship between mother and son, or of the ever-increasing distance between them as the son moves away.

It is also noticeable that in the first two stanzas the son directly addresses his mother: 'You come to help me' and 'You at the zero-end'. By the third stanza, however, the focus is on the son himself, and we are conscious of the first-person emphasis in phrases such as 'I space-walk' and then 'I reach / towards a hatch.' He is on his own now.

This is a carefully constructed poem that makes skilful use of pertinent imagery to convey its theme. The language itself is not emotional, yet we can feel the mother's reluctance and sense the mixture of adventure and trepidation that the son feels as he steps into adulthood. For me it is a masterpiece.

The Man He Killed - Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy's poem 'The Man He Killed' focusses on the senselessness and futility of war, where a man has killed another quite simply because they were fighting on opposing sides in a war.

Written in the first person from the standpoint of one of the soldiers, the first stanza expresses the idea that the two men who fought would, had they in other circumstances met each other outside a pub, have enjoyed a few drinks ('right many a nipperkin') together. Yet it becomes clear in the second stanza that they in fact met as foot soldiers in a battle, and being confronted with each other, one had to die. The narrator received a bullet but survived, whereas his shot fatally injured the other man.

The writer falters at the end of the opening line of the third stanza as he tries to justifies his action. Repeating the word 'because', he states that he had to kill the other soldier as he was his enemy. The third line of this stanza features more repetition, this time of the word 'foe' (enemy); the use of phrases such as 'Just so' and 'of course' suggest that the narrator is trying to convince himself that his action was inevitable. The stanza, however, ends with the word 'although', telling us that the writer is not in fact at ease with the idea that he has killed his enemy. Using enjambment to link to the fourth stanza, the narrator reflects on the fact that the soldier he killed probably decided to join the army ('list is short for enlist) because he had no work and had sold his belongings. The narrator understands this, having been in a similar situation himself and having found himself with no alternative but to join the army. It was not a positive decision, but a last resort when there were no other options.

The final stanza reiterates the main theme of the poem, that war is a strange phenomenon because a soldier finds himself forced to kill a man that he would otherwise have bought a drink for or lent money to, had they met in times of peace. 'Half-a-crown' is the old British money, worth about twelve and a half pence in today's currency. In 1902 that would of course have had considerably more value than it does just over one hundred years later.

The poem is written in a conversational tone, with speech marks included, making us feel that the soldier is addressing us personally in an informal way, and pleading with us to understand his action in killing his enemy. The language is very straightforward and easy to comprehend with the exception of two or three words. There are five stanzas, each of four lines, all of which are inset to a certain degree other than the third in each stanza, which creates a regular pattern on the page. The rhyme scheme and rhythm are also regular and give the poem quite a fast pace.

It is easy to appreciate this poem and to identify with the soldier and his feelings, sympathizing with his predicament and sensing that he regrets having had to kill his enemy. We understand that individual soldiers do not necessarily nurture hatred for those they are fighting against, but see them as human beings in circumstances similar to their own, enlisting in order to earn money and suppport a family. But when facing each other at close range, the reality of war kicks in and one of them must kill the other. The narrator here knows that he could easily have been the one to die. The idea that war is nonsensical when seen at the level of ordinary human beings who are obliged to carry out orders is evident throughout the poem.

Here is the complete text of the poem:

'Had he and I but met

By some old ancient inn,

We should have sat us down to wet

Right many a nipperkin!

'But ranged as infantry,

And staring face to face,

I shot at him as he at me,

And killed him in his place.

'I shot him dead because -

Because he was my foe,

Just so: my foe of course he was;

That's clear enough; although

'He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,

Off-hand like – just as I -

Was out of work – had sold his traps -

No other reason why.

'Yes; quaint and curious war is!

You shoot a fellow down

You'd treat if met where any bar is,

Or help to half-a-crown.'

Thomas Hardy

1902

Death of a Naturalist - Seamus Heaney

Heaney's poem 'Death of a Naturalist' focuses on his experience of collecting and watching frogspawn as a child, and his reaction when the spawn turned into frogs.

In the first ten lines of the poem Heaney uses vivid imagery to describe the setting and its sights, smell and sounds. The phrase 'flax-dam festered' in the opening line combines assonance and alliteration, and begins to create the atmosphere of decay. 'Heavy headed' at the end of the second line again uses assonance and alliteration in one phrase to describe the flax that had rotted. The heaviness is emphasised further in the third line, where the flax is 'weighted down by huge sods'. The idea that hot weather has caused the decay is expressed in line four: 'Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun', a personification of the oppressiveness of the sun. A gentler image focusing on sound is created in 'Bubbles gargled delicately' in line five. The movement of flies is described with a metaphor: 'bluebottles / wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell', a fascinating image combining different senses. Line seven hints at the beauty of the scene with its 'dragonflies, spotted butterflies'.

In line eight Heaney makes the first mention of frogspawn with the metaphor 'warm thick slobber', which as a child was 'best of all' to him among the offerings of nature. In line nine he uses the simile 'grew like clotted water' to describe his impression of it. The poem then switches to an account of how Heaney collected frog spawn every spring, filling 'jampotfuls of the jellied / specks', imagery that again combines alliteration and assonance. The jars were arranged both at home and at school, then carefully observed as the specks turned into 'nimble-/swimming tadpoles' – another example of assonance.

Lines fifteen to twenty-one (the end of the first stanza) are a very childlike account of how the schoolteacher, Miss Walls, taught Heaney's class about frogs and frogspawn. Simple, childish language features in this section, such as 'the mammy frog laid hundreds of little eggs'; there are four clauses each joined by 'and' in this sentence, just as though it were written by a child. The final sentence of the first stanza continues in the same style, telling us that frogs are yellow in sunny weather but 'brown / In rain'. The last, brief two-word line of the first stanza seems to underline the fact that this is the end of a period of innocence and that a change is forthcoming.

The second stanza of twelve lines is much shorter than the first and has a very different tone; the feeling of change is signalled by the opening phrase 'Then one hot day'... Unpleasant imagery begins with fields described as 'rank / with cowdung'. At the end of line two and the beginning of line three the frogs are seen as 'angry' and have 'invaded the flax-dam': they have taken over in a war-like gesture. As Heaney approached he heard a 'coarse croaking' that was a new sound in that setting; in line twenty-six he uses the metaphor 'The air was thick with a bass chorus' to describe how the sound filled the place. Frogs are everywhere and they are ugly, 'gross-bellied', pictured with assonance in the phrase 'cocked / on sods'. Their flabby necks are described by Heaney with the simile 'pulsed like sails'. The sound of their movements is expressed by onomatopoeia: 'slap and plop', which obviously disgusted Heaney who felt that these were 'obscene threats'. In line thirty their stance is described by the simile 'Poised like mud grenades', an image that echoes the war-like connotation of the word 'invaded' in line twenty-four. Heaney again voices his distaste for the sound of the frogs in the phrase 'their blunt heads farting'. He could not face them, and in line thirty-one he 'sickened, turned and ran', such was his revulsion. He personifies them as 'great slime kings' and in the following line states that they had assembled at the flax-dam for revenge: 'gathered there for vengeance' for stolen frogspawn. Heaney's final line expresses how far his imagination as a child took hold: 'if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it'. This is a nightmare image where the spawn becomes powerful and grabs the child, reversing the original roles.

The structure of the poem, where the first stanza is almost twice the length of the first, resembles that of Heaney's 'Blackberry-Picking'. Both poems describe an enjoyable childhood experience in the first stanza which turns sour in the second, linking form to meaning. The feeling of disillusion and disappointment following pleasure is a common theme in these two poems. 'Death of a Naturalist' links language to meaning as well, the vivid imagery of the second stanza creating a marked contrast with the simple, childlike wording of lines fifteen to twenty-one. There is a wealth of description here and we can sympathise with the child's disgust of the creatures that evolved from his precious jars of frogspawn.

Blackberry picking - Seamus Heaney

This is one of Heaney's poems that centres on memories of his childhood, growing up on a farm in the Irish countryside. Here he recalls the annual experience of picking wild fruit in late summer.

Heaney uses assonance in his phrase 'glossy purple clot' to describe the first blackberry that ripened and stood out from others pictured with the simile as being still 'hard as a knot'. Heaney compares the taste of the first ripe berry to the sweetness of 'thickened wine'. He uses the metaphor 'summer's blood' to express the redness of the juice that led to a desire for more: 'lust for picking'. The reference to blood is the first suggestion of a less enjoyable or innocent experience.

The second part of the sixteen-line first stanza tells how they collected all the containers they could lay their hands on: 'milk-cans, pea-tins, jam-pots'. The rhythm of the list is repeated two lines later in 'hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills' whose bordering hedges offered the fruit for picking. Onomatopoiea in the phrase 'tinkling bottom' suggests the sound of the first few berries hitting the metal of the cans they were dropped into. An ominous picture is painted in the description of the ripe fruit on the top: 'big dark blobs burned like a plate of eyes'. Perhaps this reflects the vivid imagination of a child. The macabre imagery increases at the end of the first stanza, where Heaney uses the simile 'sticky as Bluebeard's' to describe the blackberry juice covering the palms of the children's hands as if it were blood, thus echoing the earlier metaphor of 'summer's blood'.

In the shorter second stanza, the pleasures of picking and tasting the first ripe berries soon fade away. The berries were 'hoarded' in the byre, but very quickly begin to go mouldy. The mould is described as a 'rat-grey fungus': the inclusion of the word 'rat' in the metaphor emphasizes the distaste of this deterioration. The smell and taste are focused on too. 'Stinking' makes no bones about the unpleasant smell, and the original sweet taste of the blackberries turns sour. The following line reminds us that the poet is speaking here as a child: 'I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair...' Then once again the smell is recalled: 'all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot'. In the last line, Heaney remembers that he always hoped the blackberries would last once they had been picked, but inside realised that this was impossible.

It is interesting to compare this with another poem of Heaney's, 'Death of a Naturalist'. Both of them centre on childhood memories that begin as innocent, pleasurable experiences rooted in nature, but both end in disillusion. Nature's beauty and sweetness do not endure. The desire for the experience ends in revulsion. There is even a parallel in the structure of the two poems with the extended first stanza followed by a more compact second one that describes a change, the moment of disillusion and disgust.

Heaney addresses all the senses with his imagery and hints here and there among his initial admiration and enjoyment that things are perhaps not all they seem. The innocence of childhood and the wonders of nature are transient, and disappointment has to be confronted.

Hitcher

The first stanza of Simon Armitage's poem 'Hitcher' reveals that the narrator has been off work for a while and is under threat of losing his job. He states that he had been 'tired, under/the weather', not seriously ill. He doesn't answer the phone calls from work, so messages are left, and he describes the ansaphone as 'screaming' that he will be fired if he produces another sick note. This is someone who seems unable to face the routine of everyday life. He himself hitches a lift to the place where he has a hired car parked, but gives us no information as to the purpose of his journey or his destination.

The first line of stanza two abruptly introduces the hitcher: 'I picked him up in Leeds'; the hitcher is only ever refered to as 'him' or 'he'. We are told that he is travelling from east to west, 'following the sun', and the only possession he has with him is a toothbrush. He sleeps in the open, on 'the good earth'. He tells the narrator that the truth is 'blowin' in the wind', an obvious quote from a Bob Dylan song of the 1960s. The narrator's comment that the truth could perhaps be 'round the next bend' is an ominous precursor to what follows, but we may not realise this on first read.

The fact that stanza three describes the narrator's sudden violent attack on the hitcher reveals the envy that he felt when confronted by a person who appeared to have total freedom. 'I let him have it' is a blunt description of the physical attack during which the narrator hit the hitcher initially with his own head and then 'six times with the krooklok', directly in his face. Ruthlessness is all too apparent when he tells us that he carried on driving, 'didn't even swerve' during the attack.

Armitage uses enjambment to link the third stanza to the fourth, as the narrator describes how he pushed the hitcher out of the car whilst in third gear and watched him 'bouncing off the kerb'. The statement 'We were the same age, give or take a week' tells us that the narrator obviously made a direct comparison between himself and the hitcher. The hitcher 'said he liked the breeze/to run its fingers/through his hair': the personification brings to life this description that must have aroused such envy in the narrator at the hitcher's freedom that he began his frenzied attack. We are now into the fifth and final stanza, and the narrator's cold-heartedness is once again emphasised in his matter-of-fact tone as he listens to the car radio: 'It was twelve noon./The outlook for the day was moderate to fair.' This is a man who may have just killed someone.

The last two lines begin with another blunt, abrupt sentence: 'Stitch that.' The irony of the last line, 'you can walk from there', is all too clear, as the hitcher would have been in no state to walk having been brutally attacked and forced out of a moving vehicle.

The structure of the poem is in fact very balanced, consisting of five stanzas of five lines each. The lines vary in length but follow the same pattern in each stanza, beginning with a short one, increasing in length until the third line, and gradually decreasing in the fourth and fifth. The only rhymes in the poem are lines three and five in the first stanza ('fired' and 'hired'), and lines three and five in the final stanza ('fair' and 'there').

This is a first-person narrative reflecting different extremes in society: two men of the same age, one of whom has succeeded in escaping the rat-race, the other caught up in it but unable to face up to its demands and threatened with losing his job. Confronted by someone who has found the freedom he so covets, the narrator cannot bear listen to him or see him sitting beside him. Envy, pent-up anger and violence are unleashed. One man may be dead; the other is unrepentent, devoid of emotion.

Shakespeare - Sonnet 130

The opening line of Shakespeare's Sonnet 130 is a surprising simile: 'My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun'. We might normally expect poets, especially those of Shakespeare's time, to praise the women they love by telling us that their eyes do shine like the sun. But a writer of Shakespeare's calibre is not going to follow the herd and make exaggerated comparisons; here he is describing reality.

Over the next few lines Shakespeare continues to describe his mistress in terms of the senses of sight, smell, sound and touch, but there is no flattery here. Colours are focused on first: 'Coral is far more red than her lips' red' tells us that lips are not naturally a bright red colour. Pale skin would have been sought after, but Shakespeare's mistress had dun-coloured breasts, dun being quite a dark colour. It seems that she did not have soft, sleek hair, as in line four it is compared to wire. Shakespeare relates that he has seen beautiful two-toned or 'damasked' roses, but that there is no rosiness in his mistress' cheeks.

The poet is quite forthright in telling us that his mistress has bad breath; in fact it 'reeks', and there is no hint of perfume. Line nine gives the first compliment: 'I love to hear her speak', but Shakespeare admits in the following line that he would actually prefer music to her voice. In line eleven Shakespeare implies that the way his mistress moves could not be compared to a goddess, and he goes on to say 'My mistress when she walks treads upon the ground', creating the impression that she is heavy-footed.

Sonnet 130 follows that usual structure of the Shakespearean sonnet, with the last two lines being a rhyming couplet, indented. This change marks a change in content too: Shakespeare says that in spite of all the defects, he genuinely loves his mistress: 'I think my love as rare / As any she belied with false compare.' Appearances are not what matter where true love is concerned.

The poem is written in iambic pentameter, or lines of ten syllables with the stress on every second syllable. ('Coral' in line two does not quite fit into this pattern.) The rhyme scheme is ababcdcdefefgg, the usual pattern for a Shakespearean sonnet. The structure, then, conforms, but it is the content of the sonnet that is unusual. It is refreshing to read a love poem that is frank and honest rather than following meaningless traditions.

Love after Love

Derek Walcott's four-stanza poem 'Love After Love' is essentially telling us how to love ourselves after the end of a relationship. In it he speaks directly to the reader, repeatedly using the words 'you', 'your' or 'yourself', and employing the imperative form of the verb.

Walcott recognises that, following a break-up, a love of oneself will not come immediately, but 'The time will come'. He emphasises the joy involved, as he says that it will be with 'elation' that you will 'greet yourself' at your door or as you look at yourself in the mirror. The first stanza ends with the idea that you will smile at yourself.

The second stanza opens with the image of considering yourself as a guest that you invite to sit down and eat. Walcott stresses that you will love 'again the stranger that was yourself', conveying the idea that you used to love yourself before becoming involved in a relationship. That was so long ago, however, that the person you were then seems like a stranger now. The short imperative sentences of line 8, 'Give wine. Give bread', link the process directly to the idea of Holy Communion, but in this case with yourself rather than with God. The instruction follows to 'Give back your heart to yourself', as though you are the one worthy of your love now that you have come to the end of a relationship with another. The second stanza ends with the repetition of the idea that you are a stranger to yourself after so many years of loving someone else.

Walcott uses enjambment to link one stanza to the next, and so the opening of the third stanza begins 'All your life', continuing the idea that you have always loved yourself. Yet you did not recognise this fact; you 'ignored' that love by loving someone else. Walcott uses the phrase 'who knows you by heart' in line 11 to show how well you know yourself, with the use of the word 'heart' underlining the feeling of love. Line 12, the final line of the third stanza, uses the imperative once again to tell you to 'Take down the love-letters from the bookshelf'. This idea leads into the fourth and final stanza that continues with 'The photographs, the desperate notes' which you should also take down. Walcott then suggests that you 'Peel' pictures of yourself from the mirror. Having gathered all of these, the poem ends with the idea that you sit down and 'Feast on your life'. Instead of looking at photographs and reading love letters that remind you of the break-up of your relationship, you look at your own life and appreciate the person that you are.

Walcott's poem is a mere fifteen lines long with stanzas and lines of varying length. The stanzas flow from one into the next, and the idea of loving yourself is developed throughout the poem with references to both religion and the welcoming of guests or feasting. Very brief sentences are interspersed with longer, flowing ones. In some cases the imperative verb on its own constitutes a sentence, such as 'Eat.' 'Sit.'

'Love After Love' introduces an original way of being positive following the end of a relationship. Rather than wallowing in self-pity or dwelling on the person who is no longer part of your life, it demonstrates a way of having a positive attitude to life. The person that you are has value, and you should recognise it and learn to love yourself.