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.

What were they like?

An English poet who moved to New York as a young adult, Denise Levertov voices her opposition to the USA's role in the Vietnam War in her poem 'What Were They Like?' The poem is presented in a particularly unusual way, where the first stanza consists of a series of numbered questions asking about certain aspects of the Vietnamese people's way of life. The second stanza gives answers to each of these questions, and they are also numbered so that it is easy to tell which reply relates to which question.

The fact that the questions in the first stanza are all in the past tense immediately leads us to feel that this race of people has now died out. Four of the questions repeat the opening phrase 'Did they...?' The tone of the questions conveys a sense that these were people who were gentle and close to nature. The second question, for example, asks 'Did they hold ceremonies / to reverence the opening of buds?' This question gives the impression that worship was an important part of their lives, and that they respected nature, realising that the growth of new plants and flowers was a precious sign of life. The third question asks 'Were they inclined to quiet laughter?' This paints a picture of people who understood joy but experienced it in a peaceful way. The fourth question asks if they used the natural elements of bone, ivory, jade and silver for decoration, implying that they loved natural beauty. The two final questions concern poetry, 'speech and singing', wondering if they had an 'epic poem' and also if they perhaps felt that speaking and singing were essentially one and the same.

The very first question in stanza one asks if 'the people of Viet Nam / used lanterns of stone', stone again being a natural substance. As we begin to read the answers to the questions in stanza two, we soon sense a difference in tone as the first line tells us 'Sir, their light hearts turned to stone.' This is not of course a direct answer to the question, but underlines the ideas of the first stanza, where it is suggested that these people appreciated joy and 'quiet laughter'. 'Turned to stone', on the other hand, tells us that their joy was wiped out, and their hearts became heavy. The next line, still answering the first question but now more directly, begins 'It is not remembered...' This phrase, repeated in the reply to the fifth question, creates a feeling that much of the knowledge of the Vietnamese people has been lost. No-one knows whether 'stone lanterns illumined pleasant ways'.

The answer to question two contains a poignant contrast of ideas. The fact that it begins with the word 'perhaps' reinforces the feeling that we cannot be certain of the traditions of a race of people that has been wiped out by war. The act of coming together to 'delight in blossom' is immediately followed by the harsh statement 'but after the children were killed / there were no more buds)'. No children, no buds, no life, no growth; what was there for these people to give thanks for in worship?

The third and fourth questions have replies that imply destruction by fire during the war. The answer to question three is the briefest one, telling us that 'laughter is bitter to the burned mouth.' Bitter can of course have two meanings: either a bitter taste, and here of course there is a reference to the mouth, or a bitter feeling, which is particularly poignant here, as the quiet laughter has transformed into appalling suffering. The reply to the fourth question begins 'A dream ago, perhaps,' reiterating the idea of uncertainty. It continues 'Ornament is for joy. / All the bones were charred,' leaving us in no doubt that there was no place for lightheartedness in the wake of the destruction of war.

The reply to the fifth question is the most detailed one, and also the one that bears the closest resemblance to the traditional concept of poetic description. It echoes the phrase 'It is not remembered' of the first answer, going on to say that most of the people were peasants who spent their lives 'in rice and bamboo'. They were cultivators, not destroyers. What follows is a descriptive image of 'peaceful clouds reflected in paddies', paddies being waterlogged fields where the rice was grown. Just as uncertainty was previously expressed by 'perhaps', here we have 'maybe': 'maybe fathers told their sons old tales'. The next two lines, however, are in sharp contrast once again, as these images or 'mirrors' were destroyed by bombing. This peaceful agricultural way of life was brought to an abrupt end, when 'there was time only to scream.'

The word scream is also in contrast to 'an echo yet / of their speech' at the start of the reply to the sixth and final question. Levertov uses a simile for their speech 'which was like a song', and the idea of joy is portrayed again. Their singing is compared to 'the flight of moths in the moonlight', creating the impression of delicateness and transitoriness. The final line of the poem presents one more question: 'Who can say?' emphasizing once more the uncertainty of the facts that are known about the people of Viet Nam. The poem ends with a brief sentence, 'It is silent now.' This is not a silence akin to that of the 'quiet laughter' of the third question, however. It is the silence of complete destruction, of a people that no longer exist.

We come away from this poem with a sense that the people being focused on here were gentle, peaceful folk who led a simple lifestyle close to nature; they had a strong sense of joy and delighted in creation and growth. The brutality of the way they were destroyed during the Vietnam War is brought home to us by the contrast of their quiet ways and the harsh reality of the bombing that wiped them out.

Nothing's Changed

'Nothing's Changed' is the expression of Tatamkhulu Afrika's opposition to the system of apartheid in South Africa, under which black people were denied many of their basic rights, and were not allowed to mix freely with white people. Afrika was actually born in Egypt but went to live in South Africa as a young child. Here he returns to South Africa after the apartheid system had been abolished, but finds that black people still do not have equal rights.

The first of the seven stanzas takes the form of a single sentence that spans eight lines. The opening line of the second stanza tells us that the first stanza is a description of District Six, a run-down area of the city of Cape Town. The poet walks through stones, grasses, rubbish and weeds that he sees as 'amiable', or friendly. In three instances the verbs 'click', 'thrust' and 'crunch' are emphasised by their position at the end of a line.

In stanza two, the poet tells us that there is no sign to say which district this is, but he knows instinctively that it is District Six. His recognition of the place is conveyed through a list of parts of his body that know exactly where he is: 'the skin about my bones, / and the soft labouring of my lungs'; repetition of the pronoun 'my' reinforces his personal experience of this place. The final two lines of this stanza introduce the first sign of his intense emotion: 'the hot, white, inwards turning / anger of my eyes'.

The third stanza describes a 'new, up-market' restaurant that is for white people only. The opening word of the stanza, 'Brash', tells us immediately how showy this place is (and, ironically, 'brash' can sometimes mean white-faced). The alliteration in the phrase 'flaring like a flag' in the following line continues to convey the idea that this restaurant asserts itself even in its name. Amongst the weeds, pine trees (Port Jackson trees) are beginning to establish a more sophisticated look for the surrounding area. The restaurant offers 'haute cuisine' (high-class, elegant food) and the presence of a guard is necessary to ensure that only white people enter.

Stanza four is the mid-point of the poem and draws attention to itself since it consists of just two lines: 'No sign says it is: but we know where we belong'. Again, the poet does not need a sign to spell out what type of place this is. Using the pronoun 'we' shows that he identifies with the black people, even though he was not one of them by birth.

In the fifth stanza, the poet continues to describe the restaurant. He knows what he will see inside it, but presses his nose 'to the clear panes' to confirm his suspicions. Everything is superior: 'crushed ice white glass', a linen tablecloth, and a rose on each table.

The penultimate stanza sets up a sharp contrast whereby Afrika introduces 'a working-man's cafe' just a little way away from the restaurant. Here, bunny chows are served: half loaves of bread are scooped out, filled with curry, and this is then eaten with the hands by dipping in the scooped out bread. Nothing could be further from the images of the third and fifth stanzas, as the workers sit at plastic tables, wiping their hands on their clothes, 'spit a little on the floor'. The last line here, 'it's in the bone' tells us that these people behave like this instinctively, never having entered a place where that kind of behaviour would be frowned upon.

The final stanza returns us to the up-market inn, or restaurant, and the poet moves back from the window, feeling that he is back in his childhood days at the time of the apartheid system. He still feels the same anger against that system, and has a fierce impulse to smash the glass: 'Hands burn / for a stone, a bomb'. The reason is obvious from the poem's final line, reiterating the title, 'Nothing's changed.' The black people of this region are still treated as if they are inferior.

This is a strong, politically emotional poem in which Tatamkhulu Afrika, although not black himself, speaks out against the injustice of the system of government in South Africa. His use of sharp contrast between the eating places of the white people in a classy restaurant and the black people in a working-man's cafe makes his message strike home with a direct forcefulness, and we sense his anger running through the poem's seven stanzas.