The Wild Swans at Coole, by W.B. Yeats

THE WILD SWANS AT COOLE

W B Yeats

Yeats' poem “The Wild Swans at Coole” is set in Coole Park in County Galway, Ireland, where Yeats loved to spend time. It is autumn, and the trees look beautiful, but autumn of course is a season of decay. The time of day is 'twilight', so the light is fading and the day is drawing to a close. There is an air of tranquillity at first as the lake reflects 'a still sky'. The first stanza ends, however, with the announcement that there are fifty-nine swans on the water. Yeats states this number as 'nine and fifty', and the fact that the nine comes first emphasises that this is an odd number. One of the swans is alone, without a mate.

Yeats opens the second stanza by stating that it is nineteen years since he first counted the swans at Coole, but we don't know how old he was at the time. He can remember that while he was counting he saw the swans take flight all at once and then split up, 'wheeling in great broken rings'. The noise of their wings must have been almost deafening; Yeats describes it as 'clamourous'. It was an experience that obviously remained with him, striking as it was.

Yeats had great admiration for the swans, describing them in the opening line of the third stanza as 'brilliant creatures'. In the following line, however, he turns to his own feelings: 'my heart is sore'. He is remembering a sight he first saw when he was much younger, and this makes him acutely aware that he is ageing. He refers again to the noise of the swans' wings, this time using alliteration in the phrase 'bell-beat'. Yeats closes the third stanza with the statement that he 'Trod with a lighter tread' when he first heard the sound, implying that he was younger and more carefree or joyful then.

Yeats opens the fourth stanza by describing the swans as 'Unwearied', contrasting the fact that they do not tire with the reference to his own ageing. The swans are 'lover by lover', flying in pairs. Yeats uses alliteration to describe the movement of the swans, this time with the hard 'c' sound in 'cold / Companionable streams or climb the air'. 'Their hearts have not grown old' forms another strong contrast with the line 'And now my heart is sore' of the previous stanza. A softer alliteration features in the phrase 'wander where they will', conveying a sense of the swans' freedom. Their vivacity and energy are alluded to as Yeats says that they still seek 'passion and conquest'. The implication once again is that the poet has aged and is no longer young enough for a new love affair. (In actual fact Yeats married after this poem was composed.)

The two opening lines of the final stanza echo the mood and setting of the first stanza, describing the swans as 'Mysterious, beautiful' on the calm water of the lake. In the last four lines of “The Wild Swans at Coole”, Yeats faces the fact that the swans will not be there forever. They will build nests in another place for the winter, and they will give pleasure to other people who will see them beside a 'lake's edge or pool'. Yeats will 'awake some day' to find that they have gone. The poem ends with this air of sadness, which could be symbolic of the transitory nature of a love affair.

The poem is set in five stanzas of six lines each; the lines are of varying length, but long and short tend to alternate. The rhyme scheme is ABCBDD, although 'stones' and 'swans' in the fifth and sixth lines of the first stanza are really just a half rhyme. Yeats uses a combination of end-stopped lines and enjambment within each stanza; the enjambment allows one line to flow into the next and extend the image. In the second stanza this device is used over the last three lines where Yeats describes the powerful effect that the sight and sound of the swans flying up had on him.

“The Wild Swans at Coole” is an evocative poem in which Yeats uses a setting and the memory of an experience, now being re-lived, to express his awareness of the ageing process. The season of autumn and the time of twilight symbolise this process, as nature dies away and light fades. The beauty and power of the swans create a contrast that Yeats experiences through sight and sound. They have not aged or lost their 'passion' for life and love. Yeats is aware, however, that youth slips away and his heart becomes heavy, knowing that ageing is inevitable and that change has to be confronted.

Here is the full text of “The Wild Swans at Coole”

The trees are in their autumn beauty,

The woodland paths are dry,

Under the October twilight the water

Mirrors a still sky;

Upon the brimming water among the stones

Are nine and fifty swans.

The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me

Since I first made my count;

I saw, before I had well finished,

All suddenly mount

And scatter wheeling in great broken rings

Upon their clamourous wings.

I have looked upon these brilliant creatures,

And now my heart is sore.

All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,

The first time on this shore,

The bell-beat of their wings above my head,

Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,

They paddle in the cold,

Companionable streams or climb the air;

Their hearts have not grown old;

Passion or conquest, wander where they will,

Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water

Mysterious, beautiful;

Among what rushes will they build,

By what lake's edge or pool

Delight men's eyes, when I awake some day

To find they have flown away?

First published on helium.com

Spellbound, by Emily Bronte

SPELLBOUND

by Emily Bronte

The setting of Emily Bronte's poem “Spellbound” is the Yorkshire Moors in England, the same setting as for her novel “Wuthering Heights.” The speaker is there on a cold winter's night, and the atmosphere is very bleak. Emily Bronte wrote the poem in 1837, at the age of nineteen. She and her sisters, Charlotte and Ann, had imagined a world that they called Gondal. In Gondal, the heroes and heroines they wrote about found themselves in romantic and sometimes tragic circumstances. Juliet Barker and Fannie Ratchford, both authorities on the poems of Emily Bronte, believe that “Spellbound” revolves around a mother who leaves her child out on the moors to die of exposure. Watching her child die is torture for her, but the woman is under a spell and finds herself unable to walk away. There is, however, no actual reference to a child in the poem.

The opening line of the poem “Spellbound” tells us that darkness is descending and surrounding the speaker. In the following line, Bronte uses alliteration in the phrase “wild winds” to make the description more vivid; not only are the winds strong, but they are also cold. The word “But” at the beginning of the third line conveys the sense that nobody would want to stay out on a cold, dark night. The speaker, however, is under “a tyrant spell,” the adjective implying that the spell is a particularly harsh, cruel one. Bronte connects the third line to the fourth with enjambment, thus linking the idea that because of the spell, the speaker is unable to leave the place where she is. The repetition of “cannot” emphasises the fact that it is impossible for her to go away.

The second stanza continues the description of the setting and intensifies the extreme weather conditions. The trees are “giant,” which stresses their size but also perhaps personifies them and creates a sense of fear. Bronte uses alliteration once again in the phrase “bending / their bare boughs.” Snow is laying heavily on the boughs of the trees, so the wintery conditions are indeed severe. In line seven the speaker says that a storm is brewing, but the second stanza closes in a similar way to the first: “And yet I cannot go.”

In the third and final stanza, Bronte uses repetition to underline the difficult conditions. First of all there are “Clouds beyond clouds” in the sky, then “Wastes beyond wastes below.” Wastes are barren land, creating the impression of a lonely, uninhabited place where a woman would not wish to be alone on a stormy winter's night. Despite this, the speaker says in line 11 that nothing “drear,” which means dismal or depressing, will make her move from the spot. In the final line of the poem she states not only that she cannot go, as she says at the end of the first two stanzas, but that she “will not” go. The spell seems to have taken such a hold upon her that she would not even make any attempt to leave.

The rhyme scheme of the poem is ABAB CBCB ABAB, which forms a symmetrical pattern. The first, third, ninth and eleventh lines all in fact end with the word “me” so they are identical rather than rhyming words. This serves to accentuate the predicament of the woman; she is surrounded by darkness and severe weather, but the force of the spell makes her unable to move. The fact that the second stanza, which is also the middle one, has the rhyming words “bending” and descending” sets it apart from the other two stanzas. The first and last stanzas are similar in the length of lines, as in both of them the first and third lines are slightly longer than the second and fourth. In the second stanza, line six appears to be the longest one in the poem, although it is not the one with the most syllables. The fact that the first and third stanzas look very similar, however, does add to the feeling of symmetry that is established by the rhyme scheme.

“Spellbound” is a brief poem but within the three stanzas Emily Bronte creates a powerful atmosphere through the use of vivid description, repetition of words and phrases and rhyming patterns. Initially there is a sense of the desperation of the woman who is speaking, but by the end of the poem, when “will not” is added to her statement “cannot go,” the idea that she is under a “tyrant spell” becomes all too convincing.

Here is the full text of the poem:

The night is darkening round me,

The wild winds coldly blow;

But a tyrant spell has bound me

And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending

Their bare boughs weighed with snow.

And the storm is fast descending,

And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,

Wastes beyond wastes below;

But nothing drear can move me;

I will not, cannot go.

Originally published on helium.com

The Right Word, by Imtiaz Dharker

THE RIGHT WORD

by Imtiaz Dharker

Imtiaz Dharker's poem “The Right Word” focuses on a figure that is in the shadows outside the narrator's house. It is noticeable that the word “outside” appears in the first seven of the poem's nine stanzas, and the word “shadows” or “shadow” in the first six. Because the figure is in the shadows, it is difficult to make out who or what he is, and so the narrator is searching for the right word to identify him.

The first stanza describes the figure as “lurking” in the shadows and states that he is a terrorist; the image is therefore a very threatening one. In the opening line of the second stanza, Dharker wonders if that description was an incorrect one. This time the figure is said to be “taking shelter,” making him seem more vulnerable, and Dharker identifies him with alliteration as “a freedom fighter.” The connotations are much more positive than those connected with a terrorist. In the third stanza, however, the narrator still feels that the figure has not been correctly identified. He is now described as merely “waiting” in the shadows and is seen as “a hostile militant.” This identity obviously labels him as an enemy.

Dharker uses enjambment to link the first two lines of the fourth stanza to extend a question about the definition of words. She uses the alliterative metaphor “waving, wavering flags”, asking if words are no more than that. Wavering conveys the idea of hesitating, changing an opinion, and waving creates an image of constant movement or fluctuating ideas. The words we use to describe people or things can change from one moment to the next. In this stanza, the figure is “watchful,” therefore alert, in the shadows; this time the narrator identifies him as a “guerrilla warrior,” in other words an aggressive fighter.

The fifth stanza opens with the words “God help me,” signifying the fact that Dharker is in a state of shock, perhaps. Now the figure is “defying every shadow,” and so his identity becomes more apparent. He is “a martyr,” in other words a person who dies for the sake of his faith. The stanza closes with the line “I saw his face,” so there is now no doubt as to the figure's identity. Dharker opens the sixth stanza with the comment that words can no longer help, as the realisation of who the figure is dawns on her. Now the figure is “just outside” but is “lost” in the shadows. This time, rather than a fighter or a warrior, he is described as a “child” who resembles the narrator's own.

In the opening line of the seventh stanza, the poet says “One word for you,” seeming to address the reader directly. The figure is still outside; his hand is “too steady” and his eyes “too hard.” These descriptions convey a sense of purpose and confidence. The “word” for the reader is the comment of the stanza's last line, which states that the figure is “a boy who looks like your son, too.” The implication is that a terrorist, a fighter or a warrior is someone's son. He belongs to a family, and there are people who love him; he is not necessarily a person to be feared or shunned.

Having identified the figure, Dharker begins the eighth stanza with the line “I open the door,” marking a turning point in the poem. She invites the figure to come into the house and eat with the family. This underlines the idea that the figure, even if he is a fighter, is part of the family and not a threat. In the opening line of the ninth and final stanza, the figure is referred to as a “child”. He enters the house and “carefully” takes his shoes off. This action shows respect for the household as well as politeness, especially since the action was performed with care rather than brusqueness.

Dharker's poem “The Right Word” makes us question the labels that we give to people and the attitudes that we have towards terrorists and militants. The poem's stanzas are of uneven length as the narrator reacts in different ways to the sight of the figure and thoughts go through her mind. Rhyme is not used, but the phrase “Outside the door” recurs with the word “the” replaced by either that, your or my. The situation could therefore happen outside anyone's door. Repetition of the phrase “in the shadows” allows for the figure's exact identity to remain a mystery until the narrator sees his face in the fifth stanza. The shift in attitude once the figure is identified as a child or a son is emphasised by the repetition of “come in” in the penultimate stanza and “comes in” in the final stanza.

“The Right Word” is a fascinating look at the way we react towards people's identities. How does a mother feel if her son becomes a terrorist, a freedom fighter, or a martyr? A militant or a warrior still has a family and does not necessarily pose a threat. Such a person is capable of respect and politeness when welcomed into a home. Words are labels that have strong connotations, but we should not allow them to influence our judgement of people without looking at all the alternatives that we can perceive.

First published on helium.com

Hawk Roosting, by Ted Hughes

Hawk Roosting

by Ted Hughes

The hawk, a bird of prey, is seen in Ted Hughes' poem “Hawk Roosting” resting on a branch of a tree. The poem is written in the first person as though the hawk is speaking, so it is a dramatic monologue. The hawk seems to see himself as the centre of the universe and creates an impression of arrogance, as though the world were made for him and his purposes.

In the first stanza Hughes introduces the hawk “in the top of the wood.” This high position is an indication of superiority. The bird is very still and its eyes are closed. Hughes uses alliteration of the “k” sound several times in the poem, creating a harsh feeling. The sound exists in the word “hawk” itself, of course, and there are further instances of it in line 3 where “hooked” is repeated. In the fourth line “kills” continues the alliteration. This line describes the hawk imagining killing and eating its prey even while it is asleep. A picture of ruthlessness begins to build up. Interestingly, lines 3 and 4 are the only lines in the poem that rhyme.

The second stanza opens with the exclamation “The convenience of the high trees!” The hawk again refers to its high altitude, and the word “convenience” conveys the idea that its position is an ideal one. The bird can look down on the world below, and the impression is that the wood has been created to suit its needs. Hughes links lines 6 and 7 with enjambment to extend the idea that the hawk can fly with ease and make use of the light from the sun. They are “of advantage to me,” once again emphasising the fact that the hawk considers nature to have been created for its own purposes.

The second stanza closes with the hawk's comment that, from the top of the tree, it can see “the earth's face” looking up and easily observe the details. Everything is just right for this bird of prey.

In the opening line of the third stanza, Hughes again uses alliteration with the hard “k” sound in “locked” and “bark.” The hawk has a tight hold upon the branch, whose surface is “rough.” Hughes uses enjambment once more to link lines 10 and 11, describing how features of the hawk's body were created. The word “Creation” is capitalised, thus making it synonymous with God. The fact that the hawk considers that it took “the whole of Creation” to make its feet and feathers gives the bird an arrogant air. In the final line of this stanza, the hawk sees that positions are now reversed; it holds Creation in one small foot, therefore having become all powerful.

The end of the third stanza and the beginning of the fourth are linked by enjambment, as the hawk shows that it is free to “fly up” and circle the world below at its leisure. Line 14 is an extremely telling one: “I kill where I please because it is all mine.” The hawk considers that it has supreme power and owns the whole earth that it can see below. Its ruthlessness is apparent again in lines 15 and 16, as the hawk says it possesses no “sophistry” or subtle reasoning; it kills by “tearing off heads.” There is no attempt to soften the blow of its hunting methods.

The fifth stanza continues the image of the hawk hunting with the brief phrase “The allotment of death.” The hawk chooses what it kills, and it is brutal. Enjambment again links lines 18 and 19, describing how the hawk's passage takes it “Through the bones of the living.” The stanza closes with the statement “No arguments assert my right,” giving the impression that the hawk's methods of killing are unquestionable. It does not need to justify its actions.

The four lines of the sixth and final stanza are all end stopped, and read as concise, matter-of-fact sentences. They emphasise the idea that what the hawk says goes and cannot be contested. The hawk states “Nothing has changed,” but this is no accident. The bird considers, in the penultimate line of the poem, that it has not allowed anything to change. The poem closes with the line “I am going to keep things like that,” asserting the hawk's power over the whole of nature.

Hughes appears to be using the hawk in this poem as a symbol for power. A hawk would of course act instinctively and kill for the purposes of survival. The implications of “Hawk Roosting” are therefore that the poem is an extended metaphor for the behaviour of a tyrant or power-seeking ruler. Such a person would, as the hawk is in this poem, be self-centred and arrogant. An authoritarian despot would not allow himself or his methods to be questioned, and would see the world around him as being designed to suit his purposes. Ted Hughes, in “Hawk Roosting,” paints a picture of a creature that is ruthless and self-involved, showing how a lust for power can take over a being and end in brutality.

Here is the text of the poem:

I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed.

Inaction, no falsifying dream

Between my hooked head and my hooked feet:

Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.

The convenience of the high trees!

The air's buoyancy and the sun's ray

Are of advantage to me;

And the earth's face upward for my inspection.

My feet are locked upon the rough bark.

It took the whole of Creation

To produce my foot, my each feather:

Now I hold Creation in my foot

Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly -

I kill where I please because it is all mine.

There is no sophistry in my body:

My manners are tearing off heads -

The allotment of death.

For the one path of my flight is direct

Through the bones of the living.

No arguments assert my right:

The sun is behind me.

Nothing has changed since I began.

My eye has permitted no change.

I am going to keep things like that.

Originally published on helium.com

The Laboratory, by Robert Browning

The subtitle to Robert Browning's poem “The Laboratory”, “Ancien Regime”, tells us that it is set in France before the revolution, when the old regime of the monarchy was still in place. The poem is a dramatic monologue. The narrator appears to be a woman, a fact which is not apparent in the opening stanza, but becomes so as the poem develops.

In the first stanza, the narrator addresses another person using the terms 'thou' and 'thy', which are the old-fashioned familiar forms of 'you' and 'your'. She is putting on a mask and watching the person in the laboratory through a haze of smoke: 'thro' these faint smokes curling whitely'. The narrator refers to the laboratory as 'this devil's-smithy', which is the first sign that something sinister is going on. The final line of this stanza leaves us in no doubt of this, as the woman asks, 'Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?' The repetition of 'poison' emphasises its importance.

The opening phrase of the second stanza, 'He is with her,' suggests that the narrator has asked for poison to be concocted because she is jealous. It would seem that her lover has deserted her for another woman. She says that they think she is crying and has gone to pray in 'the drear / Empty church'. The couple, meanwhile, are making fun of her, stressed by the repetition of 'laugh' in line 7. The stanza closes with the brief phrase 'I am here', emphasising the setting of the laboratory which is in such sharp contrast to the church.

The phrase 'Grind away' at the start of the third stanza shows the woman's eagerness for the chemist to make the poison. Browning brings the description alive by using alliteration in the phrases 'moisten and mash' and 'Pound at thy powder'. The narrator is not in a hurry and says she would rather watch the concocting of the poison than be dancing at the King's court.

In the fourth stanza the narrator comments on the ingredients of the poison. The chemist is mixing it with a pestle and mortar, and the woman describes the gum from a tree as 'gold oozings', giving the impression that it is both beautiful and valuable. She then looks at a blue liquid in a 'soft phial', finding the colour 'exquisite'. She imagines that it will taste sweet because of its beautiful appearance and is surprised that it is a poison.

Stanza five begins with the narrator wishing she possessed all the ingredients, which she refers to as 'treasures'. Browning uses personification to describe them as 'a wild crowd', and the woman considers them as 'pleasures', a sinister attitude to poisonous substances. The use of the adjective 'invisible' means that just a tiny amount would be required. The narrator delights in the thought of being able to carry 'pure death' in any one of a list of small accessories, such as an earring or a fan-mount.

In the sixth stanza the narrator turns her thoughts to how easy it will be at court to give 'a mere lozenge', like a sweet, that will kill a woman in just half an hour. She names two women in this stanza, Pauline and Elise, and it is not clear if one of them is the current target of her jealousy and desire to murder. She delights at the thought of Elise dying, and Browning uses enjambment to create the list 'her head / And her breast and her arms and her hands', perhaps because she is jealous of Elise's beauty.

The seventh stanza opens with the sudden exclamation 'Quick!' and the narrator is now excited as the poison is ready. She then reveals her disappointment, however, as its colour is 'grim', unlike the blue liquid in the phial. She hoped that it would make her intended victim's drink look so appetising that she would be encouraged to drink it. In the eighth stanza she is concerned about how tiny the amount of poison is: 'What a drop!' She says that the other woman is considerably bigger than her, and thinks that she 'ensnared' or caught the man in her trap because of her size. The narrator is not convinced that the drop of poison will be fatal: 'this never will free / The soul from those masculine eyes'. It will not be enough to stop the victim's pulse, which the narrator describes as 'magnificent'.

In the ninth stanza the narrator recounts, in lines using enjambment, how she had gazed at the other woman the previous evening when her ex-lover was with whispering to her. She had hoped that by staring at her she 'would fall shrivelled'. This obviously did not happen, but the narrator knows that the poison will do its work. Stanza ten has slightly shorter lines than the others, and the narrator addresses the chemist directly. She knows that the poison will act quickly, but she does not want her victim to have an easy death: 'Not that I bid you spare her the pain'. Browning uses alliteration in a cluster of three to describe how the narrator wants the other woman to suffer the effects of the poison, in the phrase 'Brand, burn up, bite'. The stanza ends with the narrator commenting that her ex-lover will always have the memory of the pain on the dying woman's face, and she appears to relish this thought.

The narrator asks the chemist if the poison is ready at the start of the eleventh stanza. She asks him to remove her mask and not to be 'morose', or gloomy. The poison will be lethal for her victim, and she does not want the mask to stop her having a good look at it. She describes it with the alliterative phrase 'a delicate droplet', and alliteration appears again as she comments 'my whole fortune's fee!' meaning that it has cost her everything she owns. In the closing line of the stanza, she wonders if she herself can be harmed by the poison, considering the effect it will have on her victim.

The twelfth and final stanza begins with the narrator once again showing how much the poison is costing her. She tells the chemist 'Now take all my jewels, gorge gold to your fill', and the alliteration in the phrase 'gorge gold' adds emphasis. She shows her gratitude by telling the chemist, whom she addresses as 'old man', that he may kiss her on her lips if he would like to. She asks him, however, to 'brush this dust off' her, referring to traces of poison, as she is afraid it will harm her too: 'lest horror it brings'. The poem ends as she proclaims that she will 'dance at the King's!' a triumphant announcement. Whether or not her victim dies from ingesting the poison, we do not know, but she shows no remorse and is obviously determined to go through with her murderous plan.

Browning has used an anapaestic metre in “The Laboratory”, in other words two stressed syllables followed by one unstressed one. This gives the lines of poetry an upbeat, fast-paced rhythm that convey the woman's excitement at the idea of poisoning her victim. Browning has created a character who is totally ruthless and eaten up by jealousy, determined to carry out an act of revenge that will prove fatal to another woman.

In his book “Revise the English and English Literature Anthology,” Tony Childs states that the narrator of “The Laboratory” is based on an imaginary incident in the life of Marie Madeleine Marguerite D'Aubray Brinvilliers (1630-76). In reality, she killed her father and two brothers by poisoning them and also planned to poison her husband. Although her victims were all male, Browning has adapted the character into a dangerously jealous woman targeting her ex-lover's new female interests. His portrait of her is utterly convincing.

In her poem “Stealing,” Carol Ann Duffy takes on the persona of a criminal who appears to have no regrets. The poem opens with the narrator repeating a question, 'The most unusual thing I ever stole?' It seems that he or she is being questioned by someone who is curious about the thefts. The thief's answer to the question is 'A snowman,' which certainly is an unusual thing to steal. The description is poetic: 'He looked magnificent: a tall, white mute / beneath the winter moon.' Enjambment allows for an extended image; it is noticeable that there are three words beginning with the letter 'm' here. Two more appear in the following sentence: 'mate' and 'mind'. The thief explains his desire to have the snowman, using the simile that his mind was 'as cold as the slice of ice / within my own brain.' The coldness of the two minds conveys the idea that the thief is a person with no feelings, a harsh criminal. Duffy uses rhyme within the simile in 'slice of ice', creating a vivid image. The first stanza ends with a simple sentence in which the thief recounts that he stole the snowman's head first.

The second stanza opens with the thief stating bluntly that it would be better to die rather than give up on the idea of stealing something you want: 'Better off dead than giving in.' He remembers how heavy the snowman was when he carried the 'torso' close to his own chest and the intense coldness penetrated his own body: 'a fierce chill / piercing my gut.' The phrase that follows, 'part of the thrill', forms a rhyme with 'chill', although 'thrill' is not at the end of the line. What gave the thief a thrill was the thought of children waking up the next morning and crying when they saw that the snowman had gone. This is another obvious clue to the harshness of the thief. He ends the second stanza with the brief statement 'Life's tough.' The shortness of the sentence gives it punch, and again shows the thief's lack of remorse. We sense that life has been hard for him and he wants to pay back, even if the ones who suffer are children.

At the beginning of the third stanza, the thief goes on to say 'Sometimes I steal things I don't need'. This perhaps suggests a sense of boredom. He says 'I joy-ride cars', but it is just for the sake of it, not because he has to go somewhere. Then again he burgles houses purely out of curiosity. Line 13 contains another three words beginning with the letter 'm': 'I'm a mucky ghost, leave a mess, maybe pinch a camera.' This line, however, is much less poetic than the description of the snowman in the first stanza, using slang words such as 'mucky' and 'pinch'. The last two lines of the stanza describe the way that the thief, with a 'gloved hand', opens the door of a bedroom where a stranger is sleeping. 'Mirrors' is a single word sentence that continues the thread of words beginning with 'm'. He ends with a description of his sigh, 'Aah,' which is set in italics for emphasis, as he sees the reflection of someone asleep.

Stanza four returns to the occasion of stealing the snowman: 'It took some time.' The thief 'reassembled' the snowman in his own garden, but it looked different. He decided to kick it and break it, showing a streak of vandalism: 'I took a run / and booted him. Again. Again.' The repetition of 'Again' in one-word sentences stresses his determination and also gives the impression that he was starting to lose control of himself. The alliterative description 'My breath ripped out / in rags' emphasises desperation, and the idea of rags underlines the destructive act. Looking back, the thief realises that it was a senseless thing to do: 'It seems daft now', but this sentence makes us feel that at the time the thief was completely wrapped up in his desire to destroy the snowman. The stanza ends once again with a simple sentence, 'I was sick of the world.' The thief does not seem to have been capable of any positive thoughts, or any optimism.

The fifth and final stanza opens with another one-word sentence: 'Boredom.' That seems to be what pushes the narrator to steal, and he continues 'Mostly I'm so bored I could eat myself.' This is a person who cannot find anything constructive to do with his time. He then says that he once stole a guitar and considered learning to play it. He obviously didn't do so, but it is the only positive idea that he mentions during the poem. 'I nicked a bust of Shakespeare once, / flogged it' means that he stole the bust and sold it. The words 'nicked' and 'flogged' are reminiscent of the slang in line 13, and form a sharp contrast with the literary connotations of an object representing Shakespeare. In the penultimate line, the thief remarks again that the snowman was the strangest thing he ever stole. The poem ends with the question 'You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?' It creates a feeling of alienation and implies that the person he is talking to will not be able to see his point of view or help him to overcome his compulsion to steal.

Duffy has composed 'Stealing' in five regular stanzas of five lines each, and the fact that the third stanza moves away from the theft of the snowman but the fourth stanza returns to it gives the poem a certain symmetry. The use of enjambment where one line runs through to the next to create a fuller description contrasts effectively with the abrupt, one-word sentences dotted here and there. Rhyme is used in an unusual way as in 'slice of ice', and slang phrases give a sense of genuine conversation.

The narrator here, the thief, is a cold-hearted character who gets a thrill out of depriving people of their belongings and even upsetting children. His life has obviously been hard and the fact that he refers to boredom probably means that he is unemployed. Duffy has portrayed a character that, as hard-hearted as he is, needs help from the society that he cannot conform to.

Salome, by Carol Ann Duffy

Two references in the New Testament of the Bible, in the Gospels according to Mark and Matthew, give us the background to the character of Salome. Briefly, she danced for King Herod who was so delighted that he said he would give Salome whatever she asked for. Salome, prompted by her mother Herodias, asked for the head of John the Baptist, who had said that Herodias' marriage to Herod was unlawful. Herod had no choice but to send an executioner to John the Baptist, who was in prison. His head was brought to Salome 'in a dish', and she presented it to her mother.

In her poem “Salome”, Carol Ann Duffy adopts the persona of the dancer, but she doesn't sound like a biblical character at all. The impression is of a contemporary girl or young woman. The narrator tells us at the start of the poem 'I'd done it before' and says she will probably do it again: do what again? Salome has woken up with a head on the pillow next to her, and she doesn't even know whose it is. She doesn't seem to think that's important, either. It may not sound too out of the ordinary; people might have too much to drink and not remember what happened when they wake up the next morning. Salome tells us that the man is 'Good-looking' with 'dark hair'; so far, so good. Then, however, she says that the hair is 'rather matted' and that the beard is a lighter shade of red than it had been. It begins to sound as though the head is blood stained. Salome goes on to say that the 'deep lines around the eyes' could be caused by laughter, but she thinks more likely by pain. His mouth is 'crimson', another sign of blood. When she kisses his lips, they are 'Colder than pewter', a simile that tells us that he is dead. She tries to remember his name: 'Peter?' ends the first stanza.

Duffy links the second stanza with the first by opening it with more possible names: “Simon? Andrew? John?” They are all names of Jesus' disciples, and this is the first direct biblical reference. Salome then turns to her need to treat her hangover, wanting tea with 'dry toast'. The fact that she 'rang for a maid' makes it clear that she is from a high-class family. (Salome was the step-daughter of King Herod.) When the maid comes up with breakfast, Salome appreciates the 'innocent clatter' of the crockery, the tidying up, and the maid's conversation, described as her 'regional' patter. The second stanza closes with Salome's admission that she has a hangover and is in a dreadful state after a night on the tiles: 'wrecked as I was from a night on the batter.'

The third stanza opens with the brief but clear announcement 'Never again!' The focus now switches to Salome's determination to 'clean up' her act. She is determined to get fit, as well as to give up alcohol ('booze'), cigarettes ('fags') and sex – a cluster of three. As her thoughts turn to sex, she realises that she has to 'turf out' the man she slept with the previous night. She refers to him initially as the 'blighter', giving the impression of a nuisance, then the 'beater or biter', alluding to either physical violence or sexual perversion, perhaps. The stanza ends with the description that he had come to bed 'like a lamb to the slaughter', a simile that has biblical connotations and is ironic as he has in fact been killed.

The fourth and final stanza, which is also the shortest, begins with Salome looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes 'glitter' – is it from a thought in her mind, or could it even be tears? She makes a sudden action, flinging back the sheets that are 'sticky red' with blood. Her comment on what she sees is 'ain't life a bitch', but actually it seems that Salome herself is the bitch. In the poem's closing line, she reveals that under the sheets is the man's head 'on a platter', just the way that John the Baptist's head had been brought to Salome.

One of the most striking elements of the poem “Salome” is Duffy's skilful use of language. There are alliterative phrases, such as 'clatter / of cups', 'clearing of clutter' and 'the blighter / the beater or biter', the last of which are also half rhymes. Running throughout the poem is a series of words ending in '-er': 'lighter', 'laughter' and 'pewter', for example, in the first stanza; these are also half rhymes. Others are complete rhymes but are dotted around in the poem: 'matter', 'flatter', 'clatter', 'batter', 'latter', and the final word 'platter'. Duffy avoids a restricting, traditional rhyming pattern, but the use of rhyme here and there throughout creates a unity, like a thread running through. Some of these words, such as 'clutter' and 'clatter' are also onomatopoeic. They add to the poem's fast rhythm which is in keeping with Salome's coldness or lack of emotion. The four stanzas are all of different lengths, and the lines vary between short, medium and long quite randomly. It is as though thoughts are popping in and out of Salome's mind as she deals with her hangover and flits from one pattern of thought to another. Duffy uses ellipsis twice in the first stanza, 'how to flatter …' to create a pause; she also uses enjambment here and there to extend an idea or a description.

“Salome” is a poem that shocks by the narrator's flippant attitude, and Duffy achieves this effect perfectly. The language itself is informal, contemporary and includes a few slang phrases such as 'a night on the batter' or 'ain't life a bitch'. Above all, the combination of the poem's rhythm and Duffy's skilful use of rhyme and half rhyme throughout the poem give an almost humorous tone to the dark theme. “Salome” paints a picture of decadence, of a dancer who has revelled in nights filled with alcohol, smoking and sex. Just when she realises the error of her ways and decides things will have to change, she discovers the severed head under the sheets. Duffy brings the poem to a dramatic conclusion, saving this image for the final line. 

Mid-Term Break by Seamus Heaney

With the title 'Mid-Term Break' Heaney suggests that this is a poem focusing on a childhood memory. This was, however, no happy break from school. The first stanza does not explain what the reason for the break was, but Heaney's wait in the sick bay sets up a feeling that something is wrong. The use of the word 'knelling' rather than 'tolling' for the school bell has connotations of death. We discover during the course of the poem that Heaney was returning home for the funeral of his younger brother who had been killed in a road accident.

The second stanza shows how devastating this tragic accident was for Heaney's family. Heaney remembers that he met his father 'crying- / He had always taken funerals in his stride'. The third stanza, in contrast, opens with a description of the baby of the family that 'cooed and laughed and rocked the pram', showing that in some aspects family life went on as usual amid the grief.

The third and fourth stanzas are linked by enjambment and by the description of Heaney's feelings on confronting those who had come to pay their respects. Heaney felt 'embarrassed / By old men' as they stood up, shook his hand and expressed their sorrow. It must indeed have been strange and probably uncomfortable for a young boy to find himself in a situation of reversed roles. He was aware of 'whispers' as acquaintances told strangers that he was the eldest child of the family and attended boarding school.

The fourth and fifth stanzas are also linked by enjambment and show how different Heaney's mother's reaction to the event was from his father's. As she held his hand she 'coughed out angry tearless sighs', conveying the sense that she was too upset to cry but sensitive to the need of her eldest child for comfort.

In the fifth stanza Heaney describes in a matter-of-fact way that the ambulance brought the 'corpse', giving a sense that at first Heaney could perhaps not think of the body as being that of his brother. The tone changes, however, in the sixth stanza as Heaney goes up alone to see his brother's body the following morning. He describes the presence of snowdrops and candles as soothing the bedside; this is a transferred epithet, as they actually soothed his feelings. Heaney again uses enjambment to link this stanza with the seventh, mentioning that his brother now looked paler than the last time he had seen him six weeks previously. He uses the metaphor 'Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple', poppies being the colour of blood as well as a symbol of the dead. Heaney uses the word 'box' rather than coffin, and is reminded as he looks at his brother of the way he saw him in his cot. The final line of the seventh stanza tells us that the little boy had no 'gaudy scars' as the car knocked him to one side rather than running over him.

'Mid-Term Break' ends with a single line in contrast to the previous stanzas which are each three lines long. 'A four foot box, a foot for every year' describes poignantly how young the boy was and how tiny his coffin was. Heaney reserves the use of rhyme for the final two lines of the poem, where 'clear' and 'year' form a rhyming couplet.

The poem begins with factual statements almost devoid of emotion. It then moves through a phase of describing discomfort and difficult emotions in the presence of strangers, where the sentences become more complex. As Heaney reaches the point where he spends time alone with his brother's body, there is a feeling of calm. It is, however, extremely moving. Such a tragedy must have had a profound effect on Heaney and this poem conveys his feelings beautifully.

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

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.

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.

Blessing

Set in a village in Pakistan, Imtiaz Dharker's poem 'Blessing' opens with the simile 'The skin cracks like a pod' that immediately gives an impression of drought, of dire shortage of water. This is confirmed by the second line of the brief introductory stanza, formed of two sentences of one line each.

As we enter the four-line second stanza, we are in no doubt as to the fact that the villagers here are desperate for water. Dharker involves the reader by asking us to 'Imagine the drip of it' – telling us how small the quantity is – and focuses on the sound of that drop of water resounding in a tin mug. The fourth line of this stanza introduces the first religious reference: even this small splash is personified as 'the voice of a kindly god'. God is seen as the provider of water, and every drop received is seen as a kind gesture.

The third stanza is the longest one, extending for eleven lines and describing a momentous event in the village. The bursting of a municipal pipe is a fortuitous occasion: it is described by the metaphor 'the sudden rush/of fortune'. Fortune of course has connotations of large sums of money as well as good luck, so the water that spills has tremendous value. This idea is echoed in another metaphor for the water in line nine: 'silver crashes to the ground'. The sound is a powerful one. Line ten flows into line eleven, and the water is described as a 'flow' that gives rise to a sudden burst of noise from the villagers, 'a roar of tongues'. The people rushing out from their huts to collect the water are refered to as a 'congregation', which is another religious link. Men, women and children from the surrounding area are eager for their share of the spilled water and come with any container they can lay their hands on, listed in the brief lines fourteen, fifteen and sixteen. The stanza concludes with the phrase 'frantic hands', which once again emphasises the desperation that leads the villagers to scoop even handfuls of water.

Dharker uses enjambment to link the third stanza to the fourth and final one. This focuses on the village children, on sound and bright light. The children, naked, are delighting in the chance to bathe in the water, 'screaming in the liquid sun'. This metaphor aligning the water to the sun emphasises the pleasure and warmth of the experience. The 'highlights' in line twenty are echoed by 'flashing light' in the following line, giving a further impression of joy. Alliteration is used by Dharker in the phrases 'polished to perfection', and 'the blessing sings' combines alliteration and assonance, creating vivid imagery to portray the thrill of the occasion. The word 'blessing' continues the religious thread running through the poem. The final line again flows from the previous one: '... sings/over their small bones'. It is a gentle ending, focusing on the children of the village who are in such need of this water provided by accident.

The sentence that begins in line eight, the second line of the third stanza, continues right through to the end of the poem, flowing through from one line to the next like the water that is its theme. This is in stark contrast to the two sentences of the first stanza. Dharker has not set her poem within the confines of stanzas of regular length, suiting each stanza to its individual focus. The lines themselves also vary considerably in length. Lines nine, ten and thirteen have the rhyme ground, found and around, but this appears almost as an unintentional occurrence.

'Blessing' is a wonderfully descriptive poem, using imagery to depict sight and sounds and create an atmosphere of frantic joy for an everyday resource that is usually so elusive in this particular setting.

This Room

The first stanza of Imtiaz Dharker's poem 'This Room' creates an impression of seeking freedom, where her room is 'breaking out' of its confines and seeking 'space, light, empty air'. Change is afoot, a broadening of the horizon; an out-of-the-ordinary event seems to be taking place.

Dharker personifies the bed at the beginning of the second stanza as 'lifting out of its nightmares'. All negativity is being left behind, as chairs move out of their usual 'dark corners'. Heights are aimed for: alliteration and metaphor are used to create an image as the chairs 'crash through clouds'.

A positive tone is set at the beginning of the third stanza with the lines “This is the time and place / to be alive'. Line twelve uses the metaphor 'the daily furniture of our daily lives / stirs' to express the idea of breaking out of one's routine 'when the improbable arrives'. A special event takes place but is not identified in the poem. Lines fourteen to fifteen introduce a description of the sounds and movements of kitchen utensils that 'bang together / in celebration, clang' and eventually 'fly' past the fan. They seem to be following the chairs skyward. The garlic, onions and spices are personified as a 'crowd' in this kitchen where all the components seem to be joining in some sort of celebration. 'No one is looking for the door' in line eighteen, the end of the third stanza, could be confusing: the poem appears to be about reaching beyond the confines of our ordinary everyday lives. But of course 'No one is looking for the door' need not be taken literally, as it can mean that no one wants to leave this place because there is something to celebrate here.

The first person is not used until the fourth stanza: 'I'm wondering where / I've left my feet'. The atmosphere is one of 'excitement', expressed by the fact that the narrator is apparently confused as to where her body physically is. Dharker uses enjambment to connect the fourth stanza to the fifth, which consists of one solitary line that describes how the narrator's hands are 'outside, clapping', emphasising once more the idea of celebration.

This is no straightforward poem, but rather an extended metaphor to describe an occasion when daily routine can be broken away from, left behind. The structure is irregular, with the third stanza being considerably longer than the other four, and the final one being just one line that attracts attention to the idea of being 'outside, clapping' – celebrating escape from the mundane, perhaps. There is an original use of imagery here that makes the poem a fascinating expression of an idea.

Island Man

Grace Nichols, born in Guyana but a resident of Britain since 1977, wrote the poem 'Island Man' 'for a Caribbean island man in London who still wakes up to the sound of the sea' (her own words). It is a poem of contrasts based on the two places that the man has known as home and is set as he is waking up in London.

The first stanza of five lines tells us that it is morning and that the man hears the sounds of the island 'in his head' as he wakes up. These are the sounds of nature, of the sea: 'blue surf' and waves 'breaking and wombing'. Wombing is an unusual verb used by Shakespeare to mean 'enclosing'; it is the final word of the first stanza but leads through enjambment to the 'wild seabirds' in the first line of the second stanza, as if the sea is about to give birth to the birds. In stanza two, which is six lines long, Nichols continues the theme of dreaming about the island as the fisherman set out to sea and the sun rises 'defiantly' (in contrast to London weather, of course). The images are again based in nature, and the colours in these initial stanzas are rich and beautiful: 'blue surf' and 'his small emerald island'.

Stanza two ends, however, with the phrase that tells us how the man has to emerge from his dream 'groggily groggily'; these words set to one side to emphasise that the dream has ended and a different setting is being introduced. The repetition of 'groggily' also serves to portray the idea that this is a reluctant, slow awakening. The third stanza consists of four lines, repeating the phrase 'comes back' from the end of the preceding stanza. Nichols tells us here that he comes back to 'sands', but as we continue to the next line we realise that these are metaphorical sands 'of a grey metallic soar'. The natural images change to man-made ones, and the beauty of the island's colours has switched to grey. The sounds of the sea have now turned into those of London traffic, with a 'surge of wheels' and a 'roar' on the North Circular road; the use of the adjective 'dull' to describe the road echoes the greyness two lines earlier. The 'surge of wheels' in line fourteen is pushed to one side as was the phrase 'groggily groggily', almost as though the man is trying to push the sounds of London out of his head.

Enjambment is again used to connect to the fourth stanza which opens with the phrase 'muffling muffling', this time echoing the repetition of 'groggily groggily' and suggesting once again that there is a struggle to shut out one set of sounds in favour of another. Nichols uses the metaphor 'crumpled pillow waves' to link the ideas here back to the sounds and images of the sea at the beginning of the poem. The fact that the man 'heaves' himself out of bed gives the impression that he is unwilling to leave his dream of the Caribbean Island and face the reality of 'Another London day', the final line of the poem which is set apart from the previous stanza.

The lack of punctuation in the poem allows the lines and stanzas to flow freely, underlining the image of the sea. The irregular lengths of both lines and stanzas form a visual pattern reminiscent of the ebb and flow of the tide on the shore. Rhyme is also irregular here, with just one or two rhyming words dotted here and there such as 'soar' and roar', perhaps to give a natural feel. Alliteration with soft 's' sounds features in the images of the island: 'sound of blue surf', 'sun surfacing'. We can find assonance in the final stanza, in the phrases 'muffling/his crumpled pillow...' and the final 'Another London day'.

'Island Man' is just nineteen lines in length, but Grace Nichols succeeds in presenting us with a concise poem that conjures up vividly the idea of a man who has left his native island in the hope of a better life in one of the world's great capital cities but finds himself longing for the simplicity and beautiful surroundings of the island of his birth.