In Paris With You, by James Fenton

IN PARIS WITH YOU

by James Fenton

Although Paris is often thought of as the city of love, James Fenton opens his poem “In Paris With You” with the sentence “Don't talk to me of love.” He appears to be getting over a broken relationship, saying “I've had an earful / And I get tearful.” Rather than both words of the rhyming pair coming at the end of lines, “tearful” is in the middle of the second line. The rhymes actually seem to give a lighter atmosphere to the first stanza, although Fenton is feeling down. He describes himself as “one of your talking wounded,” which of course is a play on the phrase “walking wounded” used to describe people who have only slight injuries. He refers to himself as “a hostage” and says he is “marooned,” creating the impression of someone who is not yet free from the emotions of his recent relationship. In the last line of the stanza, however, Fenton seems to be feeling more optimistic when he says, “But I'm in Paris with you.” Throughout the poem, Fenton talks directly to the person he has apparently just met.

In the second stanza Fenton makes it quite clear that he is “on the rebound.” He uses alliteration in the phrase “I've been bamboozled;” bamboozled is a wonderful sounding word, but Fenton is angry at the way he has been treated and refers to his previous relationship as a “mess.” Once again the tone towards the end of the stanza becomes more upbeat since he has met someone new and they are together in Paris.

Fenton is not in the least bit interested in sightseeing, and is in fact openly scornful of Paris' famous attractions in the third stanza. He doesn't want to go to the Louvre or the Champs Elysees, and even goes so far as to use the vulgar alliterative phrase “sod off to sodding Notre Dame.” He uses enjambment to link the end of the third stanza to the beginning of the fourth, commenting that he would rather stay in the “sleazy” hotel room than go to see the sights. No matter how dismal the room is, and the contrast between it and the beautiful attractions of Paris, he wants to spend time there with the person he has met. “Doing this and that / To what and whom” presumably refers to having sex. Fenton closes the fourth stanza with the idea that he will learn more about his companion as well as about himself.

The fifth stanza opens with the phrase “Don't talk to me of love.” Fenton presumably was in love previously but doesn't want to get emotionally involved in his new relationship. He wants to talk about Paris “in our view,” but what they can actually see is a crack in the ceiling and paint peeling off the walls of the hotel room. This is the reality, and Fenton doesn't appear to be bothered by it as he closes the stanza once again with the line “And I'm in Paris with you.”

The sixth and final stanza opens with a repeat of the first line of the fifth stanza, “Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.” In the next three lines Fenton uses the word “Paris” three times as an apparent substitute or metaphor for the word love when he says, for example, “I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.” “I'm in Paris with... all points south” is presumably a reference to his companion's genitals, especially as the following line is the question “Am I embarrassing you?” Fenton ends the poem as we might expect with the statement “I'm in Paris with you.”

James Fenton makes effective use of repetition and rhyme to convey his thoughts in his poem “In Paris With You.” Rhyme is not used regularly, and the poem has a more natural feel because of this. In the third stanza there is “Elysees” and “sleazy,” while in the fifth it is “ceiling” and “peeling” that rhyme. In the fourth stanza the rhyming words “room” and “whom” are at the end of the first and third lines rather than consecutive lines. The stanzas are of irregular length, and it is noticeable that the lines of the fourth stanza are all very short, adding emphasis to it.

“In Paris With You” does have a lightness and immediacy about it, even though the memories of the recent failed relationship evoke anger. Fenton conveys the excitement and freshness of the start of a new relationship, the eagerness to get to know a person he appears to have just met. Being with that person is what matters above all. The grand places of the capital city of France have no importance; he would rather be in a shabby hotel as long as he is with that special person. The poem conveys this idea perfectly, and it is easy to imagine the feeling.

Originally published on helium.com

Harmonium, by Simon Armitage

HARMONIUM

by Simon Armitage

The Farrand Chapelette is a type of harmonium or small organ. Simon Armitage and his father before him were choir boys at the church of Saint Bartholomew in Marsden, a village in West Yorkshire. On occasions when the congregation at a service was quite small, the organist would play the harmonium instead of the full-size organ.

The harmonium eventually fell out of use, and in the opening lines of his poem “Harmonium” Armitage states that it was “gathering dust / in the shadowy porch.” It would have been thrown in a skip had Armitage not wanted it. In the final line of the first stanza he comments that he could have it “for a song”, an idiom that means very cheaply. There is an obvious play on words here, as the harmonium is of course used to play song tunes.

The second stanza of “Harmonium” is twice as long as the first and describes the musical instrument in detail. The first half of this stanza focuses on the effect sunlight has had in the church. The windows show images of saints and of Jesus Christ rising from the dead; Armitage says that the sun can “beatify” the saints, in other words raise them above the level of ordinary people. He contrasts the fact that the sunlight shining through the stained glass windows has a positive effect whereas it has weathered or “aged” the wooden case of the instrument. Armitage uses the metaphor “fingernails” in describing the way the sun has discoloured the harmonium's keys; the area that the organist would have pressed with his fingers is now yellow. One of the harmonium's notes or keys has “lost its tongue;” the personification to convey the fact that the key is silent brings life to the image.

The last three lines of the second stanza focus on how worn the treadles of the harmonium are. These are like pedals that the organist has to continually push down with his feet as he plays the music. There are actually holes in both of them now. Armitage even describes how the organist used to wear “grey, woollen socks / and leather-soled shoes,” conjuring up a rather dull picture. He uses a half rhyme, with “treadles” at the end of line ten and “pedalled” at the end of line twelve; this is the only instance of rhyme in the stanza.

The third stanza is a shorter one, consisting of five lines. Armitage uses alliteration twice in the opening line, “But its hummed harmonics still struck a chord.” This is a vivid description emphasising the fact that although the harmonium is very old and worn, it means something to the poet. The idiom “to strike a chord” means that something triggers a memory, but of course this is another play on words, since chords can be played on a harmonium. Armitage tells us that the instrument was used for a hundred years and stood “by the choristers' stalls.” He mentions that “father and son” had both sung there; this could refer to himself and his father, although he does not specifically say so. In the closing line of the third stanza, Armitage reverses a simile to describe the singing of the choir boys. He says that “gilded finches” “streamed out” of their throats, using metaphors, and says that the finches were “like high notes,” which is in fact what they were. This imagery is rather complicated but nevertheless conveys the image beautifully.

The fourth and final stanza is the poem's longest one. It concerns Armitage's father, although the poet does not actually say so; the only actual use of the word “father” is in the third stanza. Armitage describes the way his father came to help him “cart” the harmonium away. The description is not a flattering one, and it echoes the description of the aged musical instrument. The poet's father came in a “blue cloud of tobacco smog, / with smoker's fingers and dottled thumbs.” We can't help but be reminded of the harmonium's yellowing keys and weathered wooden case. The two men carry the instrument “flat, laid on its back,” personifying it. This leads to Armitage's father making a remark that the poet says “he, being him, can't help but say.” The father tells his son that the next box he will carry down the nave of the church will be the father's coffin. The word “coffin” is not actually used, but the father says the box “will bear the freight of his own dead weight.” In other words, it will contain his dead body; the phrase “dead weight” is used literally here, but it can also mean a particularly heavy weight or even an oppressive burden.

The last three lines concentrate on Armitage's emotional response to his father's remark. He begins “And I, being me,” echoing the phrase “And he, being him” that came three lines earlier. Armitage says that his reply was “some shallow or sorry phrase or word” that he mouthed. The lack of precision conveys the idea that he couldn't think of the right or suitable answer to such a poignant remark. The poem closes with the line “too starved of breath to make itself heard.” Armitage was so out of breath from carrying the harmonium that he could not speak loudly enough, and perhaps he didn't want his answer to be heard as he felt that it was inadequate. The last two lines rhyme, and these are the only two consecutive lines in the poem that rhyme with each other.

“Harmonium” is a touching poem that initially appears to be about Armitage's attachment to this musical instrument that, although old and almost worn out, was a part of his childhood. The final stanza, however, introduces his father, and Armitage is clearly affected emotionally by his father's comment on the fact that the poet will soon be carrying his coffin into the church. Armitage's use of imagery, plays on words and sparing use of rhyme create a convincing piece of poetry. He shows that objects that are old and no longer used still have value and the memories they trigger are meaningful. More than that, he links the theme of the harmonium with his feelings towards his aging father, whose death draws ever nearer; confronting this idea, the poet is so emotional that he cannot express himself as he would wish.

Originally published on helium.com

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. 

My Last Duchess - Robert Browning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Night of the Scorpion

Nissim Ezekiel's 'Night of the Scorpion' is the poet's personal account of his memory of his mother being stung by a scorpion when he was a child. He begins by explaining that the scorpion had come in because of heavy rain and had hidden under a sack of rice. Ezekiel uses alliteration to describe the moment of the sting: 'Parting with his poison'. He alludes to evil in the phrase 'diabolic tail', comparing the scorpion to the devil.

The scorpion departed and, on hearing the news of the deadly sting, villagers came to the house. Ezekiel uses the simile 'like swarms of flies' to describe their number and behaviour. He states that they 'buzzed the name of God' repeatedly, the onomatopoeia enabling us to 'hear' the constant noise they made. The scorpion is again seen as the devil in line ten: 'the Evil One'. We can imagine the fear of the child observing the scene, as the peasants' lanterns created 'giant scorpion shadows' on the walls of his home. Onomatopoeia is used again as the poet says that these people 'clicked their tongues' whilst searching for the scorpion. They believed that whenever the scorpion moved, its poison 'moved in Mother's blood'.

Line eighteen is the first in a fourteen-line section which recounts the words of wisdom voiced by the peasants in the hope that the woman would survive. Five of the lines begin 'May ...' and are clear examples of the religious beliefs held by these villagers. They refer to past and future lives, absolution of sins, the lessening of evil and the hope that the poison will 'purify' the woman's flesh and spirit. Ezekiel describes how they surrounded his mother; he saw 'the peace of understanding' in their facial expressions.

Lines thirty-two and thirty-three form a repetitive pattern in which Ezekiel remembers the arrival of 'More candles, more lanterns, more neighbours, / more insects' as the rain continued to fall. In line thirty-four he makes the first direct reference to his mother's suffering, telling us that she 'twisted through and through' and was groaning in pain. He then turns to the reaction of his father, not a religious man but 'sceptic, rationalist'. On this occasion, however, the man resorted to 'every curse and blessing' accompanied by various herbal concoctions, such was his desperation. Ezekiel describes in detail that his father actually set alight to the toe that had been bitten. It must have had a profound effect on the poet as a child; he describes how 'I watched the flame feeding on my mother', personifying the fire. Ezekiel then watched and listened to a 'holy man' carrying out certain rites to 'tame' the poison. The poison lost its sting the following night.

The first forty-five lines form one continuous stanza relating the event from start to finish. The poem concludes with a short three-line stanza in which Ezekiel recalls his mother's reaction to her frightening and painful experience. She spoke of it only briefly, thanking God and saying how glad she was that the scorpion had chosen to sting her rather than her children. This was the boundless, selfless love of a mother, and these were words which Ezekiel never forgot.

One of the interesting points about the poem is that Ezekiel narrates it from the point of view of a child who was purely an observer, not involved as the adults were in taking any action. This allows him to relate the actions and words of the peasants and his father whilst being detached from them. It is an insight into the behaviour of a small community in India where everyone becomes involved in one family or one mother's suffering, and all gather to witness the event and contribute a prayer. To the child it must have seemed as though there was a huge number of people, and the night must have been interminable. His comparison of the peasants to flies suggests that he would rather they had left the family in peace.

The structure of the poem is very free, with lines of varying lengths and no rhyme scheme. The second stanza that ends the poem attracts attention for its brevity and emphasises the words of the mother and their effect on the son.

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.