Part Of Poem Research Articles

Mahlas Beyitlerinden Hareketle Vecdî’de Fahriye

The parts of poems in which the classical Turkish poets praise their own characteristics are called fahriye (praise). Fahriyes are usually found in the 'fahriye’ sections of the odes. In addition, poets may allocate one or more couplets of their ghazals to fahriyes. The couplets written for the purpose of fahriye in the classical Turkish poetry are often the pseudonym couplets of ghazals. Abdulbaki Vecdi (d. 1661), who was one of the important representatives of the classical Turkish poetry of the 16th century, also frequently used tefahur (reflection) in the pseudonym couplets of his ghazals. In this article, how Vecdi used the fahriye in the divan was discussed and the understanding of fahriye was evaluated. This article includes an introduction, two main sections and a conclusion section. In the introduction, the history of the fahriye in classical Turkish poetry is briefly explained. In the first chapter, verse forms used by Vecdi while writing the fahriye are explained. In the second main section, fahriye couplets in Vecdi's ghazals are examined. The analogies and properties of these couplets have been determined. These couplets have been translated and explained according to modern Turkish. In the conclusion part, the main lines of Vecdi's conception of fahriye are stated.

Brainwork and Community in ‘Eden Bower’

By tracing the creative process in the archival drafts of ‘Eden Bower’, I demonstrate the intellectual ardour and creative exertion contained within each of Rossetti's poems. I posit that such a process becomes embedded in his prosody (or affective music of verse), particularly, as this article will explore, the rhythm of the refrain ballads in the first part of Poems (1870). In doing so, I suggest that Poems offers a response akin to William Morris's usage of the performative lyric as a transformation of collective, social fellowship, while providing, also, a framework for defining the lyric potential of Pre-Raphaelite poetics. It is well recognized that Rossetti sought advice and suggestions from friends and fellow poets at every stage in the creation and publication of Poems. And yet, there has been little attention given to Rossetti's responses to those recommendations. Preserved within the archive, Rossetti's material response to these suggestions can be witnessed in his revisions to his poetry. By analysing these drafts alongside the correspondence, I demonstrate the ways in which Rossetti's lyric form and innovation is indebted to fraternal brainwork.

The Case for Pace

I wish to suggest category that can be helpful in focusing our attention on rhythm of free verse, that is similarly applicable to metrical verse. The category of pace, which I am offering here, has advantage of operating across several levels of a given text and its perception. In linguistics, finds that (often termed tempo, and at times inaccurately meshed with duration) is a suprasegmental parameter that sometimes appears as a component of rhythm in ordinary language. (1) As a crude working definition, can begin to think of as speed of a stretch of language. Changes in can explain some of flexibility in metered verse (two iambic pentameter lines can have differing dynamics), and can also operate in free verse regardless of metrical element. In context of traditional distinction between meter and rhythm, can be found on side of rhythm: is not metrical, and it operates both inside and outside of a metrical context. Furthermore, does not necessarily rely on a regularity or recurrence of numerical elements in any strict sense. It is rhythmical by virtue of engaging reader in an experience of speed, and therefore temporality. Researchers in linguistics or psycholinguistics classify pace, which they call into two or three components. The first is the tempo of articulating an utterance, excluding any silent pauses, but including non-linguistic speech material such as filled pauses [=any gap in verbal structure of a speaking-turn filled by non-linguistic material] and prolongations of (Laver 539). This is measured in number of syllables or words per time units, for example, number of syllables per millisecond. The other two variables, embedded under term pause have to do with number and duration of pauses in examined utterance. In a stretch of speech, overall impression of tempo has to do both with speed/pace/rate of words uttered and (sometimes independently) with frequency and duration of pauses interspersed between syllables or words uttered. John Laver points out that there are different relationships possible. For example, a stretch of speech can be characterized by a fast articulation rate, but could still exhibit a relatively slow speaking rate, if speech has frequent or long silent pauses (541). Empirical research on speaking rate has produced a myriad of results, which hint at significance of in poetry, though area of investigation is not poetic. (2) John Ciardi, American poet and critic, stands out as giving most attention to as key to illuminating effects of poetry. In his book, How Does a Poem Mean?, Ciardi states plainly that [a] poem, by very fact of its existence in time rather than in space, has duration and pace (994, emphasis in original). Earlier Ciardi argues that one poem obviously urge voice at a faster than does another. Within same poem, moreover, part urge itself much more rapidly than another. Even within an individual line, phrase clearly be indicated as moving more rapidly or more slowly than another (920). In fact, it seems that for Ciardi, is definitive element of rhythm in poetry, and he makes an effort to systematically account for devices that affect a poem's pace. When Ciardi claims that part of poem may urge itself much more rapidly or more slowly than another, he is suggesting not just that changes throughout poem, and is therefore relative, but also that poem itself indicates its pacing. Although becomes physically manifested when poem is read out loud (and echoes of can be heard by an attentive silent reader in proverbial mind's ear), there are cues or indicators of within written text, and we are not solely in realm of subjective performance whereby any string of words can be performed at various speeds at will. …

Coleridge's Disappointment in The Excursion

Coleridge was disappointed in The Excursion, but his disappointment was intricate and fruitful. Wordsworth first came to learn about it through offices of Lady Beaumont, who, for some inexplicable reason, thought it a good idea to show him a letter she had received from Coleridge which had touched on subject (April 3, 1815: Griggs IV 564). As is characteristic of his complex discontent with poem, Coleridge had in fact said very warm things about it: can truly say, that one half number of its Beauties would make all beauties of all his Contemporary Poets collectively mount to balance. But, as he went on--while conceding that the fault may be in my own mind--I do not think, I did not feel, it equal to Work on Growth of his own spirit. Coleridge is referring, of course, to autobiographical poem that ultimately became The Prelude, which he had heard recited back in 1807, prompting his own poem To William a copy of which he had subsequently sent to Lady Beaumont. (The immediate occasion of his writing to her now was to get hold poem, of which he apparently had kept no copy: he was collecting his verse into a volume, which would belatedly become Sibylline Leaves and appear in 1817.) Compared with that writing, Coleridge told Lady Beaumont, The Excursion showed no diminution of Wordsworth's genius; but there was a problem with it, nevertheless, which had something to do with individuality. The power of Wordsworth's autobiographical poetry lay partly in his ability to capture an experience that was generational, true; but it stemmed, too, from an audacious originality of purpose that was Wordsworth's and no-one else's: high theme by Thee first sung aright, as Coleridge had it in lines to Wordsworth (1.4 Poems 436). The Excursion seemed to have forgone singing themes aright for first time for less satisfactory task of singing old themes as though they were something new. The new poetry betrayed a kind of philosophical naivete, having convinced himself of truth of doctrines and words that most people take for granted since childhood, Coleridge explained to Lady Beaumont, Wordsworth came to attach an undue depth and weight to doctrines and words, which come almost as Truisms or Common-place to others. He misappropriates generally received wisdoms as hard-won individual insights. No doubt what Coleridge is objecting to here is partly Wordsworth's piety, which looms large in latter parts of poem especially. In a long career of admiring Wordsworth, Coleridge never thought much of quality of Wordsworth's Christianity, which had an unscrutinised ecumenical ease naturally irritating to someone who had wrestled with Trinity on innumerable dark nights. As far as Wordsworth was concerned, Coleridge evidently shared with his theologically savvy son, Hartley, a distaste for the odd occasional introduction of popular, almost vulgar, Religion in his later publications (the popping in, as Hartley says, of old man with a beard), and at one point even admitted the painful suspicion of worldly prudence (Letters V 95), as though murmuring solemnly about God were really a matter of what market demanded. He did not express himself so sharply in his letter to Lady Beaumont, but sting of his criticism was keen nevertheless. When Wordsworth learned about letter, he picked up at once on much broader point at issue: that something good about The Prelude was being compared unfavourably with something wrong in new poem: have rather been perplexed than enlightened by your comparative censure. For one of Wordsworth's main ambitions in The Excursion had been, he told Coleridge, precisely to put commonplace truths, of human affections especially, in an interesting point of view; and rather to remind men of their knowledge, as it lurks inoperative and unvalued in their own minds, than to attempt to convey recondite or refined truths. …

“The most perfect picture of Cuban slavery”: transatlantic bricolage in Manzano's and Madden's Poems by a Slave

This article reexamines Richard Robert Madden's English language translation of Juan Francisco Manzano's slave testimony and its publication as part of Poems by a Slave in the Island of Cuba (1840) in order to assess how our critical investment in the slave narrative as a generic form has restricted the scope of our readings. By looking at the publication history and confused, ambivalent reception of the antislavery tract in Great Britain, I argue that Poems by a Slave actively resists the nascent generic form of the early slave narrative – a single-author memoir buttressed by white-authored paratexts. Ultimately, I refigure the publication as a bricolated slave narrative, assembled piecemeal out of available writings and circulating as a multi-author portrait of Cuban slavery. This print cultural reading of the volume shifts discourse away from the ways in which Manzano's “voice” has been manipulated and appropriated, foregrounding instead how the intratextuality of Poems by a Slave highlights moments of discord among the collected texts, and opens new avenues for analyzing power relations among contributing authors in the slave narrative.

The Wisdom of Oidipous and the Idea of a Moral Cosmos

The Wisdom of Oidipous and the Idea of a Moral Cosmos RAYMOND GEUSS In the spring of 1989, the distinguished philosopher Bernard Williams gave the Sather Lectures to the Department of Classics at the University of California at Berkeley, and these lectures were in due course published under the title Shame and Necessity. Many people, including me, consider this to be Williams’ finest book, and it is a striking fact about it that it both begins and ends with quotations from the poet Pindar. The exergue, the very first part of the printed book a reader will encounter, is three very famous lines from a poem which Pindar seems to have written very late in his life, the Eighth Pythian. In fact, there is some reason to believe that this poem is not just late, but the very last poem by Pindar which is extant. ejpamevroi tiv dev ti~; tiv d jou[ ti~; skià~ o[vnar a[nqrwpo~. ajll j o}tan ai[gla diovsdoto~ e[lqh/ lampro;n fevggo~ e[pestin ajndrw`n kai; meivlico~ aijwn. (95–97) Williams leaves these three lines in Greek without translating them. They aren’t actually cryptic in the way in which some parts of poems by Pindar are. That is, it is not the case that one does not know at all what they mean; the general sense is clear, but the mode of expression is exceedingly condensed , polysemous in detail, and pleasingly harsh. Pindar has been drawing the listeners’ attention to the instability of good fortune, prosperity, and the pleasures of life (to; terpnovn , 93), then comes the cited passage. A prose paraphrase might run: arion 20.3 winter 2013 We humans have a very brief time of life; we live for only one day. What then can any human being ever finally amount to? And what is forever beyond our grasp? Man is the shadow of a dream. But when a god gives him glory, a bright light plays over him and the span of his life is easy to bear. It is easy to romanticize “last words”; for instance, to assume that one can find distilled in them the wisdom of a lifetime . We are not, however, absolutely sure whether this is a “late” poem by Pindar, and a fortiori we can’t be sure it is the last even of his extant works. Why, in any case, assume that final thoughts are better than earlier ones? However this might be, the sentiments expressed here do not seem to be in any special sense the specific products of the reflections at the end of a long and active life, but rather to formulate an attitude toward life and the world which we can trace everywhere in Pindar’s work from the earliest to the latest poems (whichever these are): Human life is essentially both insubstantial and grim; if this seems not to be the case in some particular instance, that is because something outside our control—a god—has for a brief moment given some individual the gift of shining a ray of light on him; we know that that light won’t last. In contrast to the exergue, which might, but more likely do not, contain some of special “last words” of Pindar, it is natural to think that the very last words of a book are intended to be particularly important, perhaps, in a book of philosophy, to be something like a conclusion. Williams ends Shame and Necessity with a passage from Pindar’s Fourth Pythian, which is cited in his own translation: Take to heart what may be learned from Oedipus: If someone with a sharp axe hacks off the boughs of a great oak tree, and spoils its handsome shape; although its fruit has failed, yet it can give an account of itself if it comes later to a winter fire, or if it rests on the pillars of some palace the wisdom of oidipous 60 and does a sad task among foreign walls, when there is nothing left in the place it came from. This is a peculiar way for Williams to end his book, for several reasons. First, it is strange that a...

Das Drastische in der erzählenden dichtung der Antike und des Barocks

This study deals with the Ancient Latin and Old Hungarian adaptations of the most drastic myth of Tereus, Philomela and Progne. Ovid inserted the story into the 6th book of the Metamomorphoses (lines 424–674). Istvan Gyongyosi, called “Hungarian Ovid” by right, adapted an Ovidian text in compliance with baroque literary and translation aspects. The translation makes part of the poem called Csalard Cupido (Fraudulent Cupido) composed in hardly identifiable epic genre in the 17th century. The Ovidian insertion became the third part of the four-part poem, focusing on the demonstration of the outrages caused by Cupido. The main characteristics of the Gyongyosi’s adaptation are: the domestication (for example in the case of the Dionysian rites), the large insertions, the enlargement and amplification, the borrowings and changings of the motifs and patterns and the spectacular actualisation. The motive of the fire is, for example, much more emphased in the Hungarian version. Both of the authors makes capital of...

Amazing Grace: An Anthology of Poems about Slavery, 1660-1810 (review)

Reviewed by: Amazing Grace: An Anthology of Poems about Slavery, 1660–1810 Philip D. Morgan (bio) Amazing Grace: An Anthology of Poems about Slavery, 1660–1810. Edited by James G. Basker. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002. 784 pages. Review 1 In a heroic undertaking of nearly 800 pages, James G. Basker has assembled approximately 400 poems, or poetic fragments, about slavery that were published in English by more than 250 writers. He likens the project to a "vast archaeological dig" (xxxiii); his excavations have uncovered everything from beautiful masterpieces to humdrum shards, from operas and musical comedies, through dramatic pageants and epics, to doggerel and gravestone inscriptions. He confines the temporal boundaries of his anthology to the "long" eighteenth century. Before about 1660, he notes, slavery was not of major cultural or economic importance in the English Atlantic, and after about 1810, "slavery in British and American cultural life became two different stories" (xxxviii). Within this period, then, he sees an essentially unified Anglophone world, and his aim is to be as inclusive as possible. The volume incorporates poems, or parts of poems, that bring "slavery into view, whether as its main subject, in a single passage or character, or, more glancingly, in bits of allusion or metaphor" (xxxiii). Basker knows he has not identified every poem that mentions slavery (perhaps a supplement will be forthcoming); in some cases, particular poems about slavery are known to have existed but are no longer recoverable. Nevertheless, this collection is remarkably comprehensive, reprinting a substantial amount of verse for the first time. If slavery was important in the Anglo-American collective imagination, it became increasingly so over the period of this anthology. This study documents the emergence of a widespread awareness of the subject. The century 1660–1760 saw the publication of less than a fifth of the poems included in this anthology, whereas the half century from 1760 to 1810 [End Page 565] witnessed a mounting surge of publications, with the last two decades accounting for 45 percent of the total. In the late seventeenth century, the mention of slavery was often incidental; by the end of the period, whole epics were devoted to the subject. Apparently, a lag existed between the sentiments of most poets and the reality of an expansive and vibrant institution. The cultural and economic significance of slavery was evident by the turn of the eighteenth century. By then most British colonial trade was dependent on the labor of enslaved people. Yet the upsurge in poetic interest in slavery took largely an antislavery position. More than nine of every ten poems challenged and denounced slavery; only an insignificant minority (beginning with John Saffin in 1701 and encompassing most notably James Boswell in 1791) defended the institution. As Basker notes, the "poems at the very close of the book mark an almost uniform crescendo of jubilation. The slave trade had been abolished on both sides of the Atlantic and slavery itself seemed destined to end soon after" (xlvii). But why was so little proslavery verse written?1 This question needs answering. Why confine the anthology just to poetry? Basker's answer is essentially twofold. One reason is pragmatic: it is a way to delimit the material, include a wide range of a single literary form, and thereby establish webs of affiliation and association among the varied practitioners. The other reason is idealistic: poetry, it is claimed, can best speak to the unspeakable. Though conceding that the quality of the included material "varies wildly, from the sublime to the insufferable" (xxxiii), Basker maintains that poetry best transforms ugliness into beauty, sin into virtue. The transformative power of poetry commands attention. Thus, the hymn that gives the book its title derived from a penitent slave trader, John Newton, who in 1779 celebrated his deliverance from the sinfulness of the slave trade. He was the wretch, once lost then found, once blind but who now can see, saved by amazing grace, how sweet the sound. And the poem later underwent its own transmutation, assuming a life as a Negro spiritual. It is a metaphor for the best work in this anthology, yet Wylie Sypher was not far wrong when describing much...

W. H. Auden: Contexts for Poetry

This volume is an attempt to consolidate the critical findings of the last quarter century, and then take them a further step in the direction of seeing how some of Auden's most important poems can be better understood against the background of his own intelellectual development and the often troubled history of his time. The book is at least as much an attempt to show how a certain type of critical methodology, which combines intellectual and socal history, biography and textual analysis, helps to illuminate poems (or parts of poems) that have hitherto remained imperfectly understood.

Reading and Writing the Heroides

A more accurate title for this paper might have been Reading, Writing, Editing, and Translating the because it will treat not only of the polar relationship between reader and writer but also of the mediating roles represented by those sometimes troublesome interpreters who stand between them. Accordingly, I will be drawing attention to certain more or less traditional literary issues as well as to a set of philological problems that have tended to inhibit the appreciation of these poems as literature-namely, those problems that crop up in the debate over the authenticity of certain poems and parts of poems in the collection. There are no doubt many reasons why the Heroides have in modem times tended until recently to suffer from low critical esteem and to be studied comparatively little as literature, but one reason is surely lack of consensus about the form that Ovid intended for the collection as a whole and for the individual poems it comprises.2 Most Latinists, I

Slit lips and other poems

The work and experience of a Palestinian poet living in Israel Samih al-Qasim is a poet who lives and works in Haifa. Born in 1939, his first collection of poems appeared in 1958. His second book, Songs of the Alleys (1965), was ‘full of empty pages. The censors cut whole poems, parts of poems, or individual lines’ (see the interview with him and Emile Habibi in Index 4/1982). In 1967 while in prison during the Six Day War he joined the Israeli Communist Party. He decided not to submit his next work Waiting for the Thunderbird (1968) to the censor and he was arrested. The poems which follow are from an anthology Three Arab Poets ( Samih al-Qasim, Adonis and Mahmoud Darwish) to be published in 1984 by Saqi Books. They are preceded by a short interview. This was given on 18 June 1983 when Samih al-Qasim was one of several writers who took part in a series of readings entitled ‘Voices at Curfew’. The interviewer is the Yemeni writer Abdullah al-Udhari.

Pope, Theobald, and Wycherley's Posthumous Works

The Posthumous Works of William Wycherley, Esq; in Prose and Verse. Vol. II (1729), is an important and neglected document for the study of the canon and the poetical abilities not only of its author but also of its editor, Alexander Pope. It consists of a preface, a carefully annotated reprint of the table of contents to the first volume, a collection of letters between Pope and Wycherley, and a series of poems or parts of poems by the two men. It is extremely rare—the Bodleian copy seems to be the only one in an institutional library—and while large portions have been separately reproduced, no one has pointed out the significant relationships between them and the rest of the volume.

The Riddle of Theognis: The Latest Answer

THEOGNIS, if he seldom strikes the true note of poetry, never fails to win the interest of a few for whom the marked individuality of his character or the bewildering complexity of his book possesses a constant fascination. For the truth is that he is an enigma: alone of the ancient Greek elegists he has survived in a manuscript of his own, and the 1400 verses that are there preserved outnumber the collected remains of all the rest; but in his book are included repetitions, with little or no variation, of verses found elsewhere in it, as well as poems, or parts of poems, that are ascribed elsewhere, on good authority, to other poets. It is the last irony in an ironical career that Theognis, who was more concerned than any poet before him to perpetuate himself in his poetry, should have won through his poems an immortality so alien and so equivocal. After the discovery of the Modena MS at the beginning of the nineteenth century had made the Second Book known to the scholarly world, its contents were seen to be more erotic than was quite consistent with the stern character of their reputed author. Aroused by this paradox, Welcker made the first effective statement of the Theognidean question by declaring that the collection was an anthology and included the work of many poets. From that time forward it was generally agreed that the collection was not authentic, although few were willing to follow him in rearranging the poems according to the genres they represent. For if the work was not Theognis' own, its form, in spite of its peculiarities, seemed to some to possess a kind of order. Nietzsche thought he had found in catchwords the key to the arrangement of the poems;' Schneidewin and others proposed the view that our collection is a conflation of two or more earlier books; Bergk thought it was intended for study in schools and Reitzenstein for use as a song-book at symposiums. The twentieth century saw a return to a more conservative view. The belief that the extant work went back, in the main, to the book of Theognis himself had never died out in France, as Croiset's Histoire attests, but the most complete statement of this opinion was made in a brilliant study by the youthful Ernest Harrison, whose theories won some support, chiefly in England and America, but no general acceptance. A less complete confidence in the tradition was shown by Hudson-Williams, who in his edition (like others before him) set a special value on lines 1-254. Friedlainder, recognising that the poems are ibroOiKat, contended that he had discovered in the first half of the extant collection traces of