Tag Archives: Poems

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The Most Disturbing Poem, “Little Orphant Annie”

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The poem “Little Orphant Annie,” is a dastardly one, but I have a personal connection to it from my childhood.

As a boy, my family’s bathtub/shower was an old, rotted thing that had a hole right under the water spout. Inside the hole was stuffed a plastic cup. It had been used, during times of great innovation, to fill the hole up as to not reveal the darkness that lay beyond. I always assumed it was probably a direct line to our basement–or the abyss. At that, I would stare for the length of time it took me to wash myself. That’s all I could focus on.

And worry I did, because inside that hole existed the goblins.

Of course, the goblins! Because they were very real and present when I was a child. I guess if you happened to be a terrible kid, they would come and kidnap you. Then, they would take you to a place where you would be butchered and cooked over a blazing fire. That’s just according to folklore, from what I understand. Luckily I was a pretty good kid and never encountered them.

But, who were these goblins, you ask? Well, they were the goblins of legend and song. More accurately, they were the ones from the poem “Little Orphant Annie.” These goblins kidnap and punish two terrible children in two consecutive stanzas. I tell you, if your mother sang this poem to you as a child, you probably still remember the sleepless nights you spent staring at the ceiling. The goblins of your imagination lay just out of reach.

The following poem is the one I heard from my childhood, and these are the most salient parts. For some reason, there are many dark children’s poems. But, for this one, there is more to it, but it’s just easier to publish what I recall as being the most unnecessarily terrifying parts for a child to hear.

“Little Orphant Annie” by James Whitcomb Riley

…
Onc’t they was a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers,–
So when he went to bed at night, away up stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an’ his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wasn’t there at all!

An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press,
An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found was thist his pants an’ roundabout–

An’ the Gobble-uns’ll git you

             Ef you

                Don’t

                   Watch

                      Out!

An’ one time a little girl ‘ud allus laugh an’ grin,
An’ make fun of ever’one, an’ all her blood an’ kin;
An’ onc’t, when they was “company,” an’ ole folks was there,
She mocked ’em an’ shocked ’em, an’ said she didn’t care!

An’ thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide,
They was two great big Black Things a-standin’ by her side,
An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ‘fore she knowed what she’s about!

An’ the Gobble-uns’ll git you

             Ef you

                Don’t

                   Watch

                      Out!

…

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“Evening” by H. D.

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Hilda Doolittle, also known as H.D., was a writer and poet active between 1911-1961. Known for her modernist writing, she contributed a great deal of thoughtful and artistic writings in her time. Her writings include the poem “Evening,” which I have presented below. You can find more information about her here.

In her poem, “Evening,” H.D. creates an image of flower and falling shadow to symbolize uncontrollable elements. H.D. had a great sense of the metaphysical and the symbolic, as in her poem “Oread.” Here, she continues that trend by offering us a beautiful metaphor in evening passing over flowers.

“Evening” by H. D.

The light passes
from ridge to ridge,
from flower to flower—
the hepaticas, wide-spread
under the light
grow faint—
the petals reach inward,
the blue tips bend
toward the bluer heart
and the flowers are lost.

The cornel-buds are still white,
but shadows dart
from the cornel-roots—
black creeps from root to root,
each leaf
cuts another leaf on the grass,
shadow seeks shadow,
then both leaf
and leaf-shadow are lost.

Analysis

In my own interpretation, H.D. discusses the dynamics of shadow and beauty. Metaphorically, the poem speaks to the way nature moves on ceaselessly even in the face of loveliness. H.D. states: “the blue tips bend / toward the bluer heart / and the flowers are lost.” These lines indicate that the delicate flower–beautiful in its construction–relents in the face of darkness. The reader can see this as a reflection of life. Shadow comes for us all.

In the second stanza, H.D. writes that while this beauty remains, the “shadows dart” over the flower, from root to leaf. More specifically, these lines from the poem highlight a somber tone. The shadow is all consuming. She writes that “shadow seeks shadow, / then both leaf / and leaf-shadow are lost.” Together, darkness overtakes the beauty of the flower and it is gone.

In many ways, readers can read “Evening” as a metaphor for the human experience. While it begins in light and beauty, the end is shadow. Humans are startled by the mystery of shadows and darkness. Furthermore, the beauty of the flower, the colors, the tone, suggests that there is a great reverence in life. Yet, when the shadow moves over all living things, from root to leaf, the end is nigh and unavoidable.

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“Hap” by Thomas Hardy Analysis

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Thomas Hardy wrote “Hap” in the 1860s and it was one of his earliest poems. It details happenstance, misfortune, and the random nature of the world. Hardy, who was in his 20s, was touching on a theme that would dominate much of his work throughout his life: that there is no Gods’ plan and that chance rules our lives instead.

Background and Analysis

We could look at this poem, ideally, from a previously discussed discipline that appears in the neutral form of “naturalism,” which doesn’t “care about humanity and (is) neither good nor bad” (BA English Notes). This, of course, is a more rational appeal toward nature and our own lives because we aren’t necessarily looking to the mystical for knowledge, but, rather, our own abilities and intuition.

“Hap” is a blending of Italian and English sonnet forms because “the first eight lines rhyme ababcdcd rather than abbaabba,” and this, “makes the poem a curious hybrid of the English and Italian sonnet forms, lending the poem’s rhyme scheme an air of uncertainty …”  (BA English Notes). So, the structure is definitely an amalgamation of styles, which suits the topic perfectly.

What follows is the poem in its entirety.

“Hap” By Thomas Hardy

If but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh: “Thou suffering thing,
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
That thy love’s loss is my hate’s profiting!” 

Then would I bear it, clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.

But not so.   How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
—Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,
And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan. . . .
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.

Conclusion

We often stumble upon all sorts of good poems by happenstance, and “Hap” is one of those. The poem takes a few styles and transcends with an interesting theme and excellent imagery. Using naturalism as a center, it conveys the fight against nature and the dangers of

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The Life and Poetry of Emily Dickinson

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Emily Dickinson crafted phenomenal poetry and led an interesting life, albeit a quiet one. Her poems, such as “Faith” and “Much Madness is Divinest Sense” give credence to her ability to craft verse, and her body of work is more than exceptional in the face of modern literary studies. Nevertheless, the mark of a good artist is someone whose art is worth talking about and someone whose life is worth discussing (e.g. Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Stein). This is regardless of their interest in abstaining from the broader culture. For today’s post, we will examine Dickinson’s life and a few of her achievements.

Dickinson’s Biography

Early Years

Dickinson was born on Dec. 10, 1830 in Amherst, Massachusetts. She was the middle child of three children and grew up in a strongly devout area of New England. She was close with her two siblings and by all accounts experienced a lovely childhood under the roof of her lawyer father and housekeeper mother.

Dickinson went to Amherst Academy and was an excellent student and later attended Mount Holyoke Female Seminary; however, according to researchers, she may have left school for a variety of reasons.

“… theories offered say that her fragile emotional state may have played a role and/or that her father decided to pull her from the school. Dickenson ultimately never joined a particular church or denomination, steadfastly going against the religious norms of the time.”

(biography.com)

Other research claims that her leaving school was due to Holyoke’s “strict rules and invasive religious practices, along with her own homesickness and growing rebelliousness, help explain why she did not return for a second year” (Britannica.com).

Budding Poet

In her youth, Dickinson was writing and crafting hundreds of poems, which explored ideas of the burlesque (“Valentines”) and viewing the world through a more altruistic lens. She was also a letter writer and had crafted a great deal in her youth, with a few letters from as early as age 11 still in existence. By the age of 35, Dickinson had written more than 1,100 poems about a variety of subjects, from grief to nature. Many of these poems were put down in fascicles, or handmade booklets.

Here is an example of a short poem titled “Faith is a fine invention” that was penned by Dickinson in 1891:

“Faith”is a fine invention

For Gentlemen who see!

But Microscopes are prudent

In an Emergency!


Poetryfoundation.org

And, while Dickinson didn’t share many poems through publication, she certainly sent a great deal to friends and family, sending her mother Susan “more than 250 poems” and to her friend Thomas Wentworth Higginson “about 100 poems”(emilydickinsonmuseum.org).

I don’t even think I’ve sent that many emails in my life.

Later Years and Seclusion

Dickinson’s hermit lifestyle in her late years is almost as famous as her poetry. She lived a quiet life (always had seemingly) with her sister and extended family—her brother even bought the lot next door to the family home to raise his own children. Speculation is somewhat rampant as to why Dickinson decided to dive deeper into isolation in her later years.

“Scholars have thought that she suffered from conditions such as agoraphobia, depression and/or anxiety, or may have been sequestered due to her responsibilities as guardian of her sick mother. Dickinson was also treated for a painful ailment of her eyes.”

(biography.com)

Emily Dickinson died of kidney disease in Amherst on May 15, 1886.

Notable Works

  • Success is counted sweetest (1859)
  • Hope is the thing with feathers (1861)
  • I felt a funeral in my brain (1861)
  • Wild Nights! – Wild Nights! (1861)
  • Because I could not stop for death (1863)