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Name: Trieze
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Monday, May 14, 2007

Gwinn 1

Kelly Gwinn

Ms. Soulsby

English 11

13 May 2007

Modernism in American Poetry

American poetry saw great changes between the years of 1890 through 1970, an age otherwise known as Modernism. Culturally and artistically, Modernism defined the movement that shifted away from the idealistic point of view that most commonly expressed Romanticism. Unlike the Romantics, Modernist poets tended to point out the flaws in both themselves and their audience. No subject was too daring, and many poems included sexual, heretical, and other formerly taboo subjects. The growth of the Imagists also helped to spur along the Modernist movement, as the Imagist poets added the dramatic images that were found in most Modernist poems. Many believe that the Modernist poets drew their inspiration from classical sources, including literature and philosophy from around the world. A wide resource pool for discovering new forms of writing led to the popularity rise of free verse, and the rejection of superfluous wording. To best examine this period, one must view the use of free verse, vivid imagery, the stream of consciousness style, and the ways that Modernism affected American poetry (Wikipedia).

Walt Whitman most aptly summed up the art of his free verse when he said, “I have found the law of my own poems.” Authors using free verse are free to express their idea in whatever way suits them, without being hindered by a pre-existing

Gwinn 2

meter or a set rhyme scheme. Often, poets worked freely with unorthodox margins or spacing techniques to further convey their point. An excellent example of free verse is “Between Walls” by William Carlos Williams. This poem is broken by large spaces, which force the reader to place emphasis on phrases that might otherwise be passed over. The lack of any rhyme or conventional meter is easily noted, and the subject matter is full of vivid imagery rather than long-winded philosophy (Mayes 267). However, some poets insisted that some sort of form was still required to make a worthy poem. Donald Hall, an American poet and U.S. Laureate, even voiced his opinion that “the form of free verse is as binding and liberating as the form of a rondeau.” T.S. Eliot also expressed his opinion on the subject, saying, “No verse is free for the man who wants to do a good job” (Wikipedia). Free verse was a popular device during the Modernist era in poetry; mainly because of the liberty it allowed authors to pursue whatever subject matter they personally found appropriate. This freedom from the strict meter and rhyme of former ages was perfectly fitting for the Modernist area, which tended to drift further away from what society had once deemed “orthodox” (Lye).

            In 1912, another movement that would drastically shape the face of Modernist poetry was officially started. An American poet named Ezra Pound was the father of this movement, and is still considered to be one of the most tenaciously modern of the Modernist poets. The Imagist movement was a collaboration of English and American poets who wrote only in free verse and did away with superfluous vocabulary to create sharper, more dramatic images. Rather than focusing on a specific meter, poets used free

Gwinn 3

verse to create more musical phrases that added to the poignant effects of their writing. Without decorative language and unessential elements in their poems, Imagists are famous for creating concise and often startling pictures for their reader. The Imagist movement is considered to have ended in the year 1917, but its influence can still be seen throughout the writing of the twentieth century (Poets.org).

            Another facet that can be found in Modernist poems is the unique way that time was used to give the character’s view point by mimicking their thought process. In more classical ages, time was normally kept in a chronological order for the purpose of conveying a story or progression of thought. However, the Modernists began tinkering with the usage of time to more accurately convey the workings of the human mind. May Sinclair, a British poet and active suffragist, is given the credit for first using this technique as a literary device. This style, referred to as “stream of consciousness” is recognized by a jumbled time sequence, often filled with flashbacks or brief scenes of future events. Lengthy internal monologues that explore the character’s morals and point-of-view are also found in heavy use throughout this style of writing. A famous American writer who used this technique was William Faulkner, whose writings are often deemed jumbled and dense through the use of jumbled timelines. Though stream of consciousness is still used today, it is most strongly associated with the Modernist movement (Wikipedia).

Modernism in poetry affected America in several dramatic ways. The Imagists, one of the first poetry sub-cultures of Modernism, were the first group of English poets to have a

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large number of female poets contributing to the art. Poetry also became a reflection of the common man, instead of ancient and often dense epics. Immigration to America allowed for Americans to begin allowing traces of new cultures and ideas to slip through their poems. Poets felt free to pursue whatever topics they pleased, rather than a strict set of what was considered socially correct. Modernists aided awareness of many topics and ideas with their controversial poems, and several themes are still commonly explored in poetry today.

          The Modernist era is still remembered today for its powerful and dramatic voice. The American poetry that it produced is still much beloved today, and the age itself marked several dramatic changes shifted poetry to a more modern form. Foregoing the flower-tongued methods of the Georgian Romantics, the Modernists were known for blunt images and artistic freedom through the use of free verse. Cultural changes were occurring rapidly, and new poets found their voice to express their thoughts on subjects that enthralled the world (Wikipedia). A particularly stunning work of the Modernist era in poetry was T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland”, a poem still considered to be the most powerful poetic work to come out of the era (“Modernism” 624). No longer was poetry an enjoyment of the idle and the wealthy, but an expression of the common man. It acknowledged the flaws and core failures of the human race as a whole, no longer content to focus on the ideal world that had occupied the poetry of former eras. Though Modernist poetry was later passed on for newer poetic models, its powerful message remains unchanged and undimmed throughout the years (Wikipedia).

Gwinn 5

"A Brief Guide to Imagism." Poets.Org. The Academy of American Poets.

13 May 2007. <http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5658>.

Lye, John. "Some Attributes of Modern Literature." Brock University Online.

            29 Sept.  1997. Dept. of English., Brock U. 22 Apr. 2007.

<http://www.brocku.ca/english/courses/2F55/modernism.html>.

Mayes, Frances. The Discovery of Poetry. Orlando, Florida: Harcourt, Inc., 2001.

            267-300.

"Modernism." The Columbia Encyclopedia. 6th ed. 1 vols.

            New York City: Columbia UP, 2006.

Wikipedia. 22 Apr. 2007. Wikimedia Foundation, Inc. 22 Apr. 2007.

            <http://www.wikipedia.org/>.


Saturday, April 22, 2006

I think I dreamed last night.

Not sure what it was about, or even if I did. They say, that the mind "dreams" every night, supplying flitter-quick images to the subconscious that our awakening mind pieces together in a flash. Seems impossible though, on some nights where the world in so black and the soul so empty. Hold a mirror up to darkness, and midnight flickers back to you. Then... most nights, I dream about night?

But last night was different. Stirred to conscious with a name tugging at my mind and a hand outstretched, reaching for something. What? I don't know, myself. Maybe... the name I was calling? The someone I was hoping for? It hurt, to wake up and realize that I was only dreaming.

But... why did it hurt? Seems silly to pine away for a mere flicker of an almost-dream, doesn't it? And yet, I sit here and remember... and hurt. And need. And want. And write it all out, in hopes that the hurt will flow away with the click-and-clatter of a noisy keyboard.

They say that people my age can't fall in love. Frankly, I say, bull crap. Not so eloquent maybe, but it was the first thought that sprang to restless fingers, and writing out pain is about writing firsts. I never realized that I... do I? I still don't realize. Or maybe... I'm holding back?

I love you.

How can three words complicate things, and leave people reaching out in the early morning for something that they dreamed was there? How can three words start wars? End lives? Break hearts? I don't understand. Maybe, people my age shouldn't be allowed to fall in love after all.

But I remember every word you said, everything that made you laugh, all the smiles that you gave me so freely. And it comes to mind that, love or not, I need you. Don't I?

I wish, if you're reading this, that I can tell you. It's you. It's always been you. But you'll never think that this stream of thought is directed to you, wrapping around you, breathed into existance by you. It's  funny, isn't it? And then I realize that I'm not laughing. Why?

It's storming tonight, so I guess I won't have any half-dreams about you. I guess I won't reach out my hand for you, needing to feel something that I've never felt, never even seen. And I was right, after all... writing takes  away the pain, but penning the dream dooms it to a page.

I guess that's how things should be.

For now, I'll hold a mirror up to midnight, and hope to catch a glimpse...

... Of you.

~~~

Uh... I've been gone for awhile, to say the least. Life suddenly jumped in the fast lane, and I got interested in doing some RP. If you're interested...

My Yuffie RP site
My Haku RP site

Hehe, and I also got a Myspace, so I'm starting to get back into the swing of writing on there. But I don't want to lose touch with my Xanga buddies, so I'm going to post duplicate entries, so I can link both worlds. Hope you guys are still alive... o__o;;


Saturday, October 15, 2005

If wishes were fishes
We'd cast our silver nets
And eat lots
Of wishes stew

***

Some whimsy for you guys...

I want to write again...


Wednesday, October 05, 2005

"To be forgotten is a fate worse than death, right? That's the worst kind of punishment out there!"

"Oh, no... to be forgotten may be bad... but to remember... that's where the true pain lies..."

                                                  - Leigh and Zek


Monday, October 03, 2005

If she leaned (she later reflected) just a little,
There could be a dramatic swoon into his arms
Just like always (three months, two weeks, five days)
But the train was seething impatience
And his suitcase was already in hand (such tired hands...)
It was too late, but... she felt it had always been
A second too late (cause the trains always leave)

"Will you be all right?"
So pretty, so young
"Promise me that you'll remember me."
And he would do nothing but think of her
A tired answer, not the one she wants
"No, dear. I was never resilient
To having my unsuspecting heart
Be broken in two."

Shhh... lulls the train, but it won't be okay
Not this time, little songbird, watching it pull away
Not this time, starcrossed dreamer, watching her fade
And he should have jumped off, taken her back
But it's too late, always too late
(cause the trains always leave, and they just ain't comin back)

***

I haven't written in awhile.

You know that stuff that gets in rubber hoses when you leave them outside for a long time and don't run water through them? Then, you pull them out, and use them again... and all the junk comes out?

I blame this poem on the goop that build up and crusted around my muses' enthusiam...



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