World Poetry 7th Period

Under Pressure  By: Tomas  Tranströmer The blue sky’s engine-drone is deafening. We’re living here on a shuddering work-site where the ocean depths can suddenly open up shells and telephones hiss. You can see beauty only from the side, hastily. The dense grain on the field, many colours in a yellow stream. The restless shadows in my head are drawn there. They want to creep into the grain and turn to gold. Darkness falls. At midnight I go to bed. The smaller boat puts out from the larger boat. You are alone on the water. Society’s dark hull drifts further and further away. Source:  https://tomastranstromer.net/poetry/ Source : <imgsrc="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcShFL2axfx1D-xJYbQOsD1FcZK_0XMANo4Zkj23dQ7-mP9FdDeG" alt="Image result for scandinavian modern art"/> The Connection Between the Painting and the poem The poem has this sense of stress and depression, wh...

I Am Pale With Longing  For My Beloved by Mirabai  I am pale with longing for my beloved; People believe I am ill. Seizing on every possible pretext, I try to meet him 'by accident.' They have sent for a country doctor; He grabs my arm and prods it; How can he diagnose my pain? It's in my heart that I am afflicted. Go home, country doctor, Don't address me by my name; It's the name of God that has wounded me, Don't force your medicines on me. The sweetness of his lips is a pot of nectar, That's the only curd for which I crave; Mira's Lord is Giridhar Naagar. He will feed me nectar again and again. www.poemhunter.com Image This image of a half heart represents the unrequited love that the speaker feels like she's receiving from someone that's not giving the same amount of love, and affection that she's giving to them.  torange.biz Who is Mirabai? Mirabai was a Brahmin princess of Merta. born in 1498 Focused on music Very ...

Poem :  Dreaming of My Deceased Wife on the Night of the 20th Day of the First Month    By Su Shi source: www.chinese-poems.com Ten boundless years now separate the living and the dead, I have not often thought of her, but neither can I forget. Her lonely grave is a thousand li distant, I can't say where my wife lies cold. We could not recognize each other even if we met again, My face is all but covered with dust, my temples glazed with frost. In deepest night, a sudden dream returns me to my homeland, She sits before a little window, and sorts her dress and make-up. We look at each other without a word, a thousand tears now flow. I must accept that every year I'll think of that heart breaking place, Where the moon shines brightly in the night, and bare pines guard the tomb.  https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/ef/Betty_Corrigal%27s_grave_-_geograph.org.uk_-_140852.jpg Explanation- This photo depicts a lonely grave on a mountain. I f...

Refugee Mother & Child By: Chinua Achebe  No Madonna and Child could touch that picture of a mother’s tenderness for a son she soon would have to forget. The air was heavy with odours of diarrhoea of unwashed children with washed-out ribs and dried-up bottoms struggling in laboured steps behind blown empty bellies. Most Source:  mothers there had long ceased to care but not this one; she held a ghost smile between her teeth and in her eyes the ghost of a mother’s pride as she combed the rust-coloured hair left on his skull and then – singing in her eyes – began carefully to part it… In another life this would have been a little daily act of no consequence before his breakfast and school; now she did it like putting flowers on a tiny grave. Mother Africa Picture This picture accurately depicts my poem because it symbolizes motherhood and security. After reading "Refugee Mother and Child," I began to get the vibe of a protective...

To Die by Cecilia Meireles I die from all  what the world contains: from what I saw, from what I heard. I die from what I lived. And die with myself, just with loving and yet desperate memories. I die in full agony for not feeling within beginning or end. I die, and the circle stays, round, closed. Inside I am everything and nothing. https://www.inspirationalstories.com/poems/to-die-cecilia-meireles-poems/ https://www.google.com/search?site=imghp&tbm=isch&q=stress&tbs=sur:fmc&safe=active&ssui=on#imgdii=OQnKLF3wSd_mCM:&imgrc=6MKLfsHcwv5hnM: https://www.google.com/search?site=imghp&tbm=isch&q=dying%20flower&tbs=sur:fmc&safe=active&ssui=on#imgdii=V5HCyJNdaGRvYM:&imgrc=9curVtFJCN-GCM: This photo is of a dying flower that still seems to be "alive" in the center.  This connects to the poem because it represents how the speaker felt like a part of them was dying and how inside they are "everything and no...