Unseen Analysis

English Literature

Paper 2: Poetry Across Time

Section AMoon on the Tides

Anthology – Poems of Conflict

Section BUnseen poems

• Firstly make a one sentence summary of the poem.

• Then, complete FLIRT notes on the poem you are presented with.

• You have 5 minutes on each poem before we move to the next one.

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Sonnet 130

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound.I grant I never saw a goddess go: My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.

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On my first SonneFarewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy; My sinne was too much hope of thee, lov’d boy,Seven yeeres tho’wert lent to me, and I thee pay, Exacted by thy fate, on the just day. O, could I loose all father, now. For why Will man lament the state he should envie? To have so soone scap’d worlds, and fleshes rage, And, if no other miserie, yet age? Rest in soft peace, and, ask’d, say here doth lye Ben. Jonson his best piece of poetrie.For whose sake, hence-forth, all his vowes be such, As what he loves may never like too much.

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Elvis's Twin Sister  Are you lonesome tonight? Do you miss me tonight? Elvis is alive and she's female: Madonna In the convent, y'all,I tend the gardens,watch things grow, pray for the immortal soulof rock 'n' roll. They call me Sister Presley here, The Reverend Mother digs the way I move my hipsjust like my brother. Gregorian chant drifts out across the herbs Pascha nostrum immolatus est...I wear a simple habit,darkish hues, a wimple with a novice-sewnlace band, a rosary,a chain of keys, a pair of good and sturdyblue suede shoes. I think of itas Graceland here,a land of grace.It puts my trademark slow lopsided smileback on my face. Lawdy.I'm alive and well.Long time since I walkeddown Lonely Streettowards Heartbreak Hotel.

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The Song of the Old Mother

I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow; And then I must scrub and bake and sweep Till stars are beginning to blink and peep; But the young lie long and dream in their bed Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head,And their day goes over in idleness, And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress:While I must work, because I am old, And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.

William Butler Yeats

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My father thought it bloody queer,

the day I rolled home with a ring of silver in my ear

half hidden by a mop of hair. ’You’ve lost your head.

If that’s how easily you’re led

you should’ve had it through your nose instead.’

And even then I hadn’t had the nerve to numb

the lobe with ice, then drive a needle through the skin,

then wear a safety-pin. It took a jeweller’s gun

to pierce the flesh, and then a friend

to thread a sleeper in, and where it slept

the hole became a sore, became a wound, and wept.

At twenty-nine, it comes as no surprise to hear

my own voice breaking like a tear, released like water,

cried from way back in the spiral of the ear. If I were you,

I’d take it out and leave it out next year.