Year four Poetry Unit:

This unit will focus on understanding and interpreting poems. Whilst doing this students will also explore the different forms poems take and are expected to write their own poetry.

Comments/Homework1 Introduction to poetry

What do the students like/dislike? What is poetry/a poem? Class

brainstorm then definition sheet (attached).

Poems with themes Childhood poems

Literary (poetry) devices: HYPERBOLE SIMILE METAPHOR PERSONIFICATION ALLITERATION ONOMATOPOEIA

Discuss as class and complete worksheet.

‘My Country’ – Dorothea McKellarVisual/personal interpretation1. Discuss imagery as a class – what is it? How

does it work?2. Listen to poem and discuss as a class3. Note personal interpretations (in scrapbook)4. Visual interpretations – students to ‘draw’ the

image they conjure when listening to the poem (oil pastels?)

Homework:Find a poem, identify the discussed literary devices and discuss what the poem means to you (to be completed in scrapbook).

‘My Country’ response (questions)

DUE: 2 AUSTRALIAN POETRY Homework:

Find two Australian poems – copy them both into your scrapbook and write a reflection for each.

Write your own poem about Australia.

DUE:

Banjo Paterson Brief history of Banjo Paterson – focussing on Australia at that time, the need for a

national identity (biography attached). Poems:

o ‘Waltzing Matilda’ – original lyrics V popular lyricso ‘The Man from Snowy River’ – listen to & responseo ‘Clancy of the Overflow’ – listen to & response

Henry Lawson Brief history of Henry Lawson (biography attached). Poems:

o ‘From the Bush’o ‘The Ballad of the Drover’ – listen to & responseo ‘The Shearers’ – discuss the importance of mateship

3 POETRY ROTATIONS – 25 minute rotations Homework:Favourite poem this far – why? What poetry devices/techniques are evident within the chosen poem?DUE:

Small group work focusing on selected poets (involves reading of poem and interpretations/answering of questions – activities attached).* William Blake * Rudyard Kipling * Robert Frost * Emily Dickinson * Lewis Carroll * Edgar Allen Poe

4 POETRY COMPOSITION LYRICS AS POETRY Homework:Continue to develop scrapbook (personal poem anthology).

Students to compose and develop their own poems – use different poets as inspiration and experiment with different styles of

poetry encourage students to focus on different themes for their poems slideshow stimulus

Poetry Poker

See attached instructions/resources.

What are songs? How are songs poems? Analyse poetic devices (you may like to touch

on more than those covered) used in the following sng (three different styles/types of music):

1. ‘The River’ – Garth Brooks2. ‘Music of the Night’ – Andrew Lloyd Webber3. A popular song the students might enjoySee attached sheet.

5 LYRICS AS POETRY – computer room Homework:Continue to develop scrapbook (personal poem anthology).DUE:

Following on from the previous lesson students are to complete an analysis on at least three songs of their choosing.Task instruction sheet attached.

Students to create their own song (poem) for their anthology. They may have background music to go with it - must

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Year Eight Poetry Unit Assessment Task

Throughout this unit you are to keep a scrapbook that will be made up of poems we study in class, your annotations and comments on poems, your reflections, any handouts from class and your own poems. To receive a satisfactory pass within this unit you must keep your scrapbook up-to-date (which means you must follow up any handouts if you are absent) and keep your scrapbook in a satisfactory manner, ensure all homework and given tasks are completed and receive a pass for the assessment task (which includes all these hurdle requirements).

*Please note – anything you include in your scrapbook will only been seen by your English teacher*

Your scrapbook must contain: All handouts All homework tasks All tasks given within class Copies of the poems studied with your reflections/responses/annotations 5 of your own poems; 2 of which need to be selected for final submission (along with

reflection)

Final task:Select two of your five poems and present them within your scrapbook in published form. These two poems must have titles and be of substance. With each of you poems you must also include your reflection (100-150 words) and answer the given questions.

Reflection:Below are some questions that may help prompt you when writing your reflection; however please write your reflection in paragraph form, not question and answer form.

Why did you write this poem? Did a particular poet influence you in writing this poem? If so, who? Did something else influence you? If so, what? Why did you select this poem to be published? Does this poem hold a particular ‘special’ meaning with you? What pleases you most about your poem? Why? What detail in the piece is exactly right? Why? What part of the poem are your still dissatisfied with? Why? Where could you include more specific details?

Questions:You must answer the following questions alongside each of your published poems (in question and full answer form).

Which literary devices are evident within your poem (identify and provide examples of at least two)? Does your poem follow a particular style/form? If so, which one? If not, why did you write your poem

in the way in which you have? What is the theme of your poem?

‘Writing’ Dimension 4.75

Name: ………………………………………… Teacher ………………………….

Date of Submission: ………………

Hurdle Requirements Requirement met (1 mark)

Requirement not met (-1 mark)

Submitted by due dateScrapbook is in a presentable manner with headings, sub-headings and images to complement textAll handouts included, all assigned tasks (including homework tasks) completed and all poems studied included (with reflections/responses/annotations).At least five poems composed by student includedTwo published poems with reflections and questions

Published poem (with reflections and questions):

Writing Progression Point DescriptorsVH5

H4

M3

L2

VL1

NS0

Control of written text in poetic writingComposition of an imaginative text presenting challenging ideaAppropriate use of figurative language to achieve particular effects Strategic use of headings, subheadings, graphics, photographs and art work to support the meaning of the textCorrect and effective use of the mechanics of poetry writingAppropriate reflection/responses to questions

Total: /35 %

Teacher Comment:

Very High High Medium Low Very Low Not Shown Below the required Standard

At the StandardDemonstrated a very high level of understanding of knowledge and skills in all areas.

Demonstrated a high level of understanding of knowledge and skills in all areas.

Demonstrated a satisfactory level of understanding of knowledge and skills in all areas.

Demonstrated an adequate level of understanding of knowledge and skills in all areas.

Demonstrated a basic level of understanding of knowledge and skills in all areas.

Not Satisfactory. Did not meet the criteria for the award of a result.

100-85% 84-75% 74-65% 64-55% 54-40% 39-0% Assessment Review

What is Poetry? A poem may appear to mean very different things to different readers, and all of these meaning may be

Task Description:Produce a Poetry scrapbook that includes two (original) published poems with reflections.

different from what the author thought he meant. For instance, the author may have been writing some peculiar personal experience, Which he saw quite unrelated to anything outside; yet for the reader the poem may become the expression of a general situation, as well as of some private experience of his own. The reader's interpretation may differ from the author's and be equally valid-- it may even be better. There may be much more in a poem than the author was aware of. The different interpretations may all be partial formulations of one thing; the ambiguities may be due to the fact that the poem means more, not less, than ordinary speech can communicate.

T.S. Eliot

What is a Poet? A poet is somebody who feels, and who expresses his feelings through words. This may sound easy. It isn't. A lot of people think or believe or know they feel -- but that's thinking or believing or knowing; not feeling. And poetry is feeling -- not knowing or believing or thinking. Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single human being can be taught to feel. Why? Because whenever you think or you believe or you know, you're a lot of other people; but the moment you feel, you're NOBODY-BUT-YOURSELF.

E.E. Cummings

Poetry Devices (techniques):

ORIGINAL POETRY MUST INCLUDE:HYPERBOLE – a large exaggeration

EX: - Your eyes are as bright as the stars! SIMILE – A comparison between two objects using “like” or “as”

EX: - Your eyes are like starsMETAPHOR – A comparison between two objects – NOT using “like” or “as”

EX: - Your eyes are stars!PERSONIFICATION – giving an inhuman thing human qualities

EX: - The stars are envious of your eyes!ALLITERATION – repetition of a sound at the beginning of two or more neighbouring words

EX: - See Sally Stand by the Sea ShoreONOMATOPOEIA – words that sound like their meaning

EX: - WOOOSH! The stars penetrate the earth’s atmosphere.

TASK: Identify each of the figurative devices below:1. ____________ A fluttering forest of feathers2. ____________It smells like rotten eggs3. ____________Spot, the dog, planned a devious plan for the cat4. ____________”Hey! Cabbage for brains! I’m talking to you!”5. ____________”You wanna take a trip? Pow! Zoom! To the moon!” 6. ____________Bugs Bunny7. ____________Alice ran as fast as she could8. ____________Alice ran as fast as a cheetah9. ____________He has a swelled head10. ____________She has the eyes of a cat

TASK: Write one example of your own for each literary device.

Hyperbole –

Simile –

Metaphor –

Alliteration –

Personification –

Onomatopoeia -

‘My Country’Dorothea Mackellar

The love of field and coppice,Of green and shaded lanes.

Of ordered woods and gardensIs running in your veins,

Strong love of grey-blue distanceBrown streams and soft dim skies

I know but cannot share it,My love is otherwise.

I love a sunburnt country,A land of sweeping plains,Of ragged mountain ranges,

Of droughts and flooding rains.I love her far horizons,

I love her jewel-sea,Her beauty and her terror –

The wide brown land for me!

A stark white ring-barked forestAll tragic to the moon,

The sapphire-misted mountains,The hot gold hush of noon.Green tangle of the brushes,

Where lithe lianas coil,And orchids deck the tree-topsAnd ferns the warm dark soil.

Core of my heart, my country!Her pitiless blue sky,

When sick at heart, around us,We see the cattle die-

But then the grey clouds gather,And we can bless again

The drumming of an army,The steady, soaking rain.

Core of my heart, my country!Land of the Rainbow Gold,

For flood and fire and famine,She pays us back threefold-Over the thirsty paddocks,Watch, after many days,

The filmy veil of greennessThat thickens as we gaze.

An opal-hearted country,A wilful, lavish land-

All you who have not loved her,You will not understand-

Though earth holds many splendours,Wherever I may die,

I know to what brown countryMy homing thoughts will fly.

Look up any words within the poem of which you are unsure of the meanings.

Answer the following questions:1. What do you think this poem is about?2. How does this poem make you feel?3. Which is your favourite line in the poem? Why?4. Do you feel it portrays Australia in a positive manner? How?5. What do you think the poet means when referring to Australia as a ‘sunburnt country’?

BanJO PATERSONAndrew Barton ‘Banjo’ Paterson wrote some of Australia’s best loved poems. Mainly about bush people, they are full of action, rhythm and humour. Paterson is also the author of ‘Waltzing Matilda’, the nation’s best known song.

Paterson wrote most of his poems on the 1890s. This was a time of droughts, economic depression, strikes and the rise of the unions, especially the shearers’ union. It was also a time of increasing nationalism, and of the movement towards federation of the separate Australian colonies. Railways and the telegraph were brining the colonies closed together. By the 1890s about three-quarters of the Australian population were Australian-born. There were looking for images and heroes that were uniquely Australian and made clear the differences between their culture and the British culture of their parents and grandparents. They found the answer in the bush and its people.

Paterson’s work clearly reflects the times in which he lived. Like fellow poet Henry Lawson, he wrote of a way of life that had captured the public imagination because it should Australians as they wanted to see themselves. Paterson’s poems, such as ‘The Man from Snowy River’ and ‘Clancy of the Overflow’ were hugely popular in his time, and remain so today. In 1895 his first book, ‘The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses’, sold out within a week. This had never happened in Australia before, Paterson became a celebrity.

Although he came from a comfortable background and for a time worker as a city solicitor, Paterson wrote of drovers and farmers, of swagmen and shearers, and of mountain horsemen and country race meetings. He never forgot that his own father had been forced to sell his farm. He always wrote from the point of view of the battler – even the swagman in ‘Waltzing Matilda’ was a battler.

‘Waltzing Matilda’Banjo Paterson

Names and Places:The Overflow – a normally dry area that is covered with water in times of flood, the name is usually given to a region near the town of Nyngan, in north-western NSW, which is filled by the overflowing waters of the nearby Bogan River.Lachlan – a river in central NSWtar – during shearing, tar was used to treat wounds to sheepCooper – a river in western QLDDarling – a river that runs through western NSW, from the QLD border to its junction with the Murray River on the VIC bordersaltbush – a grey-coloured plant found in low-rainfall areas of inland AustraliaWalgett – a town in north-western NSW – the river there is now called the Barwon: it becomes the Darling after joining the Culgoa, about 200 kms downstreamHexham – a town on the Hunter River in NSW< just inland from Newcastle, know for its especially large mosquitoesstiffen – to trick or swindle; in horse racing, to stop a horse doing its bestthe office – a signal or hinttoff – a rich, upper-class person

People and Places:Some of the people and places that reappear throughout Paterson’s work:Clancy – a drover who represents Paterson’s ideal of the Australian bushmanConroy – a station owner on the Castlereagh – a river in northern central NSWKiley’s Run – a grazing property thought to be based on Illalong, where Paterson spent his happiest childhood yearsDefinitions and Meanings:donah – a sweetheart or girlfriendpublic – a public bar in a hotelpush – a gang of city hooligansswell – a fashionably dressed person

Information sourced from: The Australian Character: Banjo Paterson

by Margaret McPhee

‘The Man From Snowy River’Banjo Paterson

ORIGINAL:Oh! There once was a swagman camped in the billabongs,Under the shade of a Collibah tree,And he sang as he looked at his old billy boiling,‘Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?’

(Chorus)Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling?Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag,Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?

Down came the jumbuck to drink at the waterhole,Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him in glee,And he sang as he put him away in his tucker-bag,‘You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.’

Chorus

Up came the squatter a-riding his thoroughbred;Up came policemen – one, two, three.‘Whose is the jumbuck you’ve got in the tucker-bag? You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me!’

Chorus

Up sprang the swagman and jumped in the waterhole,Drowning himself by the Coolibah tree;And his ghost may be heard as it sings in the billabongs‘Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?’

Chorus

POPULAR:Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong,

Under the shade of a Coolibah tree,And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil,

You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

(Chorus)Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,

You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me,And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil

You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabongUp jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,

And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bagYou'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

Chorus

Up rode the squatter mounted on his thorough-bredDown came the troopers One Two Three

Whose that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bagYou'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

Chorus

Up jumped the swagman sprang in to the billabongYou'll never catch me alive said he,

And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabongYou'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

Chorus

There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around That the colt from old Regret had got away,

And had joined the wild bush horses - he was worth a thousand pound, So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.

All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far Had mustered at the homestead overnight,

For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are, And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup, The old man with his hair as white as snow;

But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up- He would go wherever horse and man could go.

And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand, No better horseman ever held the reins;

For never horse could throw him while the saddle girths would stand, He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast, He was something like a racehorse undersized,

With a touch of Timor pony - three parts thoroughbred at least - And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.

He was hard and tough and wiry - just the sort that won't say die - There was courage in his quick impatient tread;

And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye, And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay, And the old man said, "That horse will never do

For a long and tiring gallop-lad, you'd better stop away, Those hills are far too rough for such as you."

So he waited sad and wistful - only Clancy stood his friend - "I think we ought to let him come," he said;

"I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end, For both his horse and he are mountain bred."

"He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side, Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,

Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride, The man that holds his own is good enough.

And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home, Where the river runs those giant hills between;

I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam, But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen."

So he went - they found the horses by the big mimosa clump - They raced away towards the mountain's brow,

And the old man gave his orders, "Boys, go at them from the jump, No use to try for fancy riding now.

And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right. Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,

For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight, If once they gain the shelter of those hills."

So Clancy rode to wheel them - he was racing on the wing Where the best and boldest riders take their place,

And he raced his stockhorse past them, and he made the ranges ring With stockwhip, as he met them face to face.

Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,

But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view, And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,

And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black Resounded to the thunder of their tread,

And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.

And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their sway, Were mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;

And the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day, No man can hold them down the other side."

When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull, It well might make the boldest hold their breath,

The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.

But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head, And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,

And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed, While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet, He cleared the fallen timbers in his stride,

And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat - It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.

Through the stringybarks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground, Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;

And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound, At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,

Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still, As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.

Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals

On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet, With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam. He followed like a bloodhound in their track,

Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home, And alone and unassisted brought them back.

But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot, He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;

But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot, For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise Their torn and rugged battlements on high,

Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,

And where around The Overflow the reed beds sweep and sway To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,

The man from Snowy River is a household word today, And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

‘Clancy of the overflow’Banjo Paterson

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better    Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,

He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,    Just "on spec", addressed as follows, "Clancy, of The Overflow".

And an answer came directed in writing unexpected,    (And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar) 'Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:

   "Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are."

In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy    Gone a-droving "down the Cooper" where the Western drovers go; As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,    For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him    In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,

And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,    And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars.

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy    Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,

And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city,    Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all.

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle    Of the tramways and the 'buses making hurry down the street,

And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,    Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me    As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,

With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,    For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy,    Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,

While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal --    But I doubt he'd suit the office, Clancy, of "The Overflow".

Henry lawsonHenry Lawson wrote about the ordinary Australians he grew up with in ‘the bush’ and later lived among in the city. His work shows great sympathy for those who struggle to survive.

Although most of his adult life was spent in the city, Lawson is best known for this poems and short stories

about the bush. His vivid and realistic descriptions of rural life, with is hardships and occasional humour, are based on his boyhood in the Mudgee region of central New South Wales, and on nine months spend in the drought-stricken ‘Outback’, around Bourke, when he was twenty-five years old.

Young Henry Lawson experienced the end of the gold rushes, lived through the last of the Cobb & Co. coaching days, and saw the opening of the railway through rural Australia. Scattered through his works are word pictures of Mudgee’s blue hills, reddy rivers, dusty tracks and dismal, worn-out goldfields. The drovers, bullock drivers and innkeepers he knew, and the stories they told, come alive again in his writing. Some experts see his poem ‘The Teams’ as the finest description of a bullock team in Australian literature. There are also memories of the farmers who struggled to make a living, and of the women who battled on alone when their men had to find work away from home.

In 1892-93 Lawson spent time in the Bourke region of far-western New South Wales. There he gained firsthand experience of the hardships faced by ‘travellers’ (swagmen) looking for work and handouts, and of the difficulties of trying to keep a farm.

Observant Lawson:

A G Stephens, an editor of the Bulletin magazine, said of Lawson: ‘he used his eyes, listened as he could, and remembered all that he saw and heard.’

Bush Language:green-hide goad, green-hide plait – a whip made from untanned cattle skinjohnny cakes – small flat cakes made from bread and water and cooked in the ashes of the campfireon the wallaby – travelling as a swagmanselector – a farmershanty – a place where alcoholic drink was sold, usually without a licenceswag – a bundle containing bedding and personal belongings carried by a swagman on his backswagman – a man with his belongings in a swag and traveling on foot, looking for occasional jobs or handouts of foodup country – inland, away from the coast

Information sourced from: The Australian Character: Henry Lawson by Margaret McPhee

‘FROM THE BUSH’Henry Lawson

The Channel fog has lifted – And see where we have come!

Round all the world we've drifted, A hundred years from "home".

The fields our parents longed for – Ah! we shall ne'er know how –

The wealth that they were wronged for We'll see as strangers now!

The Dover cliffs have passed on – In the morning light aglow –

That our fathers looked their last on A weary time ago.

Now grin, and grin your bravest! We need be strong to fight; For you go home to picture

And I go home to write.

Hold up your head in England, Tread firm on London streets;

We come from where the strong heart Of all Australia beats!

Hold up your head in England However poor you roam!

For no men are your betters Who never sailed from home!

From a hundred years of hardships – 'Tis ours to tell the cost –

From a thousand miles of silence Where London would be lost;

From where the glorious sunset On sweeps of mulga glows –

Ah! we know more than England, And more than Europe knows!

Hold up your head in London, However poor you come, For no man is your better

Who never sailed from home! Our "home" and foreign fathers, Where none but men dared go,

Have done more for the White Man Than England e'er shall know!

‘The Ballad of the Drover’

Henry Lawson

Across the stony ridges, Across the rolling plain,

Young Harry Dale, the drover, Comes riding home again.

And well his stock-horse bears him, And light of heart is he,

And stoutly his old pack-horse Is trotting by his knee.

Up Queensland way with cattle He travelled regions vast;

And many months have vanished Since home-folk saw him last. He hums a song of someone

He hopes to marry soon; And hobble-chains and camp-ware

Keep jingling to the tune.

Beyond the hazy dado Against the lower skies

And yon blue line of ranges The homestead station lies. And thitherward the drover Jogs through the lazy noon,

While hobble-chains and camp-ware Are jingling to a tune.

An hour has filled the heavens With storm-clouds inky black; At times the lightning trickles

Around the drover's track; But Harry pushes onward,

His horses' strength he tries, In hope to reach the river Before the flood shall rise.

The thunder from above him Goes rolling o'er the plain;

And down on thirsty pastures In torrents falls the rain.

And every creek and gully Sends forth its little flood,

Till the river runs a banker, All stained with yellow mud.

Now Harry speaks to Rover, The best dog on the plains,

And to his hardy horses, And strokes their shaggy manes;

`We've breasted bigger rivers When floods were at their height

Nor shall this gutter stop us From getting home to-night!'

The thunder growls a warning, The ghastly lightnings gleam, As the drover turns his horses

To swim the fatal stream. But, oh! the flood runs stronger

Than e'er it ran before; The saddle-horse is failing,

And only half-way o'er!

When flashes next the lightning, The flood's grey breast is blank, And a cattle dog and pack-horse

Are struggling up the bank. But in the lonely homestead

The girl will wait in vain -- He'll never pass the stations

In charge of stock again.

The faithful dog a moment Sits panting on the bank,

And then swims through the current To where his master sank.

And round and round in circles He fights with failing strength, Till, borne down by the waters,

The old dog sinks at length.

Across the flooded lowlands And slopes of sodden loam

The pack-horse struggles onward, To take dumb tidings home.

And mud-stained, wet, and weary, Through ranges dark goes he;

While hobble-chains and tinware Are sounding eerily.

The floods are in the ocean, The stream is clear again, And now a verdant carpet

Is stretched across the plain. But someone's eyes are saddened,

And someone's heart still bleeds In sorrow for the drover

Who sleeps among the reeds.

‘The Shearers’Henry Lawson

No church-bell rings them from the Track, No pulpit lights their blindness--'Tis hardship, drought, and homelessnessThat teach those Bushmen kindness:The mateship born, in barren lands,Of toil and thirst and danger,The camp-fare for the wanderer set,The first place to the stranger. They do the best they can to-day--Take no thought of the morrow;Their way is not the old-world way--They live to lend and borrow.When shearing's done and cheques gone wrong,They call it "time to slither"--They saddle up and say "So-long!"And ride the Lord knows whither.

And though he may be brown or black,Or wrong man there, or right man, The mate that's steadfast to his matesThey call that man a "white man!"They tramp in mateship side by side--The Protestant and Roman--They call no biped lord or sir,And touch their hat to no man!

They carry in their swags perhaps,A portrait and a letter--And, maybe, deep down in their hearts,The hope of "something better."Where lonely miles are long to ride,And long, hot days recurrent,There's lots of time to think of menThey might have been--but weren't.

They turn their faces to the westAnd leave the world behind them(Their drought-dry graves are seldom setWhere even mates can find them).They know too little of the worldTo rise to wealth or greatness; But in these lines I gladly payMy tribute to their greatness.

Poetry Rotations:

25 minute rotations over four lessons; groups of 4-5 students. No teacher directed group, so encouraged to roam.

Focus poets: William Blake Rudyard Kipling Emily Dickinson Robert Frost Edgar Allen Poe Lewis Carroll

Groups looking at William Blake and Edgar Allen Poe require internet access (students CAN share computers but aim for 2 computers per group).

William Blake

Rudyard KiplingRudyard Kipling was born in India. He and his sister Alice were sent back to England when he was six. The children stayed with foster parents and were dreadfully unhappy. Kipling was punished for reading books and began to read secretly by the light of a candle-end. Kipline was then sent to boarding school where he was encouraged to write. Later he returned to India where he worked as a journalist in Lahore. In his spare time he wrote many poems and stories. His first book of verse was published in 1886.

Returning to England in 1889 Kipling found that his stories had made him a popular figure. In 1892 he married and moved to America for four years where his two children, Josephine and Elsie were born. The family returned to England in 1896 and lived in Rottingdean in Sussex, where their son John was born. Sadly, Josephine died of pneumonia in 1899 and John was killed whilst fighting in the First World War (1914-18).

In 1902 he bought a house called Bateman’s in Sussex where he lived for the rest of his life. It was at this house that his best know poem, ‘If…’ was written. Kipling declined the offer of Poet Laureateship but was the first English writer to be awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1907. Kipling dies in 1936 and was buried in Poets’ Corner in Westminster Abbey.

What inspired Kipling?Kipling wrote a lot about India although he only spent six and a half years there. He wrote rhymed verse, some of it in the slang used by British soldiers in India, and he invented fictional characters such as Gunga Din and Danny Deever.

What is it that makes Kipling’s poems so special?Kipling’s poems reach out to lots of people. They are not difficult to understand and can be enjoyed by anyone, not just poetry specialists. His poetry is often labelled patriotic – displaying a love of his country and its empire.

‘If…’ by Rudyard Kipling

IF you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,But make allowance for their doubting too;If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,Or being hated, don't give way to hating,And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;If you can meet with Triumph and DisasterAnd treat those two impostors just the same;If you can bear to hear the truth you've spokenTwisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,And lose, and start again at your beginningsAnd never breathe a word about your loss;If you can force your heart and nerve and sinewTo serve your turn long after they are gone,And so hold on when there is nothing in youExcept the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,‘ Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,If all men count with you, but none too much;If you can fill the unforgiving minuteWith sixty seconds' worth of distance run,Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!What do you think this poem is about? Why do you think that (provide a

quote/reference)? What poetic devices can you identify in the poem? Do you like this poem? Why/why not?

Robert FrostRead the following poem by Robert Frost and then complete the ‘Inference and Evidence Chart’ in your scrapbook. If you finish early write your reflection on the poem.Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.His house is in the village though;He will not see me stopping hereTo watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queerTo stop without a farmhouse nearBetween the woods and frozen lakeThe darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shakeTo ask if there is some mistake.The only other sound's the sweepOf easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.But I have promises to keep,And miles to go before I sleep,And miles to go before I sleep.

INFERENCE AND EVIDENCE CHART: Use this chart to evaluate statements about "Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening," by Robert Frost

Directly Supported by Poem (copy evidence from poem in space provided)

Inference based on Evidence (copy evidence

from poem in space provided)

Not supported by evidence (check box

only)

It is the middle ofwinterThe speaker feelsguilty and uncertainabout stoppingThe speaker has lost hiswayAt the end of thepoem, the speakerand his horse leavethe woods and headhomeThe speaker thinksuneasily about hisown deathThe owner of the woodsand the speaker don'tget alongThe speaker admiresthe snowy woods and isattracted to its starkbeauty and solitude

The Narrative Poetry of Robert FrostDirections:We can be sure that Frost thought very carefully about which details to leave in or out of the stories told in his poems. Sometimes these details are given directly. Other details are ideas we need to figure out based on evidence--hints and clues--in the poem. An idea about a poem that is based upon evidence, but is not stateddirectly, is called an inference.

In the chart below, decide whether there is evidence in the poem for the statements about Frost's poem, "Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening." In the left hand column of the chart, you will see a series of statements aboutthe poem. You need to decide whether these statements are given directly in the poem, or whether they are inferences based on evidence in the poem. Some statements may be inferences that are either not supported by evidence in the poem, or are contradicted by evidence in the poem. You can either write your evidence in your own words, or copy directly from the poem itself. If you are copying the exact words of the poem, be sure to put quotation marks ("") around those words.

If a statement not supported or is contradicted by the poem, simply check the box in the right hand column of the chart.

Edgar Allen Poe‘The Bells’

HEAR the sledges with the bells - Silver bells!What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme,To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

Answer questions in your scrapbook in full sentence form:

1. How do you think this poem should be told? What expression is required for it to be effective?

2. Would a male or female voice help you to understand the poem better?

3. How about background music? Would that make a difference to your understanding?

Log onto the following website and play around with the different effects in telling the poem. What works best?

http://knowingpoe.thinkport.org/writer/thebells.asp

4. Why do you think the way in which the poem is told makes a difference to the listeners understanding?

Emily DickinsonTo fully understand the work of Emily Dickinson it is vital to first understand her.

Why do you think this might be so important? (Please answer in a full sentence in your scrapbook)

Read the brief biography of Dickinson (overleaf) and brainstorm her characteristics (in your scrapbook).

Then read Dickinson’s poem ‘I’m Nobody! Who are you?’ (first read silently to yourself and then you may like to read it as a group). Which of Dickinson’s

characteristics relate to this poem? (Please answer in a full sentence in your scrapbook)

Next read ‘Pain – has an element of blank’. Instead of discussing the characteristics that apply to this poem, think about them (by yourself). Write a sentence or two to describe what characteristics of Dickinson you observe in the

words of the poem and what the poem means to you.

Finally, as a group, read and discuss Dickinson’s poem ‘My life closed twice before its close’.

If there is still time remaining you are to write a brief biography about you own life (only about 3-4 paragraphs) and then write a 2-3 stanza poem that is reflective of your own life.

‘I’m Nobody! Who are you?’I'm Nobody! Who are you?Are you -- Nobody -- Too?Then there's a pair of us!Don't tell! they'd advertise -- you know!

How dreary -- to be -- Somebody!How public -- like a Frog --To tell one's name -- the livelong June --To an admiring Bog!

‘Pain – has an element of blank’Pain has an element of blank;

It cannot recollectWhen it began, or if there were

A day when it was not.

It has no future but itself,Its infinite realms contain

Its past, enlightened to perceiveNew periods of pain.

‘My life closed twice before its

close’MY life closed twice

before its close-It yet remains to seeIf Immortality unveilA third event to me

So huge, so hopeless to conceive

As these that twice befell.

Parting is all we know of heaven,

And all we need of hell.

Brief Emily Dickinson BiographyEmily Dickinson was born on 10 December 1830 in Massachusetts, United States, and died there on 15 May 1886. Her parents were Edward Dickinson (1803-1874) and Emily Norcross Dickinson (1804-1882). The family included three children: Austin (1828-1895), Emily, and Lavinia (1833-1899). Most of the family belonged to the Congregational Church, though the poet herself never became a member. The Dickinsons were well-off and well-educated. Both Edward and Austin were college graduates, leaders in the community and of Amherst College. Edward Dickinson was a Whig (later a Republican) representative to state and national legislatures. Emily had a strong secondary education and a year of college at South Hadley Female Seminary (later Mount Holyoke College).

The poet was born in, and died in, a house called the Homestead, built by her grandfather Samuel Fowler Dickinson in 1813. This house was sold out of the family, however, in 1833, and not re-purchased by Edward Dickinson till 1855; so most of the poet's younger years were lived in other houses.

After her years at school, Emily Dickinson lived in the family home for the rest of her life. She cared for her parents in their later years and was a companion to her sister Lavinia, who also stayed "at home" for her entire life. Neither sister married. The extended Dickinson family included Austin's wife Susan Huntington Gilbert, who lived for many years next door in the house called The Evergreens, and Susan and Austin's three children.

The myth, of course, is of Dickinson as a reclusive spinster-poet, brooding over a deep romantic mystery in her past. The realities are more mundane. Especially among relatively wealthy families in 19th-century Massachusetts, it was far from unusual for grown women simply to keep house as a primary occupation, neither marrying nor working outside the home. The thing that sets Dickinson apart from other women of her class and generation is simply her poetic gift, something attributable more to nature and culture than to some emotional trauma.

We know much of Dickinson's life through her correspondences. She maintained a lifelong correspondence with Susan Dickinson, even though they were next-door neighbors; this correspondence, preserved by Susan, is the source for many of the poet's manuscripts. But Emily Dickinson also corresponded with school friends, with her cousins Fanny and Loo Norcross, and with several people of letters, including Samuel Bowles, Dr. and Mrs. J.G. Holland, T.W. Higginson, and Helen Hunt Jackson.

The central events, then, of Dickinson's life are those that are central to the lives of most writers: she wrote. She compiled a manuscript record of nearly 1,800 poems, along with many letters. In or around 1858 she began to keep manuscript books of her poetry, the "fascicles," hand-produced and hand-bound. In the early 1860s she produced hundreds of poems each year. In 1864 and 1865, failing eyesight, which impelled her to make two extended visits to Cambridge, Massachusetts for medical treatment, slowed her production of manuscript books. But her production of manuscripts continued at a slower pace until her last illnesses in 1885-86.

Though she wrote hundreds of poems, Dickinson never published a book of poetry. The few poems published during her lifetime were anonymous (see Publishing History). The reasons why she never published are still unclear. A myth promoted by William Luce's play The Belle of Amherst (1976) is that Higginson discouraged her writing; however, it is probably not the case that Dickinson met with rejection from the literary world. For one thing, Higginson was instrumental in getting her poetry published soon after her death, suggesting that her reluctance and not his disapproval was the barrier to him doing this earlier. Also, both Bowles and Hunt Jackson arranged for anonymous publication of individual poems by Dickinson during the poet's lifetime. At Hunt Jackson's suggestion, Thomas Niles of Roberts Brothers publishing house tried to get the poet to submit a volume of poems for publication in 1883; she declined.

http://www.uta.edu/english/tim/poetry/ed/bio.html

JabberwockyBy Lewis Carroll

'Twas brillig, and the slithy tovesDid gyre and gimble in the wabe:All mimsy were the borogoves,And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!Beware the Jubjub bird, and shunThe frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:Long time the manxome foe he sought—So rested he by the Tumtum tree,And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and throughThe vorpal blade went snicker-snack!He left it dead, and with its headHe went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?Come to my arms, my beamish boy!O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy tovesDid gyre and gimble in the wabe:All mimsy were the borogoves,And the mome raths outgrabe.

Answer the following questions:1.What do you like about this poem?2.What do you dislike about this poem?3.What puzzles you about this poem?4.What questions would you ask the author about this poem?5.Do you think the ‘nonsense’ words in this poem are effective? Why/why not?

Carroll referred to the words he made up as portmanteau, because they collapsed onto each other, like objects in a suitcase. Some of his portmanteau words have been incorporated into the English language, while others have not.

With a partner make a list of words you suspect are portmanteau.

Write a quatrain (a stanza of four lines, esp. one having alternate rhymes) that includes your own invented words.

JabberwockySome possible nonsense word meanings

Bandersnatch: A swift moving creature with snapping jaws. Capable of extending its neck.

Borogove: A thin shabby-looking bird with its feathers sticking out all round, something like a live mop.

Brillig: Four o'clock in the afternoon: the time when you begin boiling things for dinner.

Burbled: A mixture of "bleat", "murmur", and "warble".

Chortled: Combination of chuckle and snort.

Frabjous: A blend of fair, fabulous, and joyous.

Frumious: Combination of "fuming" and "furious."

Galumphing: Perhaps a blend of "gallop" and "triumphant." (Used to describe a way of "trotting" down hill, while keeping one foot further back than the other. This enables the Galumpher to stop quickly).

Gimble: To make holes like a gimlet.

Gyre: To go round and round like a gyroscope, or to scratch like a dog.

Jubjub: A desperate bird that lives in perpetual passion.

Manxome: Combination of "monstrous" and "fearsome", or possibly "manly" and "buxom".

Mimsy: Combination of "miserable" and "flimsy."

Mome: Short for "from home”.

Outgrabe: (past tense; present tense outgribe) – Something between bellowing and whistling, with a kind of sneeze in the middle.

Rath: A sort of green pig.

Slithy: Combination of "slimy" and "lithe”.

Toves: A combination of a badger, a lizard, and a corkscrew. They are very curious looking creatures which make their nests under sundials. They live on cheese.

Uffish: A state of mind when the voice is gruffish, the manner roughish, and the temper

huffish.

Wabe: The grass plot around a sundial. It is called a "wabe" because it goes a long way before it, and a long way behind it, and a long way beyond it on each side.

Poetry PokerObjective: Create an original poem from five lines of five random words.

What you need: -- 4-6 players-- a deck of 30 word cards-- paper-- pencil/pen

Method of play:1. A dealer is chosen. The oldest person

is the first dealer.2. The dealer deals out five cards to

each person face down. The rest of the deck is placed face down in the center.

3. Each person looks at their cards to see what phrases and images can be created from their word cards. You are allowed to change the form of the word to make it fit in a sentence. You are also allowed to insert helping verbs (Chad B. Swim), prepositions (in, of, during, about, etc.), articles (a, an, the), and conjunctions.

4. You will have an opportunity to choose some new words. Play will begin to the left of the dealer. That person may opt to discard up to three word cards. They place the discarded cards face down next to the deck. They then select new replacement cards from the deck. Play continues with the rest of the players. When the deck runs out, shuffle the discard pile, place it face down, and select from that. Go around the circle twice. If a player likes their cards, they may say "Pass."

5. Once everyone has had two chances to change cards, it is time to put the words into a poetic line. Write the first poetic line on your paper and share with the members of your group. Use as many of your word cards as possible.

6. Change dealers and play at least 4 more rounds. After each round, write your new poetic line beneath the previous one.

7. When you have completed five poetic lines, try to rearrange the lines into a

poem and create a title. This is your Poker Poem!

Word list:

Example:1. You are dealt the following words:

moonbeam, light, travel, mean, float2. You decide moonbeam, light, and

float fit together in some way, so you decide you will discard travel and mean when it is your turn.

3. You discard those two cards and pick up truck and boot.

4. On your next turn, you discard moonbeam, light, and float and pick up mean, frightening, and velvet.

5. Now you must fit the following five words together in some way: truck, boot, mean, frightening, velvet

6. You can change the form of the words and add prepositions, articles, and conjunctions to come up with: The velvet boot is on a mean and frightful truck.

hyacinthforestgrandeurdeathmurmursmearedlagoonclashroseswaypraisedenialheartlistendistressscreamcemeteryfountainharmonycreativitydeathvastpleasurereefdrowsyforgetdangergripstrangerperspectivestareseasonanguishshimmercrushpauseairhouseblearyobviouspassionlifeearthwishlovegiggletwistdreamhatespringgracewebglassmoonlightblackwintersofttanglesheavensmokefogmurderjugglesharpsymboldesertstreetstrugglecursesour

oceanbeastbirdjourneyskywarningmandissolvefollowcrustsoultangyimaginewhisperdevotionconspirecrashcrystalkissgoldwomanschemehappilytimerainbowsadrarequiverrealityboldhonoruncommondeepromantictreasurebreezeforeverdeliverwildnarrowleisurebrightgentlefeastgracefultrapreconcileshylyricalsoftgleamfirelightimmersepaintflingshoestringdawnwitheredswellcliffstideimmortaleveningoozedelugeprowlstreamdustsleepmourn

dreadfuldeliriousfruitaromaflipperscontentleapingslipperydeclareglorysilverchaosrainlilacquietwardarkstormvelvetbirthceremonydevotionbeautifulbreakfastfrolichiddenmountainlighthorsebutterflycruelflamingounknownmiserygloriouspursuetwilightfragiledistantblissallurefiremaskcoldragecourageeternalstonyintensetreedisastersmilechildreneclipsevoiceevergreenalonemysticalseadesirefeastburndesertfishgravecravesummercomposechoruswish

roar endure frost

"The River" by Garth Brooks

You know a dream is like a river, ever changing as it flows.And a dreamer's just a vessel that must follow where it goes.Trying to learn from what's behind you and never knowing what's in storemakes each day a constant battle just to stay between the shores.

And I will sail my vessel 'til the river runs dry. Like a bird upon the wind, these waters are my sky. I'll never reach my destination if I never try, So I will sail my vessel 'til the river runs dry.

Too many times we stand aside and let the water slip away.To what we put off 'til tomorrow has now become today.So don't you sit upon the shore and say you're satisfied.Choose to chance the rapids and dare to dance the tides.

-Chorus-

There's bound to be rough waters, and I know I'll take some falls.With the good Lord as my captain, I can make it through them all.

-Chorus-_____________________________________________________________________

Poetic devices used in "The River": simile, metaphor, alliteration, hyperbole, couplet, personification, etc._____________________________________________________________________

"Music of the Night" by Andrew Lloyd Webber

Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation.Darkness wakes and stir imagination.Silently the senses abandon their defenses,Helpless to resist the notes I write,For I compose the Music of the Night.

Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor.Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender.Hearing is believing. Music is deceiving.Hard as lightening, soft as candlelight.Dare you trust the Music of the Night?

Close your eyes, for your eyes will only tell the truth,And the truth isn't what you want to hear.In the dark it is easy to pretend...That the truth is what it ought to be.

Softly, deftly, music shall caress you.

Hear it, fear it, secretly possess you.Open up your mind; let your fantasies unwind. In this darkness which you know you cannot find.The darkness of the Music of the Night.

Close your eyes, start a journey to a strange new world.Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before.Close your eyes and let music set you free...Only then can you belong to me.

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication.Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation.Let the dream begin; let your darker side give inTo the power of the music that I write, The power of the Music of the Night.

You alone can make my song take flight.Help me make the Music of the Night.

________________________________________________________________________

Poetic devices in "Music of the Night": personification, imagery, alliteration, metaphor, simile, etc.

Songs as Poetry taskTo be completed in your scrapbook

Copy down the words to at least 3 songs.Label the examples of poetic devices found in each song (see list).Write a paragraph (50 words) explaining the theme and/or purpose of the song.

Note: * You must have at least 3 songs.* You must find at least 3 different poetic devices in each song.* Songs may not contain profanity or inappropriate content.

Poetic Devices: alliteration, ballad, elegy, irony, paradox, allusion, hyperbole, metaphor, personification, assonance, couplet, imagery, onomatopoeia, simile(Only some of these devices have been covered in class – you may like to explore those that we have not covered.)

Songs as Poetry taskTo be completed in your scrapbook

Copy down the words to at least 3 songs.Label the examples of poetic devices found in each song (see list).Write a paragraph (50 words) explaining the theme and/or purpose of the song.

Note: * You must have at least 3 songs.* You must find at least 3 different poetic devices in each song.* Songs may not contain profanity or inappropriate content.

Poetic Devices: alliteration, ballad, elegy, irony, paradox, allusion, hyperbole, metaphor, personification, assonance, couplet, imagery, onomatopoeia, simile(Only some of these devices have been covered in class – you may like to explore those that we have not covered.)