Adam Pilarski

The literary and erudite poem, "The Reading Club" by Patricia Goedicke is a rather nuanced work laden with allusions. In the first stanza, it is established that there is a reading club "dead serious" (1) about mounting a production of Euripides' tragic masterpiece, The Trojan Women (Martin, "The Trojan Women"). The stanza then helps to blur the line between art and reality that is pervasive throughout the remainder of the work. Specifically in line 4: "In Euripides' great wake they are swept up." In the use of allusion, the speaker makes the work in mention both current as well as, in its own right, timeless.

The second stanza describes the women of the chorus "in black stocking and kerchiefs." Given that the play concerns the widowed wives of the Trojan war, this establishment of mourning is an necessary one. The motif of a river is continued here, as it describes the women resisting the aforementioned "wake" of Euripides, specifically in "a foam of hysterical voices shrieking/Seaweed on the wet flanks of a whale" (7-8). Here, the continuous motif of the river warrants attention. It could be that the river is alluding to the Styx which, in Ancient Greek mythology, was the current that ran between the ethereal realm and that of Hades' Underworld ("STYX", Mythology). Indeed, in invoking this notion of mortality, it could be that the speaker is relaying their tale to the conventions of Ancient Greek tragedy. The genre was concerned with fatalism, and drew heavy emphasis on the predestined fate of human life. In comparing the women's screams to "seaweed on the wet flanks of a whale," they are being described as insignificant, small parts of a much larger whole.

In making the work all the more applicable, the speaker suggests that the characters who populate Euripides' play are abound in everyday life. The third stanza aptly describes Cassandra who, in both the work and mythology, had the ability to foresee the future. Her plight, however, was that her prophecies were never heeded (Martin, "The Trojan Women"). The speaker even describes the Cassandra of "every town" (9) as "[w]iser than anyone but no one listens to her" (11).

Stanza four continues to build on this allusion, identifying the universal, recognizable Andromache in every local community. In describing her as "too young/[w]ith snub nose and children just out of school," the speaker gives a deft nod to the Euripides' character (14-15). In the work, Andromache's child, Astyanax, is murdered by the conquerors (Martin, "The Trojan Women"). Moreover, Andromache is of a royal seed, being the daughter of a king. This makes lines 15 and 16 all the more potent, as more modern carnage is described, and it is clarified that even she is not exempt from its horrors.

Stanza five addresses one of the most well-known characters throughout many cultures, namely, Helen of Troy. She is described, in a relatable context, as a "tart" (17). Given that, in Euripides' work as well as common mythology, she was regarded as an exceptional beauty, line 18 provides a rather facetious rendering. Here, she is described as being coated in "all the makeup she can muster." Indeed, in Euripides, she is the subject of enmity and resentment, one of the primary reasons being that her beauty was the catalyst to set the war into place (Martin, "The Trojan Women"). To illustrate her as a woman of sheer vanity brings a relevant, and in its own way poignant, edge to the performance.

Stanza six builds all the more upon the context of the work itself. The women bring in a "huge gift horse" (22), which clearly refers to the famed Trojan Horse. The speaker then equates it with the play itself, saying that "no one dares to look in the eye/For fear of what's hidden there" (23-24). This suggests that the play is entertainment in disguise-in actuality, it reveals bitter and unpleasant truths about many aspects of the human condition that others prefer not to acknowledge.

Stanza seven applies some of the imagery relevant to the play in a modern, relatable context. In addition to describing the carnage of war in a contemporary setting, this section also evokes the inescapability of fate from the individual. "Small ragdoll figures toppling over...From every skyscraper and battlement hurtling/Men and women both, mere gristle in the teeth of fate" (25-27). The stanza then directly leads into the next.

Stanza eight seeks to illustrate how these women are still trapped within the story of the play itself, as well as powerless against its universal themes; "Inside Euripides' machine the women sway and struggle" (30). Rather cunningly, the speaker suggests that this is a multifaceted experience, with "grief piled on grief/strophe on antistrophe" (32). In Ancient Greek poetry, the "strophe" is the first section of the work itself, whereas the "antistrophe" is the second (Hathaway, "What Are Strophe and Antistrophe in Literature?"). This is intended to pick apart the structure of the text in performance itself, as well as the immediate, visceral experience it elicits ("grief upon grief").

The ninth stanza of the work continues to bring the theme of universality to the forefront. Indeed, line 33 opens with "In every century the same," to suggest the enduring applicability of Euripides' play. However, the allusions herein run even deeper into the historical context of The Trojan Women. In Ancient Greece, music was considered to be the embodiment of pathos. Pathos, broadly defined, encompasses all of the emotions of the human condition ("Music and Greek Theater"). In this stanza, Euripides' words are equated to musical keys (35). This is intended to illustrate the pathos which his work is clearly laden with.

The tenth stanza continues this trend, with a reference to an "accordion" (37). This instrument, or rather the word, is of contextual relevance. In Ancient Greece, the accordion was first constructed as a harmonica instrument-meaning, one which could be played with one's mouth. The very word "harmonica" comes the Greek "harmonikos," which roughly means musical and harmonic ("Accordion History"). Additionally, the instrument is described as "lacquered," which has more contextual relevance. In Ancient Greece, lacquer was the material used for the vases adorned with illustrations of famed myths (Burov, "Gh SECRETS OF ANCIENT POTTERS CRAFT"). This stanza helps to elaborate on how the history and antiquity of the play's historical context is brought to life and illuminated.

The eleventh stanza continues to description of the play. Of particular note, however, is the final line, in which modern science helps to justify the fatalism of the Ancient Greeks. In depicting the departure of the warriors, the speaker says that "these captain's of world's death/Enslaved as they are enslavers, in a rain of willess atoms" (43-44). In equating the individuals with atoms with no true free will, yet again, the speaker is reinforcing the Greek notion that humanity is of nominal importance on a cosmic level, with forces far greater than itself dictating the fabric of its existence.

The twelfth stanza then signifies the transition back to reality. It begins by describing how "Anonymity takes over utterly" (45). It could be that this indicates how the women of the production have sacrificed a part of themselves in performing the text. Consequently, at the conclusion of the performance, they are caught in an almost purgatorial state of being, in which they are neither themselves nor their characters. Indeed, for the second time since the title, the individuals are again identified as "The Reading Club" in line 47. It then describes the departure of the audience, as "Husbands and wives pile into the waiting cars" (48). That the speaker distinguishes them as "husbands and wives" could be significant, given the subject matter of the play itself.

The thirteenth stanza then shifts its focus to reality in contrast with that of the play. Lines 49 and 50 read as follows: "Just as we expect, life picks up and goes on/But not art..." These lines are, in their own respect, a self-reflecting nod to the poem itself. Given that the previous stanza described the crowd's departure, while still alluding to elements of Euripides' work, the potency of the work's pathos was heavily implied.

This is concluded in the last stanza, as the saliency of the work is elaborated on.

"For the next time we open, that magical false structure

Inside whose artifice is the lesson, buried alive,

Of the grim machinations of the beautiful that always lead us

To these eternally real lamentations, real sufferings, real cries."

Here, the thematic development of the poem itself reaches its final rapture. In saying that the emotions contained therein are "eternally real lamentations, real sufferings, real cries," it is suggested that there is reality within the work (56). This serves as an interesting contrast to line 55, which describes it as a "magical false structure." However, this stanza enacts precisely what the poem's use of allusion is intended to illustrate. In weaving the references of The Trojan Women throughout the poem, the speaker reinforces the themes and ideas contained within the piece itself.

In the first couplet of Donald Justice's "Psalm and Lament," the speaker establishes two patterns that are prominent throughout the duration of the work. The title itself is of particular note, as the structure and composition are dictated by the Hebrew poetic tradition of a psalm. The conceit of a psalm rests more in the relationship between two different lines rather than rhythm or rhyming. Additionally, this relationship is typically accentuated through parallelism. This is achieved when the second line is an elaboration of the first, either through contrast, clarification, or completion ("What Is a Psalm?" Bible.org). Consequently, repetition is used to stress thematically emphatic words to enhance an emotional rather than concrete structure. In this instance, "clocks" is repeated two times within the first line to stress the pain of transience. Given that Justice dedicated the poem to the memory of his mother, it might be assumed that mortality and recollection are both paramount to the poem's structure. This repetition serves a dual purpose, as it gives the speaker an almost infantile voice, particularly in the rudimentary way in which the sentiment is articulated: "The clocks are sorry, the clocks are very sad" (1). Moreover, the second line is intended to be a clarification of the first, following a parallel structure. "One stops, one goes on striking the wrong hours" (2). Here, an additional trope is introduced. The phrase "goes on" is used sporadically throughout the entirety of the poem, as it hopes to illustrate the persistence, and indeed, insuperability, of time and its passing. Specific to this couplet, "goes on" applies to the clock striking "the wrong hour," intending to illustrate the contrast of memory (the clock that "stops") and the progression forward of time (the clock that "goes on striking").

In the second couplet, the repetition of a word is then divided up into alternating lines. In this instance, "grass" is used in both the third and fourth lines, perhaps to suggest the earth under which a grave might lie. In the third line, we see an illustration of life under decay ("burns terribly in the sun"). The second line, however, suggests a more piercing penetration of the subject matter; "The grass turns yellow secretly at the roots" (4).

The third couplet sees two different uses of repetition. The first, namely that of "empty," occurs three times. This is applied to "the yard chairs" in the fifth line and the sky in both the fifth and the sixth. It is clear that, in repeating this word, the speaker evokes a kind of hollow sentiment; a feeling of nihilism and hopelessness, particularly with the mother's absence. This runs all the deeper when the second use of repetition, that of "the sky," is further considered.

"Now suddenly the yard chairs look empty, the sky looks empty,

The sky looks vast and empty."

The fact that the second line is, essentially, a repeat of the latter part of the first shows that there is a strong emphasis on a barren sky. It could be to suggest a celestial void, one lacking a heaven or any kind of providence. Yet again, the speaker helps to trap us in a place devoid of hope or any kind of inherent purpose.

Relating back to the contrasting nature of a psalm, the fourth couplet seems to provide just that.

"Out on Red Road the traffic continues; everything continues.

Nor does memory sleep; it goes on."

Starting with a specific, personalized element of the poem (namely "Red Road"), we have the first use of "continues" (7). Then, it is expanded to an opaque generalization which could be read as life within the community ("everything continues"). In repeating this word twice in the same line, the speaker evokes a feeling of powerlessness in the face of time. Similarly, when this process of continuation is applied to the individual, more broad spectrum of memory, we see the second use of "goes on" within the work (8). This is intended to provide a kind of juxtaposition between the persistence of mortal and ethereal matters, even in the face of death, and the insolubility of memory.

The fifth couplet builds on a similar notion of contrast between the two lines.

"Out spring the butterflies of recollection. 9

And I think that for the first time I understand." 10Here, the use of "recollection" helps to carry over the meditation on memory from the previous couplet. However, the contrast between the first line and the second lies in the revelation that is spurred throughout the poem. Given that this is one of the few couplets in the work to never directly repeat a noun, phrase, or verb, it could be argued that these two lines serve as a moment of clarity within the speaker. Even the language of the 10th ("...for the first time I understand") clarifies that something in his perception has shifted within him.

The sixth couplet, again abiding by the conventions of a psalm, provide an even more stark juxtaposition between their lines.

"The beautiful ordinary light of this patio 11

And even perhaps the dark rich earth of a heart." 12The most superficial layer within this piece is that the speaker has provided a blatant duality, namely that of "light" and "dark." To delve deeper, we see, in respective subjects, a distinction of exterior and interior states. The first being the yard with which the poem has largely concerned itself with, here indicated by the patio. Then, the revelation runs even deeper, as the speaker writes of the "dark rich earth of a heart" (12).

Couplets seven and eight are both contained within their own parenthesis, as if to isolate the both of them from the poem itself. This could be due to the fact that this is the only section to directly address, and indeed, illustrate, the scene of death itself, as opposed to the more broad, metaphysical meditations which were hitherto prominent.

"(The bedclothes, they say, had been pulled down. 13

I will not describe it. I do not want to describe it." 14Here, the repetition of the protestation within the second line, again, suggests a more regressive, almost juvenile pattern of speech. This could perhaps be used to illustrate the emotional tax that the matter takes on the speaker. Additionally, this regression helps to reinforce the notion of the stagnancy of memory (to the point where it consumes individual speech) and the inertia against time's progression.

In the eighth couplet, this grief is continued. While seemingly devoid of the patterns featured so prominently in other sections of the poem, it illustrates the very scene that the speaker so resolutely refused to describe. Here, the drama is reinforced through the assonance in line 16: "They were the very handkerchiefs of grief."

The ninth couplet rests, yet again, on contrast. The speaker claims to welcome summer, "with its schoolboy trumpets and fountains" (17). This rather uncharacteristically idyllic portrait of a romantic season is blunted by line 18, which, with emphasis states "But the years are gone, the years are finally over." Here, the repetition of "years" further stresses the pattern established within the first couplet. The first line, with an idealized description of summer, is the clock that "stops" in memory, whereas the second is the clock that "keeps striking the wrong hours."

The tenth couplet employs a rather poignantly-applied dropped line. Line 19 reads: "And there is only," with a firmly established space. The visual of the blank space in between lines 19 and 20 suggests the barrenness of speaker's world. Line 20 reads "This long desolation of flower-bordered sidewalks," within which the contrast of the previous line is built upon. In the idyllic world of nostalgia lies an emptiness, precisely because it's not rooted in the present moment. Similarly, the picturesque "flower-bordered sidewalks" being described as a "long desolation" accentuates the implicit nihilism contained within.

The eleventh couplet uses the precise repetition of words established in previous lines.

"That runs to the corner, turns, and goes on,

That disappears and goes on."

Yet again, these lines are a parallel to the patterns established in line 2. Line 21 mirrors the clock which "stops," namely, that of memory. As memory continues to progress and, in turn, "goes on," it is again implied that it persists. However, line 22 is the clock that "goes on striking the wrong hours." This is due to the fact that it disappears, just as the present moment is lost to the past. This connection is solidified through the overt repetition of the phrase "goes on."

The twelfth couplet, yet again, contains contrasts within the lines themselves, as well as with one another. In lines 23 and 24, the aforementioned flower-bordered sidewalks are described as going

"Into the black oblivion of a neighborhood and a world

Without billboards or yesterdays."

Firstly, line 23 juxtaposes a neighborhood with a world, resulting in a stark contrast between the intimate and infinite, the small and the vast. However, the poem's emptiness of time is further illustrated through the description of a "black oblivion," specifically one devoid of "yesterdays" (24). This suggests the futility of the future, the insuperability of mortality.

The thirteenth and final couplet has but one more distinct echo of the themes and ideas conveyed in the established patterns. The final line, specifically 26, reads "the years are gone. There are no more years." This suggests that, while the years may continue, those of memory render them hollow. Specifically, that they have gone and passed, and therefore, might as well have not transpired. These, then could be the "wrong hours" which pervade virtually every couplet of the work.

Tone and emotionality are utilized in a multitude of ways in Henry M. Seiden's "Men Say Brown." Similar to the literary devices employed in "Psalm and Lament," language is occasionally utilized to bring the audience to a more rudimentary stage of emotionality. However, the tone is in a frequent state of fluctuation and alteration. In the first stanza, there is almost an undercurrent of detachment. Even the opening is vaguely reminiscent of a headline: "On the radio this morning..." Additionally, there is an emphasis on lists: "coffee, mocha, copper, cinnamon, taupe" and figures: "275 colors-and men know eight" to give this particular section portion a kind of emotional distance (2-3).

This sense of aloofness dissipates in the awe suggested in the second stanza. The speaker employs grand, sweeping metaphors in relation to women's vast perception of colors. These include "Amazon of colors...an Antarctica of whites, oceans of colors...fields of color..." (4-6). The sheer scope conveyed within these figures of speech suggests a broad range of majesty. In contrast to this kind of admiration, the speaker still manages to integrate a kind of self-deprecating sense of vulnerability and inadequacy. This is detailed in the follow-up to every metaphor he uses, each containing a variant of "colors I might have said..." and one even blatantly stating "I'd stupidly call blue" (4-6). Here, there is a hint of an inferior sentiment, one that is directly related to the admiration with which the speaker seems to regard women.

This admiration is further built upon at the start of the third stanza. It begins with "From women, I've learned to love the browns, the earths, the dusts..." (8). This is used as an illustration of a high regard for the subjective sex. From this, the stanza devolves to a kind of melancholy. In describing "the colors brought out from the mines, hardened ones, hardened in fire I would call red," the author evokes a sense of foreboding, almost of malice. An additional sense of turmoil is evoked by the allusion to "the colors of the furies" (11). This is then assuaged, however, by the following line's description of "the reconciling colors of the cooling ash" (12). From an analytical standpoint, this could be seen as an illustration of a point of contention between man and woman. This is further reinforced by the invocation of the furies, who were underworld deities of wrath and vengeance in Ancient Greece ("STYX," Mythology). Regardless of the intellectual interpretations which may be projected, the emotional resonance is felt as one of fury, but concludes with relief.

This fury is transfigured to a sense of loss, and profound sentiments and undertones of isolation and solitude. The speaker opens with "By myself..." and elaborates that he is incapable of discerning colors on his own (13). He then makes vague and oxymoronic distinctions in lines 14 and 15; "although it's a lonely, whitish black sometimes". This further heightens a feeling of aimlessness and alienation. A particularly keen portion of note, however, can be found within the dropped line in line 16. This denotes a definitive breaking from the previous line, in both subject and tone. From here, a vague sentiment of hope is felt. To specify: "like the color of sleep-the way dreams are lit by the light that's thrown from nowhere on the things you find in them" (18). The very use of the word "dreams" itself is interesting, particularly given that it is one typically affiliated with optimistic sentiments. Here, however, in describing the dreams as casting off illumination from within, he paints a portrait of a solitude which can still find its own glimmer. Therefore, the tone is an inherently hopeful one. It sees a rather quick shift, however, once the speaker gives a rather ambiguous image within a dream. An ambivalent creature, "brown or green," is either a turtle or a snake (19-20). This sense of uncertainty being illustrated within the speaker's self helps to render an unsettling tone within the audience. This can be attributed to the implicit associations the reader might have with each respected animal in question. A turtle is, generally speaking, a fairly benign and innocuous organism, with an inbuilt capability to shield itself from harm. A snake, however, is a comparatively menacing creature, carrying with it many biblical allusions as well as evolutionary ramifications. Regardless, however, the speaker ends the stanza with this much for certain: that the speaker is still wading in his solitude. He describes the being of the dream as "vulnerable, alone/swimming in water I would say was colorless" (22-23). That he describes the water as devoid of color is of particularly significant dramatic effect. This signifies that he is lost entirely within himself, devoid of all perception. Therefore, we are conclusively left with a sense of isolation with this stanza. The internal inquiries and introspection detailed prior further enforce this sentiment, and leave the reader feeling just as trapped within themselves as the speaker has indicated.

However, there is, immediately, a slight sense of relief within the next stanza. Having indicated that he has awoken to the "pale colors of the morning-no one has a name for those" (24). While his awakening provides an escape from the dreams of alienation, the colors of the morning are described as "pale" nonetheless. However, his loneliness is mitigated by the indication that there are no set descriptions applicable to the sensations he is experiencing. The remainder of the poem gives way to mellifluous, albeit simple descriptions. Describing a "white-rose white" that is seen in the "curtains, milks, the creams," the speaker continues to paint in broach strokes with his colors to evoke an almost intuitive, visceral response from his audiences (25-27). Finally, the work ends on a moment of grace, as the continuous description and relation of white back to other objects comes to "the cream of a galactic swirl before it turns to brown stirs it in the coffee, the faint drying oval on the silver of the spoon" (28-29). Here, there is elation, euphoria that a being is here to eliminate the sense of isolation. Within the faded and clouded perception of reality, an entire universe is created, one that is unfamiliar to the speaker "a galactic swirl" until it is dissipated by a wife's tender morning routine.

In W.S. Piero's complex and multifaceted poem, "Chicago and December," a multitude of themes run rampant. The speaker employs these through many different literary devices, particularly those with a root in diction categories. In the first three lines, assonance, consonance, and alliteration are all used to stress a kind of yearning.

"Trying to find my roost,

one lidded, late afternoon,

the consolation of color

worked up like neediness,

like craving chocolate," The fact that all of these devices are prominent throughout the course of merely three lines already creates a sense of claustrophobia. Words and language, and therefore expression, are confined to the rigid conventions which these lines adhere to. Furthermore, of particular note, is that the speaker is in search of his "roost." A "roost" is a place on which birds may perch themselves, particularly when they are in need of rest ("Roost" Def. 1a). The fact that the speaker is equating himself to a bird has further thematic relevance when he describes his afternoon as "lidded." One might affiliate a bird as being unbound, with their gift of flight granting them endless access to that vast, infinite sky. However, here, the speaker indicates that his existence is, indeed, a confined one. This sense of constriction is enforced all the more when the "consolation of color" is described as being one of "neediness," likened to "craving chocolate." Given the poem's title, "Chicago and December," it could be assumed that the speaker is lamenting the monotonous, monochrome urban life, coupled with the snow of December. If this is the case, then this first section paints a portrait of a stifling, industrialized development. A sprawling landscape that still puts its limits on the speaker's imagination. Variety, color, and frivolity are seemingly amiss. Therefore, the theme could be one of dehumanization, as the speaker is stifled by the growth around him.

In the second section, lines 6-12, the speaker finds himself in the Art Institute of Chicago. Building off of the previous lines, it would seem that he is taking solace in the color and creation around him. He mentions two works by name, the first of which being "The Kitchen Maid" (identified in the poem as "Servant") by Diego Rodrguez de Silva y Velzquez ("About This Artwork." Kitchen Scene). The other work, notably different in subject and style, is "Self-Portrait," by Max Beckmann ("About This Artwork." Self-Portrait). The presence of these paintings in the poem seems to serve a purpose of sharp contrast. To begin with "The Kitchen Maid" depicts a mulatto servant busy at work, with a somewhat limited color scheme, containing shades of dark brown, white, and gold). The speaker specifies that she seems intent in placing "things just right" (9), as if to stress the effort with which she applies herself. The second, more modern work by Beckmann is his "Self-Portrait" from 1937. This piece is comparatively lavish, containing a more broad range of color, as well as a subject adorned with an attire suggesting affluence. Indeed, the speaker describes the subject's "fishy fingers" (10) as ones that "seem never to do a day's work" (11). Here, it could be that the speaker is commenting on the permeability of art. Continuing on the cold, sterile tone with which he has thus far set, the juxtaposition of subject matter within the paintings suggests stratification. Therefore, it could be that the poem is still illustrating the confines of both the urban life, and indeed the human condition. Even when there is seemingly no rigidity (with the devices used in the first section appearing far less prominent), elements of limitation still seep through. However, that the speaker suggests that his interest lies mostly in the color of this work implies that he might be seeking out a more primitive, simple state-one based more upon intuitive emotionality as opposed to complexity in thought.

In the third section, lines 13-17, this borderline nihilistic framing continues to pronounce itself. The speaker talks of the "great, stone lions" (13) that stand outside the library. He identifies them as "monumentally pissed/by jumbo wreaths and ribbons" (14). What is of note here is the irony, as well as the vulgarity, with which he describes the emotional state of the lions. The use of "monumentally" suggests that there is a profound enmity to their demeanor, all the while still employing vulgarity, such as "pissed." This gives the section a more raw, visceral undertone. This works effectively with the use of "municipal," which suggests a more formal, more administrative description. That such a formal adjective is paired with "good cheer" suggests that there is a kind of emptiness to the joviality implied by the wreaths and ribbons (16). This is all the more reinforced when line 17 suggests that this compulsory festiveness is being towed by the stone lions. In saying that it the cheer is "yoked around their heads," it suggests that it is harnessed upon them as they bring it forward. Indeed, the process of "yoking" two animals means to attach the two of them together, namely, with a harness ("Yoked" Def. 2). This further emphasizes the barrenness within the speaker's world. That, within this world, the supposed positive emotions are still every bit as manufactured and mechanized as the world around it.

The fourth section, lines 18 through 24, bring the reader back to the rigidity of the first section. To further emphasize the monochrome tone of the urban landscape, the speaker describes "[m]ealy mist. Furred air" (18). In this sense, "mealy" could be simply synonymous with "pale" ("mealy" Def. 3d). To describe the air as "furred," suggests that it dons a fur and, is thus, cloaked, and, consequently, not free but, rather, insulated. This is reinforced as the speaker continues with assonance, consonance, and alliteration.

"I walk north across

the river, Christmas lights

crushed on skyscraper glass,

bling stringing Michigan Ave.,

sunlight's last-gasp sighing

through the artless fog."

Here, we return to a sense of rigidity, of patterns and styles to enclose both language and expression. That the lights are assonantly described as "bling stringing" (22) further encloses the individual in the emphatically urban landscape. All of this is described as choking the sunlight; the organic, natural lighting within the sky, letting out its last breath in "artless fog" (24). Here, there is a thoroughly bleak portrait, one with no relief or hope of expression. The fog, which could also imply fatigue, is described as "artless."

In the fifth section, this pattern continues throughout lines 25-32. The devices used above are still employed, with a trope established in the first section being revisited.

"Vague fatigued promise hangs 25

in the low darkened sky 26

when bunched scrawny starlings27

rattle up from trees, 28

switchback and snag

29

like tossed rags dressing

30

the bare wintering branches,

black-on-black shining,"

31Building off of the previous section, to describe the sky as bearing "promise" that is simultaneously vague and fatigued, the celestial plane-again, typically associated with limitlessness-is described as being "low" and "darkened," perhaps by the disillusionment that pervades it. The speaker, however, continues his fixation on birds, painting an image of starlings being caught in the "bare, wintering branches" (31). That they are likened to "tossed rags" suggests that they are worn, spent, and no longer of use. This could be seen as a portrait of thorough disenfranchisement. This image, intended as metaphor, continues to develop the notion of entrapment, perhaps, in this sense, used as a stifling of the human spirit and imagination.

The fifth and final section details the speaker's observations of the individuals he sees throughout the urban landscape. He indicates that he observes them "from the sidewalk/watching them poised without purpose" (35-36). That they are identified as being poised suggests that they are in "preparation to do something" ("Poised," Def. 2). However, in declaring that they do so "without purpose," the speaker suggests that there is no inherent meaning in their readiness. Indeed, the further use of alliteration ("poised without purpose"), helps the subjects to be trapped within a cycle. This cycle is further touched upon in lines 37 and 38:

"I feel lifted inside the common

hazards and orders of things"In identifying the "common hazards and orders of things," there is a familiar monotony implied in "common," and an insuperable cycle implied in "orders of things." Given that the former is a vague, common generalization, its diction further reinforces how ingrained its conceptual basis is within the speaker's psyche. Lines 39 through 45, however, contain assonance and consonance intended to illustrate the continuation of this process.

"when from their stillness,

39

the formal, aimless, not-waiting birds

40

erupt again, clap, elated weather-

41

making wing-clouds changing

42

smithereened back and forth,

43

now already gone to follow

44

the river's running course."

45

In the final extension of the speaker's "birds" metaphor, they are all identified as "formal," as if distant and official. "Aimless," as, having established before, without any purpose. The continuous assonance and consonance within the description of the birds, while in action, further reinforces that they are trapped within a force beyond their power. Furthermore, that they are described as being "smithereened back and forth" suggests that they are being overpowered by the force at hand. Finally, that they are described as already following "the river's running course" suggests an almost natural strength greater than their own.

Works Cited

"About This Artwork." Kitchen Scene. The Art Institute of Chicago, n.d. Web. 18 Feb. 2015."About This Artwork." Self-Portrait. The Art Institute of Chicago, n.d. Web. 18 Feb. 2015."Accordion History." Accordion History. Accordions Canada, n.d. Web. 18 Feb. 2015.Burov, Yuri, Ph.D. "Gh SECRETS OF ANCIENT POTTERS CRAFT." Russian Science News. Informnauka, 31 Oct. 2008. Web. 18 Feb. 2015.

Hathaway, Amber. "What Are Strophe and Antistrophe in Literature? | The Classroom | Synonym." The Classroom. Demand MEdia, n.d. Web. 18 Feb. 2015.Martin, Luke. "The Trojan Women." The Trojan Women - Euripides - Ancient Greece - Classical Literature. Luke Martin, 2009. Web. 15 Feb. 2015.

"Mealy." Def. 3d. N.p.: n.p., n.d. Merriam-Webster. Web. 18 Feb. 2015."Music and Greek Theatre." Music and Greek Theatre. MusesRealm.net, n.d. Web. 18 Feb. 2015.

"Poised." Def. 2. N.p.: n.p., n.d. Merriam-Webster. Web. 18 Feb. 2015.

"Roost." Def. 1a. N.p.: n.p., n.d. Merriam-Webster. Web. 18 Feb. 2015.

"STYX : Greek Goddess of the Underworld River of Hate ; Mythology." STYX : Greek Goddess of the Underworld River of Hate ; Mythology. N.p., n.d. Web. 18 Feb. 2015.

"What Is a Psalm." Bible.org. N.p., n.d. Web. 18 Feb. 2015.PAGE 1