












Prepara tus exámenes y mejora tus resultados gracias a la gran cantidad de recursos disponibles en Docsity
Gana puntos ayudando a otros estudiantes o consíguelos activando un Plan Premium
Prepara tus exámenes
Prepara tus exámenes y mejora tus resultados gracias a la gran cantidad de recursos disponibles en Docsity
Prepara tus exámenes con los documentos que comparten otros estudiantes como tú en Docsity
Encuentra los documentos específicos para los exámenes de tu universidad
Estudia con lecciones y exámenes resueltos basados en los programas académicos de las mejores universidades
Responde a preguntas de exámenes reales y pon a prueba tu preparación
Consigue puntos base para descargar
Gana puntos ayudando a otros estudiantes o consíguelos activando un Plan Premium
Comunidad
Pide ayuda a la comunidad y resuelve tus dudas de estudio
Ebooks gratuitos
Descarga nuestras guías gratuitas sobre técnicas de estudio, métodos para controlar la ansiedad y consejos para la tesis preparadas por los tutores de Docsity
Asignatura: Comentari de texto literaris anglesos, Profesor: Jose Ramon Belda, Carrera: Filologia/Estudis Anglesos, Universidad: UA
Tipo: Apuntes
1 / 20
Esta página no es visible en la vista previa
¡No te pierdas las partes importantes!













A Refusal to mourn by Dylan Thomas Never until the mankind making Bird beast and flower Fathering and all humbling darkness Tells with silence the last light breaking And the still hour Is come of the sea tumbling in harness And I must enter again the round Zion of the water bead And the synagogue of the ear of corn Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound Or sow my salt seed In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn The majesty and burning of the child's death. I shall not murder The mankind of her going with a grave truth Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath With any further Elegy of innocence and youth. Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter, Robed in the long friends, The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother, Secret by the unmourning water Of the riding Thames. After the first death, there is no other. Jamás hasta que la humanidad hacedora de la bestia, el pájaro y la flor, del procrear y toda la oscuridad humillante, diga con el silencio la última luz rompiente y la hora tranquila haya venido desde el mar brincando en su montura, y yo deba penetrar de nuevo en el redondo Zion de la burbuja de agua y en la sinagoga de la espiga dejaré que la sombra de un sonido rece o sembraré mi simiente de sal en un mínimo valle de cilicio, por lamentar
la majestad y el arder de esta muerte de niña. No asesinaré la humanidad de su partida con una verdad grave ni blasfemaré por las estaciones del aliento con alguna tardía elegía de inocencia y juventud. Honda, con los primeros muertos yace la hija de Londres ataviada por los amigos perdurables los granos sin edad, las venas oscuras de su madre, secreta junto al agua sin quejas del Támesis jinete. Tras la primera muerte ya no hay otra.
my salt seed combines the two processes or events central to the poem: death (and mourning) and rebirth (and engendering). ‘Salt’ connotes tears shed in grief, ‘seed’ suggests the creation of life. valley of sackcloth suggests the ‘valley of tears’ (or life) one leaves when one dies and the cloth or garment worn by mourners or penitents. a grave truth takes an adjective, grave, usually associated with certain collocations or dead metaphors (‘a grave responsibility’, ‘a grave mistake’) and literalizes the adjective: in the context of the poem, a word like grave inevitably evokes/invokes a tomb, burial, coffin – thus, literally, death.
Ashtray From our superior vantage point, we can clearly see into a sort of dugout, possibly a shell crater, a "nest" of soldiers. They lie heaped together, wearing the camouflage "battle dress" intended for "winter warfare." They are in hideously contorted positions, all dead. We can make out at least eight bodies. These uniforms were designed to be used in guerilla warfare on the country's only snow-covered mountain peak. The fact that these poor soldiers are wearing them here, on the plain, gives further proof, if proof were necessary, either of the childishness and hopeless impracticality of this inscrutable people, our opponents, or of the sad corruption of their leaders. Central theme The effects of war, armed aggression of war and its human consequences, the shape suggest division: Items listed on the left (western,industrialized, modern) and events described on the right (Non‐western, rural backward) Co‐text The absence of specific context makes it easier for the reader to relate the poem to other wars, places and people. Based on Vietnam War Metaphors Words in the left (object from her desktop) Simile Like fish scales Style It tries to imitate a news bulletin gooseneck lamp: the lamp connects to the full moon and the light shed by both. The moon sheds „little‟ or „poor‟ light, suggesting the lamp also gives off dim illumination. In English, the expression „to shed light‟ has a literal and a figurative sense, meaning both to shed physical light in darkened surroundings and also „to clarify or illuminate‟ a situation or mystery. typewriter: the typewriter rows of keys anticipate the image of “those small, peculiarly shaped terraces”, connecting a contemporary (and urban?) object to a timeless (“What endless labor…”) and rural activity. pile of mss.: if we assume manuscripts to be white in colour, then this would connect to the image of the “white, calcareous, and shaly” soil. The last adjective – shaly – refers to “soft finely stratified rock […] consisting of consolidated mud or clay” ( Concise Oxford Dictionary ) and also reinforces the image of sheets of paper piled on top of one another. typed sheets: again, this reaches out to the image of “a large rectangular „field‟ […]. It is dark‐ speckled”, which recalls a sheet of paper covered in typed words resembling “dark‐speckled” marks. envelopes: the visual parallel is somewhat less obvious here, though references to „communications‟, „industrialization‟ and „sign‐boards‟ suggest a continued attempt to connect the practice of written communication to the environment (= entorno ) or world represented in the right‐hand text. ( Suggestion: you may not agree with this reading and see no connection at all between the left‐hand words and right‐hand envelopes. If this is your position, ask yourself, “what effect does this sudden break in connection between words and text produce? how should we interpret it?”).
ink‐bottle: the “mysterious, oddly shaped, black structure” for me echoes the shape of the ink‐ bottle I imagine the speaker to have on his/her desk or at least within his/her field of vision as h/she writes the “12 o‟clock news”. The blackness of the ink picks up the „little light‟ and „poor visibility‟ of the first paragraph. Here we are told that the moonlight is „feeble‟. The absence of proper illumination seems to suggest an inability to understand or relate to the events the speaker is describing. typewriter eraser: again, the imagistic or visual connections here are elusive. On the other hand, the presence of an eraser seems to anticipate the „erasure‟ of the life of the unicyclist‐courier. Note how indirectly the death of the cyclist is conveyed: “he appears to be – rather, to have been – a unicyclist courier, who may have met his end […]. Alive, he would have been …”. Death is expressed through the past, modal and conditional forms of the verb, rather than the simple present or a declarative statement. Note also that the typewriter eraser belongs to the left‐hand margin, the space most closely associated with the western speaker of the poem. Is the speaker suggesting that the west is responsible for the death of the cyclist yet, through the use of the conditional tense, refusing to accept responsibility? Is this a critique of western‐style (especially American) reporting which aims to be as „balanced‟ or „impartial‟ as possible? ashtray: perhaps the most striking equivalence between left‐ and right‐hand texts. The “„nest‟ of soldiers” lying “heaped together” and “in hideously contorted positions, all dead” vividly mirrors the image of an ashtray full of half‐smoked cigarettes or cigarette butts (= colillas ). Is the speaker saying that the dead war victims have no more significance for the west than cigarettes in an ashtray? Or is there another (implicit) attempt to implicate the west in the horrors of the war that it is perpetrating on “the elusive natives”? Note that the poem ends here with an unequivocal image of death, a theme which has only been suggested in previous „paragraphs‟. It‟s almost as if “12 O‟Clock News” has been building up to this final moment to give us the message: war kills. ( Suggestion: look for other examples suggesting death, e.g. the moon in the first paragraph “could be dead;” the reference to the landslide (= corrimiento de tierra ) in the second paragraph which appears to have produced “no casualties”; or the reference to the cemetery in the third paragraph). NOTES This poem seems to be about armed aggression or war and its human consequences. The shape of the poem itself suggests division and conflict: the items listed on the left are western, industrialized, modern, while the scenes and events described on the right are non‐western, rural, backward (according to the speaker). However, on closer reading this „binary opposition‟ is subverted by the seeming connections between the two halves of the poem indicated in the previous answer. The them/us binary suggested by the imperialist, condescending tone of the speaker (“this people”, “the elusive natives”, “From our superior vantage position”, etc.) and the visually separate texts, is undermined by the poem‟s strategy to make connections between its left and right hand. Is the poem, through its integrating strategy, suggesting that art (the attempt to give shape to experience) can redeem us from atrocities such as war? Text: even though there are no explicit references to a particular time, place or characters, Bishop‟s poem does allow us to locate ourselves: the title – “12 O‟Clock News” – invites us to situate ourselves in front of the TV or the radio listening to a news bulletin. This is not an event that could take place, for instance, in the desert or the Arctic Circle or in a swimming pool or an operating theatre (= sala de cirujía ). Bishop connects us to 20th century technology and casts the reader as the recipient/consumer of a particular product, probably from within his/her own home: the news bulletin and, within that, the war dispatch. This is a very familiar experience – think of news coverage of the wars in Iraq, Afghanistan, Somalia, etc. In fact, the absence of a specific
of being courted and despised; deep from raw throats a senseless order floats all over town. A rooster gloats over our beds from rusty irons sheds and fences made from old bedsteads, over our churches where the tin rooster perches, over our little wooden northern houses, making sallies from all the muddy alleys, marking out maps like Rand McNally's: glass-headed pins, oil-golds and copper greens, anthracite blues, alizarins, each one an active displacement in perspective; each screaming, "This is where I live!" Each screaming "Get up! Stop dreaming!" Roosters, what are you projecting? You, whom the Greeks elected to shoot at on a post, who struggled when sacrificed, you whom they labeled "Very combative..." what right have you to give commands and tell us how to live, cry "Here!" and "Here!" and wake us here where are unwanted love, conceit and war? The crown of red set on your little head is charged with all your fighting blood Yes, that excrescence makes a most virile presence, plus all that vulgar beauty of iridescence Now in mid-air by two they fight each other. Down comes a first flame-feather, and one is flying, with raging heroism defying even the sensation of dying. And one has fallen but still above the town his torn-out, bloodied feathers drift down; and what he sung
no matter. He is flung on the gray ash-heap, lies in dung with his dead wives with open, bloody eyes, while those metallic feathers oxidize. St. Peter's sin was worse than that of Magdalen whose sin was of the flesh alone; of spirit, Peter's, falling, beneath the flares, among the "servants and officers." Old holy sculpture could set it all together in one small scene, past and future: Christ stands amazed, Peter, two fingers raised to surprised lips, both as if dazed. But in between a little cock is seen carved on a dim column in the travertine, explained by gallus canit; flet Petrus underneath it, There is inescapable hope, the pivot; yes, and there Peter's tears run down our chanticleer's sides and gem his spurs. Tear-encrusted thick as a medieval relic he waits. Poor Peter, heart-sick, still cannot guess those cock-a-doodles yet might bless, his dreadful rooster come to mean forgiveness, a new weathervane on basilica and barn, and that outside the Lateran there would always be a bronze cock on a porphyry pillar so the people and the Pope might see that event the Prince of the Apostles long since had been forgiven, and to convince all the assembly that "Deny deny deny" is not all the roosters cry. In the morning a low light is floating in the backyard, and gilding
Synesthesia Gliding the tiny floating/ swallow’s belly/ and lines of pink cloud in the sky (marries visual to the tactile) NOTES Male culture is certainly represented as brutal, warlike and treacherous. However, this stereotypical masculinity gives way to a more nuanced ( =matizado ) portrayal of the masculine: the rooster image is ultimately linked to the theme of repentance (“ gallus canit;/flet Petrus ” stanza 32 ) and forgiveness (“his dreadful rooster come to mean forgiveness” stanza 35 ). Also, a more feminized morning takes over from the harshly masculine dawn, or appears to take over… The last line is ambiguous – are we among „enemies‟ or „friends‟? This ambiguity seems to be announced in the move away from the rigid masculine stereotype the roosters initially represent and the introduction of a gentler, alternative masculinity symbolized by a weeping and repentant Peter and a forgiving Christ.
our eyes glued to the cover of the National Geographic, February, 1918. I said to myself: three days and you'll be seven years old. I was saying it to stop the sensation of falling off the round, turning world. into cold, blue-black space. But I felt: you are an I, you are an Elizabeth, you are one of them. Why should you be one, too? I scarcely dared to look to see what it was I was. I gave a sidelong glance --I couldn't look any higher-- at shadowy gray knees, trousers and skirts and boots and different pairs of hands lying under the lamps. I knew that nothing stranger had ever happened, that nothing stranger could ever happen. Why should I be my aunt,
or me, or anyone? What similarities boots, hands, the family voice I felt in my throat, or even the National Geographic and those awful hanging breasts held us all together or made us all just one? How I didn't know any word for it how "unlikely"... How had I come to be here, like them, and overhear a cry of pain that could have got loud and worse but hadn't? The waiting room was bright and too hot. It was sliding beneath a big black wave, another, and another. Then I was back in it. The War was on. Outside, in Worcester, Massachusetts, were night and slush and cold, and it was still the fifth of February, 1918.
HEART OF DARKNESS