Best Entries for Semester 2 2007
Week 2: 2nd August 9:41pm
Binsey Poplars
I really enjoyed this poem when we discussed it in the tutorial last week.
The poem left a strong impression on me as it was the kind of writing that i didn't understand at first but then after reading it over a few times it all of a sudden made sense.
I understand it's about nature( or more specifically a tree) but i can relate to this poem because just as we "hack and rack" at the living which is not human, I can hack and rack at this poem until i finally reach the roots and only then can i completely relate.
By discussing the line "That, like this sleek and seeing ball, But a prick will make no eye at all", I could sense how passionate Hopkins writing really is. The comparison between the effect of someones eye being pricked when it is so tender and sensitive and with such a prick would take sight away from human, we can see how simply we proceed "to mend her" but instead "we end her", her referring to the tree but I also think it could be referring to nature as a whole.
The last 3 lines in the last stanza are very effective by the repetitive use of such words as rural, sweet, especial and scene used in a build up towards the last line " sweet especial rural scene", this concludes the poem, it makes the reader think, it makes the reader imagine. I could picture this scene in my head whilst reading these last lines. The image i saw was bare land and dust with a simple dazzling tree in the center, its leaves so green and fresh but as the moved your focus down the tree, you see it slowly withering and there are no trees around it. All the other forms of nature have died and the only thing that makes this scene so sweet is this single tree because it represents life.
This poem really allowed me to see it as more than just words on a page.
Week 4: Descriptive Language: 15th August 2007
The clock strikes 11:59 and suddenly the trees i see beyond, seem never ending.
The old withered buildings, visible in the dark of night only by few lanterns that lie in our meeting place.
Silence so sharp, the only sounds you hear are the haunting cries from within the structures of Port Arthur.
A cafe, once a place to see familiar faces, transformed into an indented display of bullet holes embedded deep with the horrific memories of the lives that were taken.
As you walk past the oak trees, once when young you played hide and seek and suddenly your informed of the shots fired at the innocent children who his behind this tree, found and murdered.
The clock strikes 12. There is no sound except for the imprinted screams and visions now situated in your concience.This place now a tourist adventure, once a never ending nightmare and yet Port Arthur remains.