A.P. Lit./ Comp: Poetry Unit 6 Blackberry Eating Galway Kinnell I love to go out in late September among the fat, overripe, icy, black blackberries to eat blackberries for breakfast, the stalks very prickly, a penalty they earn for knowing the black art of blackberry-making; and as I stand among them lifting the stalks to my mouth, the ripest berries fall almost unbidden to my tongue, as words sometimes do, certain peculiar words like strengths or squinched, many-lettered, one-syllabled lumps, which I squeeze, squinch open, and splurge well in the silent, startled, icy, black language of blackberry-eating in late September. Player Piano John Updike My stick fingers click with a snicker And, chuckling, they knuckle the keys; Light footed, my steel feelers flicker And pluck from these keys melodies. My paper can caper; abandon Is broadcast by dint of my din, And no man or band has a hand in The tones I turn on from within. At times I'm a jumble of rumbles, At others I'm light like the moon, But never my numb plunker fumbles, Misstrums me, or tries a new tune. Going to Extremes Richard Armour Shake and shake The catsup bottle None'll come – And then a lot'll A.P. Lit./ Comp: Poetry Unit 6 A Bird came down the Walk Emily Dickinson A Bird came down the Walk— He did not know I saw— He bit an Angleworm in halves And ate the fellow, raw, And then he drank a Dew From a convenient Grass— And then hopped sidewise to the Wall To let a Beetle pass— He glanced with rapid eyes That hurried all around— They looked like frightened Beads, I thought— He stirred his Velvet Head Like one in danger, Cautious, I offered him a Crumb, And he unrolled his feathers And rowed him softer home— Than Oars divide the Ocean, Too silver for a seam— Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon, Leap, plashless as they swim. The Word Plum Helen Chasin The word plum is delicious pout and push, luxury of self-love, and savoring murmur full in the mouth and falling like fruit taut skin pierced, bitten, provoked into juice, and tart flesh question and reply, lip and tongue of pleasure. A.P. Lit./ Comp: Poetry Unit 6 God's Grandeur Gerard Manley Hopkins The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil; 1 1. shaken gold foil It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil Crushed.2 Why do men then now not reck his rod?3 2. Crushed: olives crushed in their oil Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; 3. reck his rod: obey God And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod. And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; And though the last lights off the black West went Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs— Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings. The Pitcher Robert Francis His art is eccentricity, his aim How not to hit the mark he seems to aim at, His passion how to avoid the obvious, His technique how to vary the avoidance. The others throw to be comprehended. He Throws to be a moment misunderstood. Yet not too much. Not errant, arrant, wild, But every seeming aberration willed. Not to, yet still, still to communicate Making the batter understand too late. A.P. Lit./ Comp: Poetry Unit 6 Reapers Jean Toomer Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones Are sharpening scythes. I see them place the hones In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done, And start their silent swinging, one by one. Black horses drive a mower through the weeds, And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds, His belly close to ground. I see the blade, Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.