Diction & Theme Connections

Szymborska’s Diction

The Classic

A few clods of dirt, and his life will be forgotten.
The music will break free from circumstance.
No more coughing of the maestro over minuets.
Poultices will be torn off.
Fire will consume the dusty, lice-ridden wig.
Ink spots will vanish from the lace cuff.
The shoes, inconvenient witnesses, will be tossed on the trash heap.
The least gifted of his pupils will get the violin.
Butchers’ bills will be removed from between the music sheets.
His poor mother’s letters will line the stomachs of mice.
The ill-fated love will fade away.
Eyes will stop shedding tears.
The neighbors’ daughter will find a use for the pink ribbon.
The age, thank God, isn’t Romantic yet.
Everything that’s not a quartet
Will become a forgettable fifth.
Everything that’s not a quintet
Will become a superfluous sixth.
Everything that’s not a choir made of forty angels
Will fall silent, reduced to barking dogs, a gendarme’s belch.
The aloe plant will be taken from the window
Along with a dish of fly poison and the pomade pot,
And the view of the garden (oh yes!) will be revealed—
The garden that was never here.
Now hark! Ye mortals, listen, listen now,
Take heed, in rapt amazement,
O rapt, o stunned, o heedful mortals, listen,
O listeners—now listen—be all ears—


The varied diction of this poem is what makes it effective. While the poet does not use enjambment or particularly adventurous syntactical techniques, she creates interest with the word choice. Many of the lines are formed with the simple subject, verb, noun structure, but the complexity of the words chosen make the sentences appear more complicated.

This is a narrative poem, but it has lyrical qualities evidenced through Szymborska’s diction choices. The poem tells the story of a conductor dying, but does so in a sonically pleasing manner. Consider the first few lines, where the speaker describes the destruction of the conductor’s personal items. The conductor is never mentioned directly; instead Szymborska chooses strong, action-filled verbs and unique subject/verb combinations: “ink spots will vanish from the lace cuffs” creates a much more vivid image than “the conductor had ink spots on his cuffs.” Having ink spots on cuffs is really quite mundane, but the choice for subject/verb modifies this to produce livelier imagery. Szymborska consistently chooses verbs with motion:

Break
Cough
Torn
Consume
Vanish
Tossed
Fade
Shed

Another method that Szymborska uses to create a narrative poem with memorable images is recounting specific details. The line “butchers’ bills will be removed from between the music sheets” is specific enough to necessitate additional consideration, since “butchers’ bills” seems incongruous with the “music sheets.”

Everything that’s not a quartet
Will become a forgettable fifth.
Everything that’s not a quintet
Will become a superfluous sixth.
Everything that’s not a choir made of forty angels
Will fall silent, reduced to barking dogs, a gendarme’s belch.

Szymborska also uses repetition to create a rhythm; the repetition of “everything that’s not…” is followed by musical terms, and this makes the reader think of the repetition of the lines as mirroring the musical themes of the poem. In these same few lines, the author uses alliteration in a dramatic manner—clearly, the adjectives “forgettable” and “superfluous” were chosen in part because they shared the same beginning sound as “fifth” and “sixth.”

Now hark! Ye mortals, listen, listen now,
Take heed, in rapt amazement,
O rapt, o stunned, o heedful mortals, listen,
O listeners—now listen—be all ears—

In the final few lines, Szymborska adopts a diction that is different than the rest of the poem. Instead of describing the death of the conductor, these lines have a didactic tone that plays off of the need to listen and the traditional construction of old-fashioned music. “Hark” is not used in 21st century speaking, unless during December when singing “Hark the Harold Angels.” The construction with the repetition of “O” is also reminiscent of old-fashioned music.

One of Szymborska’s strengths is her ability to mold the diction of her poems to the subject that she is describing as well as the message that she intends to convey. She could have written a poem using familiar, 21st century conversational diction. Instead, she writes in a style that supports the subject of her poem.

Rhetorical Arguments

Last class, we discussed the three different areas/sectors of poetry: rhetoric, image, and diction. I came across this poem, which was interesting because unlike many of Szymborska's other poems, image does not play as prominent role--and rhetoric is much more important.

Certainty

"Thou art certain, then, our ship hath touch'd upon
the deserts of Bohemia?" "Aye, my lord." The quote's
from Shakespeare, who, I'm certain, wasn't someone else.
Some facts and dates, a portrait nearly done before
his death...Who needs more? Why expect to see
the proof, snatched up once by the Greater Sea,
then cast upon the world's Bohemian shore?

First of all, the syntax and diction of this poem are much less abrupt than some of the author's other poems. If read out loud, I don't know that the reader would necessarily know that it is poetry, not prose. And, the poem is only seven lines: it is like a snippet of a conversation that one might overhear. Next, the second half of the poem is strongly rhetorical--the speaker asks several questions that have strong argumentative undertones. While some of the diction is more descriptive--"snatched up" and "cast upon"--for example, the intention of the poem is to argue that Shakespeare was actually Shakespeare, not some other author. The intention is laid out very clearly, and the lack of inference needed on the part of the reader makes the poem atypical. Could this poem be made stronger with the addition of image and more "poetic" diction? Does it make an effective rhetorical argument? I think that the poem needs to be longer, since the reader is not given many details or analysis by the speaker of the poem.

Varied Points of View

One of the strengths of Szymborska's poetry is her ability to write effectively from a variety of points of view. Some volumes of poetry contain a number of poems with very similar themes, diction, structure, etc. To some degree, this is the "style" of the poet, and the reader does not expect a great degree of variance. It is refreshing, however, when a poet makes the effort to write poems from different perspectives. Here's a question: How much should we, the reader, expect a poet to deviate from their standard poetic style? Obviously, every poet develops subjects that they enjoy writing about as well as certain stylistic trademarks. Is the poet better off attempting to develop this trademark style, or should he or she experiment with other techniques? For those of you who have read Kay Ryan, for example: would the aggregate effect of Ryan's poems be lost if all of them were not so terse and laconic?

While Szymborksa writes from a variety of perspectives, the abrupt, direct tone is apparent in all of her work. We talked about translation earlier in the semester, and in light of our observations, I wonder how effective the translators were at transposing the tone of the Polish poems to their English counterparts. Assumablely, the poems were written with simple syntax and clear diction in Polish, but it seems as though it would not always be possible to translate it into English. The tone changes that result from point-of-view changes are often quite subtle, and such subtleties are often apparent in features that distinguish one language from the next.

Here are a couple of examples of her poems with different perspectives.


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I'm a tranquilizer.
I'm effective at home.
I work in the office.
I can take exams
or the witness stand.
I mend broken cups with care.
All you have to do is take me,
let me melt beneath your tongue,
just gulp me
with a glass of water.

I know how to handle misfortune,
how to take bad news.
I can minimize injustice,
lighten up God's absence,
or pick the window's veil that suits your face.
What are you waiting for---
have faith in my chemical compassion.

You're still a young man/woman.
It's not too late to learn how to unwind.
Who said
you have to take it on the chin?

Let me have your abyss.
I'll cushion it with sleep.
You'll thank me for giving you
four paws to fall on.

Sell me your soul.
There are no other takers.

There is no devil anymore.

This is an interesting persona poem; Szymborska does an excellent job creating emotion with something inanimate. The diction and syntax are characteristically simple and clear; this is appropriate, since the tranquilizer is speaking to someone who views taking a tranquilizer as an "easy out." The speaker is not directing thoughts toward someone having difficulty deciding whether or not to use a tranquilizer. The tranquilizer is given god-like abilities and presence; in fact, all of its powers make God's role unnecessary...the tranquilizer can help handle misfortune, take bad news, etc. This comparison is then underscored with the last lines in the second stanza: "What are you waiting for-- / have faith in my chemical compassion." At the end of the poem, the tranquilizer moves from a God-like role to a negative, devil-inspired role: "Sell me your soul. / There are no other takers. / There is no other devil anymore." Szymborska's demonstration of the relationship between religion and items with comparable effect makes the persona believable and interesting--and a more effective poem than one that just describes tranquilizers from the human perspective.

Here's another poem that is not exactly a persona poem, but that has an object speaking.

Falling from the Sky

Magic is dying out, although the heights
still pulse with its vast force. On August nights
you can't be sure what's falling from the sky:
a star? or something else that still belongs on high?
Is making wishes an old-fashioned blunder
if heaven only knows what we are under?
Above our modern heads the dark's still dark,
but can't some twinkle in it explain: "I'm a spark,
I swear, a flash that a comet shook lose
from its tail, just a bit of cosmic rubble;
it's not me falling in tomorrow's news,
that's some other spark nearby, having engine trouble."

This poem is unique syntactically; the first half of the poem is a series of questions. Usually, questions are not a very strong rhetorical device since they tend to lack image and concreteness. These, however, are have rich diction. In the second half of the poem, the star speaks. The fact that the star is speaking is secondary; the imagery ("cosmic rubble") is at the forefront. The idea of the star speaking is reminiscent of twinkle-twinkle-little-star, but the tone is kept lighthearted instead of silly. The poem has an AABBCCDD rhyme scheme, but there is not rhyme in the final four lines; this keeps the rhyme scheme from overwhelming the imagery, as well as distract from the sonic repetition ("comet shook lose"). I still am not sure, however, that this poem would not have been more effective with just a description of the star--is it "speaking" a worthwhile addition?

Wislawa Szymborska--No End of Fun, 1967

Wislawa Szymborska

Poems New and Collected—No End of Fun, 1967

This volume is a collection of the work of Szymborska, a Polish poet who won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1996. All of her poems are straightforward, with clear and conversational diction and syntax. Many of the poems describe familiar subjects or topics of the twentieth century—wars and changes in society. Additionally, Szymborska’s poems often have an abrupt tone that results from the stark style. She uses similes frequently, but does not use other figurative language or trope in abundance.

Consider this poem, “Report from the Hospital”:


Report from the Hospital

We used matches to draw lots: who would visit him.
And I lost. I got up from our table.
Visiting hours were just about to start.

When I said hello he didn’t say a word.
I tried to take his hand—he pulled it back
like a hungry dog that won’t give up his bone.

He seemed embarrassed about dying.
What do you say to someone like that?
Our eyes never met, like in a faked photograph.

He didn’t care if I stayed or left.
He didn’t ask about anyone from our table.
Not you, Barry. Or you, Larry. Or you, Harry.

My head started aching. Who’s dying on whom?
I went on about modern medicine ad the three violets in a jar.
I talked about the sun and faded out.

It’s a good thing they have stairs to run down.
It’s a good thing they have gates to let you out.
It’s a good thing you’re all waiting at our table.

The hospital smell makes me sick.

First of all, the stark tone of the poem matches the title, which suggests that the poem will be a no-frills outline of events. Usually, we don’t think of poetry as a “report,” but Szymborska has captured the essence of the situation without copious description.

The stark diction, with as few words as possible, helps create the disconnected tone as well. For example, the speaker does not even indicate who she is visiting—the person in the hospital is referenced only by “him,” “he,” and “someone.” None of the characters in the poem are described clearly; the reader is given no background or context. This makes the disconnection described in the poem more applicable to any situation, rather than just sickness in a hospital.

Szymborska does not mince words; she writes a narrative poem with the events laid out clearly. In some stanzas, the poem reads like prose: “I got up from our table. / Visiting hours were just about to start.” Szymborska uses mostly simple sentences instead of complex sentences with clauses; this helps create the robotic, distant tone. Additionally, the repetition of phrases suggests that the speaker is just going through a set of motions without emotion behind them. In the fourth stanza, the final line (“Not you, Barry. Or you, Larry. Or you, Harry.”) has sonic repetition, since Barry/Larry/Harry are all obvious rhymes. This heavy rhyme creates a sing-song quality that indicates lack of connection with reality, something that is understandable in a situation with sickness. The reader can imagine the stress inevitable with long, drawn out illness. In the next to last stanza, every line begins “it’s a good thing they…” Each of the lines then goes on to describe a method of escape from the hospital: stairs, an open gate, or other people. The last line of the poem—“The hospital smell makes me sick”—creates a clear contrast between what’s “good” (anything outside the hospital) and what’s “bad” (anything related to the hospital). It’s clear that the speaker considers events in black and white; not only are emotions few and far between, but the emotions that do exist in the poem are not shown in a large spectrum.

Untraditional Religious Themes

Progressive Health

We here at Progressive Health would like to thank you
For being one of the generous few who’ve promised
To bequeath your vital organs to whoever needs them.

Now we’d like to give you the opportunity
To step out far in front of the other donors
By acting a little sooner than you expected,

Tomorrow, to be precise, the day you’ve scheduled
To come in for your yearly physical. Six patients
Are waiting this very minute in intensive care

Who will likely die before another liver
And spleen and pairs of lungs and kidneys
Match theirs as closely as yours do. Twenty years,

Maybe more, are left you, granted, but the gain
Of these patients might total more than a century.
To you, of course, one year of your life means more

Than six of theirs, but to no one else,
No one as concerned with the general welfare
As you’ve claimed to be. As for your poems—

The few you may have it in you to finish—
Even if we don’t judge them by those you’ve written,
Even if we assume you finally stage a breakthrough,

It’s doubtful they’ll raise one Lazarus from a grave
Metaphoric or literal. But your body is guaranteed
To work six wonders. As for the gaps you’ll leave

As an aging bachelor in the life of friends,
They’ll close far sooner from the open wounds
Soon to be left in the hearts of husbands and wives,

Parents and children, by the death of six
Who are now failing. Just imagine how grateful
They’ll all be when they hear of your grand gesture.

Summer and winter they’ll visit your grave, in shifts,
For as along as they live, and stoop to tend it,
And leave it adorned with flowers or holly wreaths,

While your friends, who are just as forgetful
As you are, just as liable to be distracted,
Will do more than a makeshift job of upkeep.

If the people you’ll see tomorrow pacing the halls
Of our crowded facility don’t move you enough,
They’ll make you at least uneasy. No happy future

Is likely in store for a man like you whose conscience
Will ask him to certify every hour from now on
Six times as full as it was before, your work

Six times as strenuous, your walks in the woods
Six times as restorative as anyone else’s.
Why be a drudge, staggering to the end of your life

Under this crushing burden when, with a single word,
You could be a god, one of the few gods
Who, when called on, really listens?

Here is another example of Dennis’s variance in style. He uses direct address again, which is appropriate because it provides the sense of urgency that would be necessary to convince someone to die in exchange for the lives of six others. Additionally, almost every stanza is open; this indicates that the entire poem creates a single cohesive thought. The poem ends with a question mark; this is fitting since the poem questions the value of a single life in comparison to multiples lives.

The conversational tone allows the reader to flow through each of the stanzas and understand the general idea on the first read. The tone of the poem changes throughout; at the beginning, the poem is similar to an emotionally wrenching plea for money by a charity. The plea, however, is tongue-in-cheek: the idea of choosing to die so that six other people could have your organs is laughable…but as the poem continues, the reader realizes that there is some logic (and seriousness) in this proposal—isn’t, as the speaker suggests, the lives of six people more valuable than the life of one? This, I think, is the intention of the poem: a rebuff of selfishness, the poem makes us consider what effect complete selflessness would have. The lines that suggest that while the subject has only twenty years left, the combined total of those whose lives would be saved equals one hundred years is clever; it presents an argument that is surprising, yet intuitive. Why don’t people who will only live another few decades give up their lives in order to provide far more total years for half-a-dozen people? Selfishness: sacrifice is not in your best interest.

In the final stanza, Dennis relates the conceit of the poem back to the non-traditional religious themes of the volume. With a single word, the speaker emphasizes, that the subject of the poem could be a “god” who really listens. This implies that the traditional, Judeo-Christian god doesn’t listen, and it also suggests that one of the features of a “god” is to act as a savior. The poem is a secularization of traditional religious beliefs, yet it still relies on familiar religious ideas. The validity of the one Biblical allusion is quickly discounted: “It’s doubtful they’ll raise one Lazarus from a grave / Metaphoric or literal. But your body is guaranteed / To work six wonders.” Once again, Dennis succeeds in weaving poems that combine traditionally religious aspects as well as secular portions. Interestingly, these lines emphasize self-reliance by citing a Biblical example.

The title of this poem (“Progressive Healthcare”) as well as the title of the volume (“Practical Gods”) demonstrates the themes of the volume: spirituality is individualistic, the history of religion is important in developing religious beliefs today, and the best view of religion is the practical one.

A poem describing poetry

Eternal Poetry

How to grow old with grace and firmness
Is the kind of eternal problem that poetry
Is best reserved for, unaging poetry
That isn't afraid of saying what time will do
To our taste and talents, our angles of observation.
As for a local problem mentioned in passing
In this morning's news, like the cut in food stamps,
It's handled more effectively in an essay
With graphs and numbers. A poem's no proper place
To dwell on the prison reforms my friend proposes
Based on his twenty-year stint inside the walls.
In an essay there's room to go into details
So the State of New York can solve the problem
Once and for all and turn to issues more lasting.
Facing old age, the theme I'm developing here,
Will still be an issue when the failure of prisons
Interests only historians of our backward era.
A poem's the thing for grappling with the question
Whether it's best to disdain old age as a pest
Or respect it as a might army or welcome it
As a guest with a ton of baggage. Three options
That health-care professionals might deem too harsh
To appear in their journals. I wish they would help
My friend publish his essay on prison reform,
His practical plan to inspire the inmates
By cutting their minimum sentences if they master a trade
So they won't return, as is likely now, in a year or two.
The odds are long against getting the ear of the governor
But not impossible if he's only a year from retirement
And old age prompts him to earn a paragraph
In the history of reform. The bill might squeak through
If the Assembly decides it hasn't the wherewithal
To keep the old prisons in decent repair
Let alone build new ones. No money now
To pay the prison inspector what he deserves
As he makes his rounds in his battered pickup.
An old man shaking his head in disgust
As the roof leaks, peeling plaster, and rusty plumbing
That might have been avoided with a little foresight
And therefore don't deserve a place in a poem.
And to think he's been at it for thirty years
Despite his vow, after a month on the job,
To be out of it at the latest by Christmas.
Nobody's eager to wear his shoes
Unless we count the people inside the walls
Whose envy of those growing old outside
Is a constant always to be relied on,
And so can enter a poem at any time.


This is an odd poem--mostly because it seeks to describe what poetry should and should not be used for...by writing a poem about it. Dennis writes that poetry should be used for different kinds of "eternal problems." Is he implying that poetry should not be used for issues that are temporary? Certainly, poetry is most often used for describing and discussing abstract issues: love, death, life, passion, pain, etc. But, I think that poetry can be used to describe more temporary issues. Perhaps, however, even a temporary issue--like describing a sickness--could be viewed in terms of its "eternal" themes. I think that the line about "angles of observation" is a more accurate portrayal of poetry. The purpose of poetry is to take either mundane things and describe them as extraordinary, or, conversely, take difficult, abstract concepts and describe them in terms of everyday objects. That, I think, is what distinguishes poetry from prose.

Dennis' observation that "this morning's news" is handled more effectively in an essay with "graphs and numbers" is true. An article will convey the most news if the information can be related in prose. That said, many poems have a political angle, so it's not accurate to say that a poet must divorce current events and poetry completely.

Midway through the poem, the speaker states that "a poem's the thing for grappling with the question / Whether it's best to disdain old age as a pest / Or respect it as a mighty army." Right after these lines, the speaker enters into a long segment of discussing prison reform. This seemed completely contrary to his earlier assertion that "a poem's no proper place / To dwell on the prison reform." Why did Dennis make this statement...and then decide to discuss prison reform at length? Is he demonstrating that a poem about prison reform doesn't really make a very good poem?

The syntax and diction of the body of the poem contrast with the title. "Eternal Poetry" creates an image of a poem with abstract ideas and an erudite vocabulary. The text of the poem, however, uses simple, clear syntax and diction that are prose-like. Especially in the later half of the poem, it would be impossible to distinguish it from prose if read aloud. I do agree with Dennis here: if you are going to write a poem about an issue that would be found most often in prose form, then the poet should take pains to make sure that the poetry can be clearly marked as poetry. Lines like "I wish they would help / My friend publish his essay on prison reform" have few poetic qualities, and I think should belong in prose. Even the structure of this poem, which is not broken into stanzas, is similar to prose.

Now a few questions for you all to consider: Do you think that a poem is the best place to discuss what makes a good or bad poem? Are there certain topics that are unsuited for poetry? Does poetry need to rely on the abstract?

Religious Themes in "Practical Gods"

In a poetry volume titled "Practical Gods," religious-themed poems are certainly expected. Dennis does write poems with religious allusions and subject matter, but he does not necessarily take a specific stand or have a didactic tone, which I found surprising at first, considering the number of Biblical allusions.

For example:

The God Who Loves You

It must be troubling for the god who loves you
To ponder how much happier you'd be today
Had you been able to glimpse your many features.
It must be painful for him to watch you on Friday evenings
Driving home from the office, content with your week--
Three fine houses sold to deserving families--
Knowing as he does exactly what would have happened
Had you gone to your second choice for college,
Knowing the roommate you'd have been allotted
Whose ardent opinions on painting and music
Would have kindled in you a lifelong passion.
A life thirty points above the life you're living
On any scale of satisfaction. And every point
A thorn in the side of the god who loves you.
You don't want that, a large-souled man like you
Who tries to withhold from your wife the day's disappointments
So she can save her empathy for the children.
And would you want this god to compare your wife
With the woman you were destined to meet on the other campus?
It hurts you to think of him ranking the conversation
You'd have enjoyed over there higher in sight
Than the conversation you're used to.
And think how this loving god would feel
Knowing that the man next in line for your wife
Would have pleased her more than you ever will
Even on your best days, when you really try.
Can you sleep at night believing a god like that
Is pacing his cloudy bedroom, harassed by alternatives
You're spared by ignorance? The difference between what is
And what could have been will remain alive for him
Even after you cease existing, after you catch a chill
Running out in the snow for the morning paper,
Losing eleven years that the god who loves you
Will fill compelled to imagine scene by scene
Unless you come to the rescue by imaging him
No wiser than you are, no god at all, only a friend
No closer than the actual friend you made at college,
The one you haven't written in months. Sit down tonight
And write him about the life you can talk about
With a claim to authority, the life you've witnessed,
Which for all you know is the life you've chosen.

There are several techniques that Dennis uses that are unique.

First of all, the poem is in the second person--a direct address. Not very many poems are written in second person, and there's a good reason for this: it is difficult to pull off without sounding too preachy. What effect does the direct address have in this poem? While the speaker is not God, the second-person mimics God's commands, especially from the Old Testament. The prevalent use of "you" reminds the reader of the 10 Commandments, or any other part of the Bible where God lays down guidelines that when not followed, result in a worsened quality of life. "The God Who Loves You" has more of a reflective, melancholy tone than a didactic tone; this reflects Dennis' tendency to portray religion in more flexible terms. By having the speaker of the poem act as an intermediary between the subject (referred to as "you") and God, Dennis paints a religious picture different than the the traditional, archetypal view of God speaking forcefully and personally to humans.

Second, the repetition of the phrase "the god who loves you" throughout the poem underscores the non-traditional manner than Dennis views religion. "God loves you" is a familiar phrase, but Dennis uses it in an unfamiliar manner. In general, religion is portrayed as humans making sacrifices to God and then having to change their behavior to fit with the mandates of God. Humans are far more concerned about God's opinion of them than vice-versa. Yet, in this poem, Dennis portrays the opposite: God is pondering the happiness of the subject and is demonstrating insecurity and uncertainty, while the human is too busy to pay attention to the concerns of God. It's interesting that all of the references to "he"--referring to God--are not capitalized. (Traditionally, all of the pronouns would be.) The lack of capitalization brings God and the subject of the poem to the same level, like in the last stanza: "...by imagining him / No wiser than you are, no god at all, only a friend / No closer than the actual friend you made at college." In a way, the God that Dennis describes is contradictory: he is omniscient, which is in accordance with traditional Biblical beliefs ("knowing as he does exactly what would have happened") , yet he is also placated by the speaker describing life's events. This succeeds in breaking traditional "God" roles.

I thought that this was an interesting choice for the final poem of the volume. For a volume of poetry with mainly religious subjects, this poem advocates independence from God. This, I think, is the crux of many of Dennis' poems: spirituality is important and something worth analyzing, but the traditional religious viewpoint is not always correct or desirable. We see through Dennis' poems that he believes spirituality to be an everyday thing that is largely individualized. Consider these last lines of the poem: "With a claim to authority, the life you've witnessed, / Which for all you know is the life you've chosen." To end this volume with the word "chosen" is, I think perfect--throughout, Dennis has advocated a non-rigid conception of spirituality that centers around human choice.