Symbolism and Metaphor in Poetry
Symbolism and Metaphor in Poetry Assignment
Poem Analysis/Response to Poem
*Discuss how symbols or metaphors are used in the poem you chose for this assignment.
**Identify the key symbol(s) or metaphor(s) within the work.
***Explain the meanings they convey to readers.
****How do these elements enrich the poem and deepen your understanding of its themes?
Remember that claims in all parts of the assignment should be substantiated by excerpts from appropriate sources. Quotations, paraphrases, and summaries used in the assignment should be arranged according to APA rules of style, and in-text and reference citations should be provided, also formatted in APA style. Quoted material should never exceed 25% of the document.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning: HOW DO I LOVE THEE? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Yusef Komunyakaa: FACING IT
My black face fades,
hiding inside the black granite.
I said I wouldn’t,
dammit: No tears.
I’m stone. I’m flesh.
My clouded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night
slanted against morning. I turn
this way—the stone lets me go.
I turn that way—I’m inside
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
again, depending on the light
to make a difference.
I go down the 58,022 names,
half-expecting to find
my own in letters like smoke.
I touch the name Andrew Johnson;
I see the booby trap’s white flash.
Names shimmer on a woman’s blouse
but when she walks away
the names stay on the wall.
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird’s
wings cutting across my stare.
The sky. A plane in the sky.
A white vet’s image floats
closer to me, then his pale eyes
look through mine. I’m a window.
He’s lost his right arm
inside the stone. In the black mirror
a woman’s trying to erase names:
No, she’s brushing a boy’s hair.
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