Deciduous

Annexing two
As one departs,
and turns one less few.
The amputation
of an umbilical
to mother nation.

But here-off
is started new truths,
new beginnings,
new futures--
clear-off--
in the distance.

The new union of two,
Peace-filled and diplomatic
Through and through.

Disillusionment at Ten O'Clock

Disillusionment at Ten O'Clock is exactly that. It seems like the poet is describing his own chaotic visions at ten o'clock. I don't like this poem at all. I'll just be blunt with it. From my point of view, it seems like the poet just made an organized jumble of ideas that are completely random just to match the idea of "disillusionment." Stevens does use parallel structure in lines 4,5,and 6, and it seems to me like that is the only useful things he does. After staring at this poem from a while, am I missing something? Or is it really that surface-y? Reading it even again makes me feel like this poem is a waste of ink and space. I want it to amaze in some way by showing me some sort of cool meaning or use, but there is nothing that lets me justify that. So I guess what I can milk from this piece is that he wrote this piece to display what his disillusioned vision at ten o'clock was.

A Study of Reading Habits

I feel like the author of this poem is talking about the phases in his life in which he reads, and does not. The first stanza is the first phase, when he is captured by earlier choices of reading. Clifford maybe? The second stanza proceeds to tell of the next phase, deep into science fiction and teen reading. Harry Potter comes to mind immediately. As well as the line included in the first stanza: "It was worth ruining my eyes," the second stanza responds with the line: "Later, with inch-thick specs...." That is one of the elements that tells me that with each stanza, time passes. With the last stanza he talks about how he doesn't read much anymore. He talks about how all of the old stories are just that--old. And at this point, in the last line, he seems to take a nihilistic stance. He seems to give up on books in an almost self-destructive manner. I sort of like how Larkin starts out with hope and shine and glimmer, and then he just burns it all to pieces by the end of the poem. It seems like the true path of literature: dwindling path of destruction. It's depressing, but in the way that makes one feel good.

Those Winter Sundays

     Oftentimes, I wish the title of this poem felt like it should right now on this night in November. When I read this poem, I think of a snowy morning that just makes you feel cozy inside. This, however, is not what this poem is about. Robert Hayden seems to be talking about his father from the perspective of a child in times that a furnace did not replace the hard work of a man to provide shelter and heat to his family. I assume that this setting existed in the past before such electricity was available. The poem is almost written as a recollection of his father when he was a child and he wished he had not taken him for granted. Just in the way he said, "No one ever thanked him," in the last line of the first stanza just depicts the fact that the father was the guy who was behind the scenes and kept doing what he would do for his family, even if he was never given appreciation. I noticed that the stanzas went from 5 lines to 4 to 3 to 2 in sequential order. I am currently baffled at the author's technique or strategy with using this structure, but I feel like it helped the poet to climax his last two lines: "What did I know, what did I know/ Of love's austere and lonely offices?" With out this countdown setup, I feel like the lines wouldn't have meant as much as they did or even have any impact to the audience, but it seems that Hayden "frames" these last words with his stanza structure.
     I found this poem interesting and heartwarming through the setting, although reminiscing and somber in tone. It just simply makes me think of Christmas morning.