I have chosen this outstanding poem "Death Alone" by Pablo Neruda because its saddly content of death makes me think about the other side of the coin.. This writter was born Parral, Chile. He studied in Santiago in the twenties. From 1927 to 1945 he was the Chilean consul in Rangoon, in Java, and then in Barcelona. He joined the Communist Party after the Second World War. Also, I chose this poem because it connects me with supernatural things which is the main topic of 102 ENG class.
Tone is a method of expression of felings and emotions that a writer use it in order to convey through its writting to readers.
Moreover, the tone in this poem applied by Pablo Neruda reflects his sadness and lonelyness related to death. In fact, his pain is to meet the other side of the coin when somebody is alive.
Symbolism is a way of appling symbols to describe things according to writer's topic. The symbolism in this poem have many signals that have relationship with feelings, places and things. All these signals of death are very impotant in the written description of the poem because it help readers to have a wide inmagination of things.
In conclusion, this poem tell readers about how much valious is life because when somebody is alive everything is fantastic, but when a human being died everything turns glommy. Thus, I believe that human beings have enjoy life to the maximun. It means having a great respect to life because there is only one.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Blog 2: Death Alone by Pablo Neruda
I have chosen this poem "Death Alone" by Pablo Neruda because this poem makes me think about how human beings' life is so valious. As a result, It makes me apreciate my life day by day.
Death Alone
There are lone cemeteries,
tombs full of soundless bones,
the heart threading a tunnel,
a dark, dark tunnel :
like a wreck we die to the very core,
as if drowning at the heart
or collapsing inwards from skin to soul.
There are corpses,
clammy slabs for feet,
there is death in the bones,
like a pure sound,
a bark without its dog,
out of certain bells, certain tombs
swelling in this humidity like lament or rain.
I see, when alone at times,
coffins under sail
setting out with the pale dead, women in their dead braids,
bakers as white as angels,
thoughtful girls married to notaries,
coffins ascending the vertical river of the dead,
the wine-dark river to its source,
with their sails swollen with the sound of death,
filled with the silent noise of death.
Death is drawn to sound
like a slipper without a foot, a suit without its wearer,
comes to knock with a ring, stoneless and fingerless,
comes to shout without a mouth, a tongue, without a throat.
Nevertheless its footsteps sound
and its clothes echo, hushed like a tree.
I do not know, I am ignorant, I hardly see
but it seems to me that its song has the colour of wet violets,
violets well used to the earth,
since the face of death is green,
and the gaze of death green
with the etched moisture of a violet's leaf
and its grave colour of exasperated winter.
But death goes about the earth also, riding a broom
lapping the ground in search of the dead -
death is in the broom,
it is the tongue of death looking for the dead,
the needle of death looking for the thread.
Death lies in our beds :
in the lazy mattresses, the black blankets,
lives a full stretch and then suddenly blows,
blows sound unknown filling out the sheets
and there are beds sailing into a harbour
where death is waiting, dressed as an admiral.
Pablo Neruda
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-alone/
Death Alone
There are lone cemeteries,
tombs full of soundless bones,
the heart threading a tunnel,
a dark, dark tunnel :
like a wreck we die to the very core,
as if drowning at the heart
or collapsing inwards from skin to soul.
There are corpses,
clammy slabs for feet,
there is death in the bones,
like a pure sound,
a bark without its dog,
out of certain bells, certain tombs
swelling in this humidity like lament or rain.
I see, when alone at times,
coffins under sail
setting out with the pale dead, women in their dead braids,
bakers as white as angels,
thoughtful girls married to notaries,
coffins ascending the vertical river of the dead,
the wine-dark river to its source,
with their sails swollen with the sound of death,
filled with the silent noise of death.
Death is drawn to sound
like a slipper without a foot, a suit without its wearer,
comes to knock with a ring, stoneless and fingerless,
comes to shout without a mouth, a tongue, without a throat.
Nevertheless its footsteps sound
and its clothes echo, hushed like a tree.
I do not know, I am ignorant, I hardly see
but it seems to me that its song has the colour of wet violets,
violets well used to the earth,
since the face of death is green,
and the gaze of death green
with the etched moisture of a violet's leaf
and its grave colour of exasperated winter.
But death goes about the earth also, riding a broom
lapping the ground in search of the dead -
death is in the broom,
it is the tongue of death looking for the dead,
the needle of death looking for the thread.
Death lies in our beds :
in the lazy mattresses, the black blankets,
lives a full stretch and then suddenly blows,
blows sound unknown filling out the sheets
and there are beds sailing into a harbour
where death is waiting, dressed as an admiral.
Pablo Neruda
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-alone/
BLOG 1: About Me
My name is Esteban Tapia and I live in Corona NY. I want to get my AAS degree in Liberal Arts in Math and Science because I want to get into the medicine school.
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