Monday, April 21, 2008
The mock epic poem Don Juan is considered by many scholars to be Lord Byron's greatest work. What are your thoughts as to the literary worth of the fi
Judging from the overall canto, I would say the two cantos are indeed good poetry. I haven't read any of Lord Byron's other works or enough poetry for that matter to make a distinguished judgment on whether or not the cantos live up to the standards of outstanding poetry. I can tell though, from the satirical tone, to the various allusions and references, to the expressive language, that Byron certainly has reached very high in the world of poetry. The language of each stanza was relatively poetic yet simple enough for the reader to understand and be able to follow the canto all through. I found appealing the fact that Byron would use every chance he got for caustically criticizing the society, especially the aristocrats, through Don Juan's numerous experiences. He would criticize the hypocritical lifestyle that he once lead and indirectly states his opinion against it. This aspect is one of those that make Byron's poetry so original and unique.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
It's not much but here goes ( Remark: Both the stories mentioned are, like many others, true):
The "Promised" Land
Hot blood dribbles down a schoolbag,
As the tiny, dying body is rushed
To the nearest hospital.
Alas, there are none.
A mother wails as she watches
Her children's corpses set ablaze,
And slowly melt into each other.
Silently, she too puts herself to sleep.
A half burnt doll is left abandoned.
Carcasses lay piled up
Like garbage, ready for disposal.
This is how things are done here,
With a blind eye,
In the "promised" land.
These little caged birds had dreams.
If infants of this great nation
See no justice,
What is left for the generations to come?
Will there be generations to come?
Oh Holy Land,
There will come a time
Where your sun will shine.
Apologies for the "vivid" images but in the end, one has to convey the whole truth, avoiding euphemisms!
Hot blood dribbles down a schoolbag,
As the tiny, dying body is rushed
To the nearest hospital.
Alas, there are none.
A mother wails as she watches
Her children's corpses set ablaze,
And slowly melt into each other.
Silently, she too puts herself to sleep.
A half burnt doll is left abandoned.
Carcasses lay piled up
Like garbage, ready for disposal.
This is how things are done here,
With a blind eye,
In the "promised" land.
These little caged birds had dreams.
If infants of this great nation
See no justice,
What is left for the generations to come?
Will there be generations to come?
Oh Holy Land,
There will come a time
Where your sun will shine.
Apologies for the "vivid" images but in the end, one has to convey the whole truth, avoiding euphemisms!
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