The unexplained glory flies above them, Great is the battle-god, and his kingdom— A field where a thousand corpses lie. Do not weep, babe, for war is kind. Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches Raged at his breast, gulped and died, Do not weep. War is kind. Swift-blazing flag of the regiment, Eagle with crest of red and gold, These men were born to drill and die. Point for them the virtue of slaughter, Make plain to them the excellence of killing, And a field where a thousand corpses lie. Mother whose heart hung humble as a button On the bright splendid shroud of your son, Do not weep. War is kind. 1. To whom is the author speaking? List the three specific groups he addresses. 2. Does he really mean that war is good? Explain how he contradicts himself. 3. Would you say that Stephen Crane is pro-war or anti-war? Why? 4. What line or lines speak to you most clearly? 5. Who do you think says, “War is kind?” Now compare Crane’s poem to: BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS! By Walt Whitman Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow! Through the windows—through doors—burst like a ruthless force, Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation, Into the school where the scholar is studying; Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must he have now with his bride, Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering his grain, So fierce you whirr and pound you drums—so shrill you bugles blow. Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow! Over the traffic of cities—over the rumble of wheels in the streets; WRITING ABOUT POETRY EXPRESS YOURSELF 109 Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? No sleepers must sleep in those beds, No bargainers’ bargains by day—no brokers or speculators—would they continue? Would the talkers be talking? Would the singer attempt to sing? Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge? Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder blow. Beat! beat! drums! —blow! bugles! blow! Make no parley—stop for no expostulation, Mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer, Mind not the old man beseeching the young man, Let not the child’s voice be heard, nor the mother’s entreaties, Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the hearses, So strong you thump O terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow. 1. To whom is the author speaking? Unlike Stephen Crane, Walt Whitman is not speaking directly to any person or group of persons. His audience is the drums and bugles of war and in telling them what to do, he is telling us of their consequences. List three or four consequences of the drums and bugles of war. 2. Explain how Whitman’s poem could be read as a positive call to arms. 3. Would you say that Whitman is pro-war or anti-war? Why? 4. What line or lines speak to you most clearly? Having answered these questions, see if you can use your responses to answer the following essay question: In an essay of approximately 750 words, compare and contrast Stephen Crane’s poem “War is Kind” with Walt Whitman’s poem “Beat! Beat! Drums!” Be sure to identify each poem’s theme (what the author is saying about the topic of war) and then use specific evidence from the poem to prove your points. Include discussion of the way each author uses repetition of words and/or phrases to give emphasis to his views. EXPRESS YOURSELF WRITING ABOUT POETRY 110 WRITING ABOUT POETRY EXPRESS YOURSELF 111 There are many levels on which you can be asked to write about poetry. In particular, you could be asked to explain a poem’s use of specific literary devices or discuss its theme. But no matter how detailed or spe- cific your assignment, you should not begin until you feel confident that you know what the poet is trying to say. You must first connect with the poem’s message before you can comment on its methods or its suc- cesses. For example, if you had not known that Emily Dickinson was talking about using her poetry as her voice to reach out to the world, would you have appreciated the way she chose her metaphor or expressed her need for recognition? If you had not stopped to consider that Whitman’s spider was just his way of help- ing us to understand his vision of poetry, would you have been able to see beyond a spider and his web? And if you do not appreciate the irony in Crane’s claim that war is kind, you will not be able to compare and contrast his vision of war as the awful consequence of politicians sending young men to die for causes they know or care little about. In short, writing in response to poetry should begin with your careful and thoughtful reading and re- reading of a poem. You should start by identifying what the poem is about and then try to identify the details that support your interpretation. Ultimately, you should be able to bring your own experiences and attitudes to your reading so that you can fully agree or disagree with the poet. Writing in response to prose, specifically fiction such as short stories, novels, parables, myths, and fables, is not unlike responding to poetry. You must first understand the literal significance of a story and then you can begin to probe its deeper meanings. In the next chapter we will look at two short stories to see how to respond to them. EXPRESS YOURSELF WRITING ABOUT POETRY 112 CHAPTER WRITING A BOUT PROSE (FICTION) JUST AS writing about poetry requires that you read carefully and thoughtfully, so does writing about fiction. You must concentrate and ask questions as you read. You may have to make a list of important vocabulary words as you go along, or you may have to underline or take notes in the text of words and phrases you think are important to the story’s meaning. This chap- ter will show you some important reading strate- gies that will help you become a better writer when responding to fiction. 113 ELEVEN WRITING ABOUT PROSE (FICTION) EXPRESS YOURSELF efore we even begin to examine a short story or novel, it is important to remember the four key ele- ments of all fiction: ➡ plot ➡ characterization ➡ setting ➡ theme The plot is the sequence of events that delivers the story. Characterization is how the characters of the story are portrayed. The setting is the place in which the story occurs. The theme is what the author is saying about the subject of the story. All four of these elements contribute to the story, but it is the theme of the story which is its heart and soul. Read the following short story by Kate Chopin. It is a very short story but it contains all the elements of good fiction. As you read, identify where the story takes place; underline the word or phrases that identify it for you. Next, underline the major characters’ names and the words that describe them. Finally, try to tell what the story seems to be about. What is it saying about marriage? About love? About loyalty? The Story of an Hour By Kate Chopin Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband’s death. It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences: veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband’s friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mal- lard’s name leading the list of “killed.” He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message. She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister’s arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her. There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul. She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window. EXPRESS YOURSELF WRITING ABOUT PROSE (FICTION) 114 B B She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep contin- ues to sob in its dreams. She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought. There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reach- ing toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air. Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will—as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath: “free, free, free!” The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the cours- ing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body. She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome. There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination. And yet she had loved him—sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in face of this possession of self-assertion which she sud- denly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being! “Free! Body and soul free!” she kept whispering. Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhole, imploring for admission. “Louise, open the door! I beg, open the door—you will make yourself ill. What are you doing Louise? For heaven’s sake open the door.” “Go away. I am not making myself ill.” No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window. Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long. She arose at length and opened the door to her sister’s importunities. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her WRITING ABOUT PROSE (FICTION) EXPRESS YOURSELF 115 sister’s waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bot- tom. Some one was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine’s piercing cry: at Richards’ quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife. But Richards was too late. When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease—of joy that kills. On its surface, the story is about a woman with a heart condition who learns that her husband has been killed. She goes to her room and is very upset, crying and remembering her husband. Then she cries out, “free,” and she feels both sad because her husband is dead but also joy that she is now free to be herself. Then her husband comes in the front door. He hasn’t been killed, and he is just coming home from work as usual. The woman has a heart attack and dies of shock. Sounds simple enough but there are some questions we need to ask. 1. What is Louise Mallard’s opinion of marriage? Can you find the line or lines that suggest it? 2. Why does Louise Mallard suddenly stop crying? Can you find the place in the text? 3. How does she feel about her future as a widow? Can you underline the place? 4. How do Louise’s sister and his friend, Richards, feel about the Mallard’s marriage? EXPRESS YOURSELF WRITING ABOUT PROSE (FICTION) 116 . and/or phrases to give emphasis to his views. EXPRESS YOURSELF WRITING ABOUT POETRY 110 WRITING ABOUT POETRY EXPRESS YOURSELF 111 There are many levels on which. to see how to respond to them. EXPRESS YOURSELF WRITING ABOUT POETRY 112 CHAPTER WRITING A BOUT PROSE (FICTION) JUST AS writing about poetry requires that