Assignment #5

Diction is word choice: vocabulary working with the distinct logic and flavor given it by particulars of phrasing and syntax. We say that there are levels of diction—from low to high: street, slang, colloquial, vernacular, plain-style, literate, eloquent, lofty. Terms toward either extreme may be negative, depending partly on the social situation of the person using them. Our diction reflects a stratified society, but it also reflects specialization. Every profession has its own vocabulary: think computer programmer, personal trainer, lit critic, ballet dancer, molecular geneticist, opera singer, policy wonk. Diction is an identifying characteristic, but not simply of class. To many poets, the boundaries between levels and types of diction are laws made to be broken—not disregarded, but intelligently transcended. Much of the energy in poetry comes from combining language from different sources, especially in English where Latinate and Germanic words smack of such divergent culture.

Consider how the diction in this poem plays against the reality of the situation… to what end?

Monologue of the Girl in the Refrigerator

To be last.
To find the best place
and stay, like God,
till the end;
reveal oneself only
when everyone confessed
the perfection of the absence.
We all agreed to that
intention.

But I went farther than anyone
away from the counting—
thousand one, thousand two—
nearer the county dump than parents
would permit,
rushing through pin oak, sumac, and speargrass,
till I came to this bin,
this dried up sinkhole, low in a weedfield,
and its crèche of abandoned appliances,
toppled washer, rusted mangle,
and an old refrigerator,
plump and empty as a grandmother,
and I climbed out of the air
into this indulging obscurity.

Now I know where heaven is.

My old places,
the crawlspace beneath the porches,
the leafpiles, and the dreamy midst
of Mrs. Romano’s unkempt lilac,
I leave for you, my playmates,
to learn and forget,
as for the sad-eyed bloodhounds I left
the scent of my Sunday pumps.
And for the one who will find me,
these directions to heaven—
it’s close,
close and dark,
and the door opens
just from your side.
-Adam Lefevre


READ: In the packet read the following pages with an eye to diction (LOOK UP WDS YOU DON'T KNOW...THERE WILL BE A QUIZ): 15,16,18,19,35,36,40,55,65-69 and in PAM: Levertov only 86-92

ASSIGNMENT#5

Translate the following without recourse to a translating dictionary or computer. In other words--make it up (feel free to take advantage of cognates that suggest meaning to you). Also, read aloud what you can make out from the syntax, punctuation, line-break and sound (as you interpret it). Feel responsible to the original poem (which is wonderful...), also feel responsible to your own poem. Note how this exercise moves you to consider the roots of language and to use words you might not normally (to what end?)--and if it doesn't... try it again. If you can read this as is, send me an email and I will find you a substitute. If this pains you--you are doing it right.

nattboksblad

Jag landsteg en majnatt
i ett kyligt månsken
där gräs och blommor var grå
men doften grön.

Jag gled uppför sluttningen
i den färgblinda natten
medan vita stenar
signalerade till månen.

En tidrymd
några minuter lång
femtioåtta år bred.

Och bakom mig
bortom de blyskimrande vattnen
fanns den andra kusten
och de som härskade.

Människor med framtid
i stället för ansikten.

TURN IN: New poems if you are up. Glosses to each other.