The poem is as follows:
Outside my window an English spring was
summoning home its birds and a week-long fog
was tattering into wisps and rags and at last
I could see the railings when I looked out.
I was a child in a north-facing bedroom in
a strange country. I lay awake listening to
quarreling and taffeta creaking and the clattering
of queens and aces on the inlaid card table.
I played a game: I hid my face in the pillow
and put my arms around it until they thickened.
Then I was following the thaw northward and the air
was blond with frost and sunshine and below me
was only water and the shadow of flight in it
and the shape of wings under it, and in the hours
before morning I would be drawn down and drawn
down and there would be no ground under me
and no safe landing in the dawn breaking on
a room with sharp corners and surfaces on which
the red-jacketed and cruel-eyed fractions of chance
lay scattered where the players had abandoned them.
Later on I would get up and go to school in
the scalded light which fog leaves behind it;
and pray for the King in chapel and feel dumbly for
the archangels trapped in their granite hosannas.
Have to admit, seems like an interesting piece of work by Ms. Boland, but I am having trouble with "TPCASTT"-ing this poem. Any help? (TPCASTT = Title, Paraphrase, Connotation, attitude, Shifts, Title, Theme).
THANKS!
Outside my window an English spring was
summoning home its birds and a week-long fog
was tattering into wisps and rags and at last
I could see the railings when I looked out.
I was a child in a north-facing bedroom in
a strange country. I lay awake listening to
quarreling and taffeta creaking and the clattering
of queens and aces on the inlaid card table.
I played a game: I hid my face in the pillow
and put my arms around it until they thickened.
Then I was following the thaw northward and the air
was blond with frost and sunshine and below me
was only water and the shadow of flight in it
and the shape of wings under it, and in the hours
before morning I would be drawn down and drawn
down and there would be no ground under me
and no safe landing in the dawn breaking on
a room with sharp corners and surfaces on which
the red-jacketed and cruel-eyed fractions of chance
lay scattered where the players had abandoned them.
Later on I would get up and go to school in
the scalded light which fog leaves behind it;
and pray for the King in chapel and feel dumbly for
the archangels trapped in their granite hosannas.
Have to admit, seems like an interesting piece of work by Ms. Boland, but I am having trouble with "TPCASTT"-ing this poem. Any help? (TPCASTT = Title, Paraphrase, Connotation, attitude, Shifts, Title, Theme).
THANKS!
