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The Glass Essay Themes

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❶I was put on to it my friend Giant Sparrow. Well there are many ways of being held prisoner.

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She knows how to hang puppies, that Emily. I had never heard of Anne Carson before, nor the poem in question, but I will look her out now - thank you! Yay, thanks for you comment. I been really enjoying your blog. I was put on to it my friend Giant Sparrow.

Anne Carson is definitely worth checking out. I stumbled upon this blog as I am researching Jay Hopler's use of the long poem. Carson's The Glass Essay is one of the finest examples of the multi-sectioned poem.

I think it is my favorite poem as well. I like the idea of it being almost epic. No one else seems to have come across it, or Anne Carson, not around here anyway. I'm not at all familiar with Jay Hopler's work.

Presumably he uses long poems. I've just finished writing something about The Glass Essay for the New Zealand Poetry Society mag - kind of an expansion on what I said in the blog post - and it got me thinking about how I really like the breathing space that kind of length can give a poem.

How it can lead you, kind of slowly and quitely, to a place far from where you started. I've found that for a little while after reading The Glass Essay, other poems seem kind of stingy - pinched and ungenerous.

Do you write long poems? I've been writer longer poems, but nothing as long as The Glass Essay - much longest is about 10 or 11 A4 pages. Still too long to get easily published in literary magazines, but not long enough to be epic. I had a look at your blog, and have added it to my links list.

With that picture of the Jeep coming up right at the top reminded me of my very best friend Joeli, who was very into Jeeps. Though now that she has abandoned me to live far away in Scotland, she's gone and bought a land rover or range rover, I can't remember which.

Anyway, thanks very much for your comment, and all the very best with your research. I just typed a big message, but I don't think it went through. Thanks for the link. I will link this blog to mine as well. Maureen McLane on semi-autobiographical epic poems, narrative melodrama, and the dissociation of sensibility.

Anne Carson is a poet, essayist, professor of Classics, and translator. Prose Home Harriet Blog. Visit Home Events Exhibitions Library. I travel all day on trains and bring a lot of books—. Also my main fear, which I mean to confront. Mother and I are chewing lettuce carefully.

The kitchen wall clock emits a ragged low buzz that jumps. I have Emily p. A thousand questions hit my eyes from the inside. It is as if we have all been lowered into an atmosphere of glass.

Now and then a remark trails through the glass. Hairdresser in town found God, closes shop every Tuesday. That volcano in the Philippines at it again. Out the window I can see dead leaves ticking over the flatland. My mother speaks suddenly. I had not been in love before.

I fell on my knees on the rug and sobbed too. She whached God and humans and moor wind and open night. She whached eyes, stars, inside, outside, actual weather. To be a whacher is not in itself sad or happy,. Uninteresting, unremarkable, wracked by disappointment. Emily continued to brush into the carpet the question,. But in between the neighbour who recalls her. It goes skimming the deep keel like a storm petrel,. Yet her poetry from beginning to end is concerned with prisons,.

Well there are many ways of being held prisoner,. The bare blue trees and bleached wooden sky of April. Something inside it reminds me of childhood—. Crops of ice are changing to mud all around me.

Perhaps the hardest thing about losing a lover is. I can feel that other day running underneath this one. Law lived in a high blue room from which he could see the sea.

Time in its transparent loops as it passes beneath me now. When Law left I felt so bad I thought I would die. Each morning I sat on the floor in front of my sofa. Gradually I understood that these were naked glimpses of my soul. Like someone carefully not looking at a scorpion.

Emily was in the grip. Well there are many ways of being held prisoner. The scorpion takes a light spring and lands on our left knee. Pitiless too are the Heights, which Emily called Wuthering. I turn and start to recross the moor towards home. What kind of necessity is that? The last time I saw Law was a black night in September. Not enough spin on it,. Inside my chest I felt my heart snap into two pieces. Yes, I said as I began to remove my clothes. I turned my back because he likes the back.

Everything I know about love and its necessities. But to talk of mind and body begs the question. Soul is what I kept watch on all that night. That was a night that centred Heaven and Hell,. Brilliant as a spaceship it exhales cold confusion. My mother lives alone and eats little but her fridge is always crammed. Once I heard girls singing a May Day song that went: Violante in the pantry. Gnawing at a mutton bone. How she gnawed it.

How she clawed it. When she felt herself alone. We can see her ridding herself of it at various times. And when she was 14 and bitten by a rabid dog she strode they say. More than thirty years in the time of the novel,. That iron man was born like me. And he was once an ardent boy: He must have felt in infancy.

The glory of a summer sky. Out the kitchen window I watch the steely April sun. Liberty means different things to different people. I have never liked lying in bed in the morning. But as soon as the morning light hits my eyes I want to be out in it—.

I hear my mother in the next room turn and sigh and sink deeper. I peel the stale cage of sheets off my legs. Out on the moor all is brilliant and hard after a night of frost. The light plunges straight up from the ice to a blue hole at the top of the sky. Goblins, devils and death stream behind me. Perhaps this is what people mean by original sin, I thought.

I was presented with a nude glimpse of my lone soul,. But the Nudes are still as clear in my mind. Big glistening brown thorns with black stains on them. Woman with a single great thorn implanted in her forehead. Covering her head and upper body is a hellish contraption. With arms crossed as if pulling off a sweater. When you see these horrible images why do you stay with them? But by now the day is wide open and a strange young April light.

People do not always say what they mean, and men have a startling capacity to hurt her. Contact with Jim has stripped her of some of her childlike innocence, leaving her slightly more ordinary and damaged, like her unicorn. The other three characters in The Glass Menagerie are not as fragile and childlike as Laura; however, each of them has also lost a precious, youthful hope in the draining struggle to survive adulthood. The husband who deserted her has crushed her dream of having a simple, romantic life.

Tom yearns to write poetry and escape, but his helpless, needy family has forced him to take a factory job. Williams brutally reminds us that, when he finally does decide to begin an artistic career, Tom must abandon his family and stop paying the light bills.

In each case, exposure to the devastating economic and interpersonal realities of adult life reduces, saddens, and damages the characters in The Glass Menagerie. Each of the characters has surrendered major dreams:

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Discussion of themes and motifs in Anne Carson's The Glass Essay. eNotes critical analyses help you gain a deeper understanding of The Glass Essay so you can excel on your essay or test.

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“The Glass Essay” is an ambitious, inventive, thirty-eight-page series of interrelated poetic montages and meditations on the loss of love. This central theme is developed using three.

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The Glass Ceiling Essay. The glass ceiling refers to those artificial barriers based on attitudinal or organizational biases that prevent women from reaching the . Mar 30,  · In a recent comment about verse novels I mentioned The Glass Essay by Anne Carson. For the last few years, since I first read it, this has been probably my favourite poem. At least I think of it as a (long) poem. Possibly it’s verse novel, or maybe an epic poem.

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but wildly expressive poem, “The Glass Essay,” in which the narrator, while visiting her mother, meditates on a relationship gone bad, on English novelist and poet Emily Brontë (whom she is reading), and on a variety of other interrelated topics. The Glass Castle Summary Research Paper The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls Jeannette Walls is an aspiring journalist who is ashamed of her past. She grew up with three siblings who were going through the same difficulties as she was, and two parents whose idea of life was different from society.