Analysis of Sun-Up
Lola Ridge 1873 – 1941
(Shadows over a cradle…
fire-light craning….
A hand
throws something in the fire
and a smaller hand
runs into the flame and out again,
singed and empty….
Shadows
settling over a cradle…
two hands
and a fire.)
Cherry, cherry, glowing on the hearth, bright red cherry…. When you try to pick up cherry Celia's shriek sticks in you like a pin.
When God throws hailstones you cuddle in Celia's shawl and press your feet on her belly high up like a stool. When Celia makes umbrella of her hand. Rain falls through big pink spokes of her fingers. When wind blows Celia's gown up off her legs she runs under pillars of the bank— great round pillars of the bank have on white stockings too.
Celia says my father
will bring me a golden bowl.
When I think of my father
I cannot see him
for the big yellow bowl
like the moon with two handles
he carries in front of him.
Grandpa, grandpa…
(Light all about you…
ginger… pouring out of green jars…)
You don't believe he has gone away and left his great coat…
so you pretend… you see his face up in the ceiling.
When you clap your hands and cry, grandpa, grandpa, grandpa,
Celia crosses herself.
It isn't a dream…. It comes again and again…. You hear ivy crying on steeples the flames haven't caught yet and images screaming when they see red light on the lilies on the stained glass window of St. Joseph. The girl with the black eyes holds you tight, and you run… and run past the wild, wild towers… and trees in the gardens tugging at their feet and little frightened dolls shut up in the shops crying… and crying… because no one stops… you spin like a penny thrown out in the street. Then the man clutches her by the hair…. He always clutches her by the hair…. His eyes stick out like spears. You see her pulled-back face and her black, black eyes lit up by the glare…. Then everything goes out. Please God, don't let me dream any more of the girl with the black, black eyes.
Celia's shadow rocks and rocks… and mama's eyes stare out of the pillow as though she had gone away and the night had come in her place as it comes in empty rooms… you can't bear it— the night threshing about and lashing its tail on its sides as bold as a wolf that isn't afraid— and you scream at her face, that is white as a stone on a grave and pull it around to the light, till the night draws backward… the night that walks alone and goes away without end. Mama says, I am cold, Betty, and shivers. Celia tucks the quilt about her feet, but I run for my little red cloak because red is hot like fire.
I wish Celia
could see the sea climb up on the sky
and slide off again…
…Celia saying
I'd beg the world with you….
Celia… holding on to the cab…
hands wrenched away…
wind in the masts… like Celia crying….
Celia never minded if you slapped her
when the comb made your hairs ache,
but though you rub your cheek against mama's hand
she has not said darling since….
Now I will slap her again….
I will bite her hand till it bleeds.
It is cool by the port hole.
The wet rags of the wind
flap in your face.
Because you are four years old
the candle is all dressed up in a new frill.
And stars nod to you through the hole in the curtain,
(except the big stiff planets
too fat to move about much,)
and you curtsey back to the stars
when no one is looking.
You feel sorry for the poor wooden chair
that knows it isn't nice to sit on,
and no one is sad but mama.
You don't like mama to be sad
when you are four years old,
so you pretend
you like the bitter gold-pale tea—
you pretend
if you don't drink it up pretty quick
a little gold-fish
will think it is a pond
and come and get born in it.
It's hot in our street and the breeze is a dirty little broom that sweeps dust into our room and bits of paper out of the alley. You are not let to play with the children in the alley But you must be very polite— so you pass them and say good day and when they fling banana skins you fling them back again.
There is no one to play with and the flies on the window buzz and buzz… …you can pull out their legs and stick pins in their bodies but still they buzz… and mama says: When Nero was a little boy he caught flies on his mama's window and pulled out their legs and stuck pins in their bodies and nobody loved him. Buzz, blue-bellied flies— buzz, nasty black wheel of mama's machine— you are the biggest fly of all— you have the loudest buzz. I hear you at daw
Scheme | ABCDCEFXAXD X G DHDIHXI JGKXBJX X D LBEBGXXBDXCXEXHXX MXXXXKBXXLXMNFNBXXX E X |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 110010 1011 01 1100010 00101 101010101 1010 1 10010010 11 0010 10101010111101111111011101101 11111100110111101011101110101010111111110101111111011110101011110101111101 101110 1110101 1111110 11011 101101 1011110 1100111 11 11011 10101111 11011110101111 1101111110010 1111101111 101001 11001110100111101011001101101001011111101010111011100110111110110110111001001010111010101110011001001111111010110011011001011110010111111111011100111111011101111111110110110111 11101010111101011111010011100111101011111011010101111111101110010111011111011010110110110111001110101010111011111001010101010111111101101111110 1110 110111101 01101 1010 110111 10101101 1101 100111010 1010101110 1011111 11111101101 1111101 1111001 11101111 1111011 011101 1011 0111111 01011110011 011111010010 0101110 1111011 0111101 111110 1110101101 111101111 01111110 11110111 111111 1101 11010111 101 111111101 01011 111101 0101101 110101001101010111101101011101101011111110100010111110011111011101110101111101 111111100110101011111110110110111101011101010111111101001111011011001111110111011110011101011111010111111 |
Closest metre | Iambic octameter |
Characters | 4,526 |
Words | 863 |
Sentences | 43 |
Stanzas | 11 |
Stanza Lengths | 11, 1, 1, 7, 7, 1, 1, 17, 19, 1, 1 |
Lines Amount | 67 |
Letters per line (avg) | 50 |
Words per line (avg) | 13 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 306 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 78 |
Font size:
Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 4:24 min read
- 141 Views
Citation
Use the citation below to add this poem analysis to your bibliography:
Style:MLAChicagoAPA
"Sun-Up" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/25928/sun-up>.
Discuss this Lola Ridge poem analysis with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In