Analysis of The Things
Conrad Potter Aiken 1889 (Savannah, Georgia) – 1973 (Savannah, Georgia)
The house in Broad Street, red brick, with nine rooms
the weedgrown graveyard with its rows of tombs
the jail from which imprisoned faces grinned
at stiff palmettos flashing in the wind
the engine-house, with engines, and a tank
in which young alligators swam and stank,
the bell-tower, of red iron, where the bell
gonged of the fires in a tone from hell
magnolia trees with whitehot torch of bud
the yellow river between banks of mud
the tall striped lighthouse like a barber’s pole
snake in the bog and locust in the hole
worn cigarette cards, of white battleships,
or flags, or chorus girls with scarlet lips,
jackstones of copper, peach tree in the yard
splashing ripe peaches on an earth baked hard
children beneath the arc-light in a romp
with Run sheep Run, and rice-birds in the swamp,
the organ-grinder’s monkey, dancing bears,
okras in baskets, Psyche on the stairs—
and then the north star nearer, and the snow
silent between the now and long ago
time like a train that roared from place to place
new crowds, new faces, for a single face
no longer then the chinaberry tree
nor the dark mockingbird to sing his glee
nor prawns nor catfish; icicles instead
and Indian-pipes, and cider in the shed
arbutus under pinewoods in the spring
and death remembered as a tropic thing
with picture postcard angels to upraise it
and trumpet vines and hummingbirds to phrase it
then wisdom come, and Shakspere’s voice far off,
to be or not, upon the teacher’s cough,
the latent heat of melting ice, the brief
hypotenuse from ecstasy to grief
amo amas, and then the cras amet,
the new-found eyes no slumber could forget,
Vivien, the affliction of the senses,
and conjugation of historic tenses
and Shakspere nearer come, and louder heard,
and the disparateness of flesh and word,
time growing swifter, and the pendulums
in shorter savage arcs that beat like drums—
hands held, relinquished, faces come and gone,
kissed and forgotten, and become but one,
old shoes worn out, and new ones bought, the gloves
soiled, and so lost in limbo, like the loves—
then Shakspere in the heart, the instant speech
parting the conscious terrors each from each—
wisdom’s dishevelment, the purpose lamed,
and purposeless the footsteps eastward aimed
the bloodstream always slower, while the clock
followed the tired heart with louder knock,
fatigue upon the eye, the tardy springs
inviting to no longer longed-for things—
the birdsong nearer now than Shakspere’s voice,
whispers of comfort—Death is near, rejoice!—
remember now the red house with nine rooms
the graveyard with its trumpetvines and tombs—
play jackstones now and let your jackstones be
the stars that make Orion’s galaxy
so to deceive yourself until you move
into that house whose tenants do not love.
Scheme | AABX CCDD EEFF GGHH IIJJ KKLL MMNN OOPP XXQQ BXXA RRAX XXSS TTBX UUVV WWAA MMXX |
---|---|
Poetic Form | Quatrain (75%) |
Metre | 0101111111 01111111 0111010101 11110001 0101110001 011100101 01101110101 1101000111 010111111 0101001111 011110101 1001010001 10111110 1111011101 111011001 1011011111 1001011001 1111011001 0101010101 101010101 0101110001 1001010101 1101111111 1111010101 1101011 101101111 111110001 01001010001 1101001 0101010101 110110111 0101010111 110101111 1111010101 0101110101 1110011 10101011 0111110101 10000101010 001010101 011010101 0011101 11010001 0101011111 1101010101 1001000111 1111011101 1011010101 110010101 1001010111 110101 010001101 01110101 1001011101 0101010101 0101110111 01101111 1011011101 0101011111 0111101 11101111 01111100 1101010111 0111110111 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 2,783 |
Words | 469 |
Sentences | 3 |
Stanzas | 16 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 |
Lines Amount | 64 |
Letters per line (avg) | 34 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 138 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 29 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 30, 2023
- 2:20 min read
- 84 Views
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"The Things" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/7087/the-things>.
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