The tree. What does their use suggest? How is the use of this in line five, verse one connected to the bright enhaloed cloud? Wreathed with birds, shield and cool the lovers Before what? How to Unwrap a Poem. Quick Write What comes to mind when I say poetry? Why do some people think poetry is hard? Poetic Devices 25 Write the definition on the right column and the example under the vocabulary word on the left.
Poetry Notes There are many literary devices commonly used to enrich the meaning and sound of poetry. Similar presentations.
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Hone Tuwhare: Maori poet whose 'No Ordinary Sun' catapulted him to celebrity | The Independent
Her most searching examination of conscience is 'The Patriot', and she asks the question whether the farmer who volunteered with his horse to fight in the First World War had made as great a sacrifice as his partner who stayed behind to manage the farm, doing two men's work without glory or complaint.
As far as it goes it is a judicious question. But what she does not question is the rightness of ''l8 jingoism and because of this her story is denied the breadth that might have made it less parochial. One aspect of reality that the earlier writers did not examine was themselves and their own assumptions. If Katherine Mansfield had stayed in New Zealand it is possible that page her writing, in keeping with the moral climate of the country, would have been harsher and more austere, as it is in her early story, 'The Woman at the Store'. Expatriation was the price she paid for self-realisation as a writer, but imaginative repatriation is the impulse of some of her best later stories, those she wrote in homage to her young brother, killed in the war.
It is these stories that have most attraction to New Zealanders and yet if she is still probably the best-known of our writers outside New Zealand, she had little influence either on her contemporaries or on subsequent writers. She found a way for herself, but it was one that others could not follow.
Some tried, or hoped for, emigration.
It was almost impossible to get an imaginative book published at home—the population was not much over a million—and space for stories and verse in newspapers and magazines was limited, and sometimes unpaid. A generation of writers grew up who could only accommodate themselves to their situation by free-lance journalism and the hope of a book published in London, a market seen through a haze of outdated notions.
If England had been home to Butler and Lady Barker, it became Home to a generation fifty to seventy years later, even though they were born in New Zealand: their spiritual Hawaiki and, if they could make it, their spiritual Mecca.
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Of those who emigrated it is only those who either returned or maintained their imaginative connection with New Zealand who achieved anything— Jane Mander , Alan Mulgan , D'Arcy Cresswell , A. Fairburn , M. Those who stayed away—John Guthrie is the most distinguished of them—did not fulfil their promise: it was a mistake to think that their modest talents could transplant. Yet the dilemma was real enough, and there is ambiguity in Fairburn's comment on it, written after it had passed:. Look sharp, my boy, before the roots are down, before the equations are struck, before a face or a landscape has power to shape or destroy.
This land is a lump without leaven, a body that has no nerves. Don't be content to live in a sort of second-grade heaven with first-grade butter, fresh air, and paper in every toilet; becoming a butt for the malice page of those who have stayed and soured, staying in turn to sour, to smile, and savage the young. If you're enterprising and able, smuggle your talents away, hawk them to livelier markets where people are willing to pay. If you have no stomach for roughage, if patience isn't your religion, if you must have sherry with your bitters, if money and fame are your pigeon, if you feel that you need success, and long for a good address, don't anchor here in the desert— the fishing isn't so good: take a ticket to Megalopolis, don't stay in this neighbourhood!
The difficulty for the writer who stayed at home was to achieve imaginative integrity; working alone in an atmosphere of discouragement it was not easy to relate his literary inheritance to his actual experience, to sort out what experience was important to him and his neighbours, even to know how he felt about his experience.
It is not surprising that a number of minor talents with only their talents and a desire to write to sustain them were tempted into poses and pretensions—attitudinizing, sentimentality, trick endings, whimsy, fantasy: Ngaio Marsh and M.
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Holcroft in their early writing were not immune. Of a collection of twenty-five stories published in I find only four, none of them good, which strike me as reflecting anything real about New Zealand at all; of a collection of twenty published in again only four.
In one of them the driver and fireman of a train carrying the Governor-General get drunk and hit top speed for the boast of having given the Governor a fright. There is a colonial egalitarianism about it that rings true. In another, a Scots settler takes his bride to a sod hut on a farm, neglects her for the farm; she is bitter and is tempted to run off with his mate, who when he returns to claim her a year later finds her content and engrossed in a baby. In another, a young farmer's efforts to break in land are not appreciated by his family who want a town life; they leave and he stays to marry a local girl who he thinks will help him but her plans are to persuade him to sell up and move to town.
In the fourth, a man in the backblocks longs for escape to sea but is loyal to his responsibilities first to his mother and when he marries, to his wife and family. When his family grow up, he runs away as far as the Auckland waterfront, takes fright and goes home to find that his wife too has dreamt of freedom and left. I have said that these are not good stories, but they are the only ones in this collection in which the page plot derives from some reality in New Zealand life and is not a cliche or arbitrary construct set against a New Zealand background.
The greatest indignity, to my mind, was The New Zealand Artists' Annual produced by an unlikely combination of writers and cartoonists; alternately pretentious and apologetic, always self-conscious, it strikes a modern reader as wanting to demonstrate that the writer was a philistine like anyone else but he must be allowed his moments of soulfulness. Yet three years before this publication had started, one poet working alone and without audience had stoically achieved the miracle of dignity and integrity.
He had not left the country, had in fact written, 'I think I have no other home than this'. He had written some of these poems before he was nineteen, and he published them himself. The difficulty of his achievement is apparent in this poem; so is the fact that his allegiance was to an inheritance quite foreign to his immediate community:.
Shelley at last calm doth lie knowing 'whence we are and why'. Byron Wordsworth both are gone Coleridge Beddoes Tennyson. Housman neither knows nor cares how 'this heavy world' now fares. Little clinging grains enfold all the mighty minds of old. They are gone and I am here stoutly bringing up the rear. Where they went with limber ease toil I on with bloody knees. Though my voice is cracked and harsh stoutly in the rear I march. Though my song have none to hear boldly bring I up the rear. New Zealand now had the beginnings of a poetic inheritance of its own. Mason's example and that of Ursula Bethell—brought out by an obscure London publisher—and the fact that the depression of the 'thirties made young intellectuals question the hollow orthodoxies of their community, made it comparatively easy for a younger generation of poets to follow: A.
One of them set up the press, the Caxton, that was to publish them. A national inheritance of verse had been page established by , and if since a group of younger poets has challenged it, their position is still in relation to it. This group which includes James K. Baxter, Louis Johnson and Alistair Campbell and younger poets, see the development not as Mr Curnow has presented it as a search for reality culminating in Mason and the Caxton poets who have made the younger poets possible, but as a growth towards maturity and freedom from the preoccupations of time and place evident in those older poets.
They have concerned themselves more with urban and international themes and with urban personal relations. And yet I feel there has always been something unreal about the argument, except the spirit of gang warfare in which it has sometimes been conducted. It misrepresents Mr Curnow's performance both as editor and poet to say that the verse he admires or writes is concrete only in a local or regional way, or that the themes of Mason, Fairburn, and Glover have no more than local relevance; on the other hand, many of Baxter's and Campbell's poems are fairly precisely 'located' in the backblocks and some of Johnson's in suburbs of the welfare state.
There has, in any case, been no obstacle to publication. Since the inception of state patronage of literature after the war and Mr Johnson's foundation of the Poetry Yearbook, which he has edited since , poetry, if only because production costs are cheaper, has become the least difficult form of writing to publish; certainly easier to publish than it was in Mason's time.
Almost contemporary with the political defeat of the small farmers' party in , Frank Sargeson's sketches and stories began to appear in a left-wing journal Tomorrow, which ran for five years. Mr Sargeson's first sketches were modest and deceptively inconsequential. What strikes one about them at first is their unpretentiousness, their apparent artlessness; yet Mr Sargeson is a man deeply versed in an inheritance European, American and Australian. Seen against the stories in the collections I have mentioned the distinction of his is that they never overreach.
He set out to undermine respectability by exposing the dead tissue in the minds of the spiritually dead and revealing points of growth in the minds of the spiritually alive, whom he most often found among social outcasts and underdogs.
He had travelled, and returning had worked single-mindedly as a writer. He was more fortunate than Mason in that he soon found an editor and later a publisher the Caxton Press willing to publish him. In A Man and his Wife he had achieved a sense of identity and of audience; he could write for his community without the mediation of London, without the occasional self-consciousness one finds say in Robin Hyde or John A.
Mr Sargeson had done what Katherine Mansfield had not, had cleared some tracks that others might confidently follow: only his senior in age and date of first publication, John A. Lee, and his more-or-less contemporaries in first publication, Roderick Finlayson and John Mulgan, can be said to page be independent of him. Those who to a greater or lesser degree are indebted to him include Dan Davin, A. Mr Sargeson I think established—or at least extended—a tradition in New Zealand fiction of liberal humanism, tolerance, sympathy for the little man and an intolerance of pretension.
An outsider could say 'Well, you'll find all that in Fielding'. But it had to be done in local terms. Joseph , Marilyn Duckworth, Maurice Gee—have grown up independently of him, but it would be fair to say that their success would have been less possible without Frank Sargeson's break-through. There has not been among prose-writers the same polarisation into generations and factions as among the poets and Mr Sargeson's eminence is generally recognised.
I was surprised to find that the number of New Zealand writers of fiction of merit who have appeared since Sargeson is more than thirty.
http://argo-karaganda.kz/scripts/pezesevel/4111.php In the last seven years the market within New Zealand for New Zealand novels and stories has grown considerably. It reflects the fact that the country is going through an introspective phase, one of self-analysis and self-criticism. Jump to navigation. From a working class background at fifteen he was apprenticed as a New Zealand Railways boilermaker , his poetry was a form of socialism. Socialism, tribalism, worker solidarity, accusations of bastardising the Maori language: Hone Tuwhare was getting into hot water as far back as for his poetry and his beliefs: the then Minister of Maori Affairs censored an early Tuwhare poem because he was at that time a card-carrying Communist.
In the late Sixties he made common cause with the left-leaning Polynesian Panthers. He wrote poems about the Auckland waterfront strike, South African apartheid, nuclear testing in the South Pacific: Tuwhare was the activist as poet, giving many readings, his exuberant poems occasionally suggesting soapbox oratory on behalf of causes.
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