Thinking and Writing About Poetry

Alix Ingber
Sweet Briar College

Analysing a poem

Before attempting any kind of analysis you need to carefully read the poem several times. First read it aloud; then go through it again, as many times as necessary, until you feel you know --as best you can-- the literal meaning of what you are reading. If word order seems unusual or difficult to understand, you might want to try reordering the poem --using the same words and writing it out-- as a prose passage. It is essential that you be able to identify the verbs and objects that go with each subject, as this can often be confusing in poetry in any language, and errors of this sort can lead to serious misunderstanding.

The analysis below illustrates one method for analysing a single poem. It will be based on the different components of analysis presented in an earlier section of this introduction through the answers to the questions that follow. Note that the order has been changed to conform better with the specific circumstances of the poem.

1. Describe briefly the metrical characteristics of the poem. Is it in any kind of standard form? If so, make sure you include any characteristics not specified by the form.

2. Generally speaking, what is the poem about? Please note that you are not being asked here to paraphrase the poem's contents, but to simply describe the issues the poem deals with and, if appropriate, the conclusions the poet arrives at.

3. Review, with all relevant detail, the poem's poetic language and structure and how these function within the poem. It may be relevant to include any unique aspects of meter and rhyme in this section.

4. How do the language and other relevant characteristics described in question #3 uniquely contribute to the poem's impact on the reader?

5. Do you see this poem as a unified whole? If so, what element of the poem gives it this unity? If not, is there any element in the poem that works against such unity?

Sample: Analysis of a Single Poem:

Francisco de Quevedo:
Aconseja a un amigo, que estaba en buena posesión de nobleza, no trate de calificarse, porque no le descubran lo que no se sabe


Solar y ejecutoria de tu abuelo
es la ignorada antigüedad sin dolo;
no escudriñes al Tiempo el protocolo,
ni corras al silencio antiguo el velo

Estudia en el osar deste mozuelo,
descaminado escándalo del polo:
para probar que descendió de Apolo,
probó, cayendo, descender del cielo.

No revuelvas los huesos sepultados;
que hallarás más gusanos que blasones,
en testigos de nuevo examinados.

Que de multiplicar informaciones,
puedes temer multiplicar quemados,
y con las mismas pruebas, Faetones.


Advising a friend, secure in his nobility, not to investigate his lineage, so no one will find out what is not known

Without deceit your family's unknown past
is your estate, your forebears' pedigree;
don't scrutinize the registry of Time,
or part silence's veil of secrecy.

Just see what happened to that daring youth,
misguided spectacle of days gone by:
to prove that he descended from the Sun
proved, falling, he descended from the sky.

Don't tamper with your kin's long-buried bones;
you'll find more worms than crests residing there
when newly questioned witnesses tell all.

For with each bit of evidence you add,
you may find in the Inquisition's fire
a proof akin to Phaëthon's famous fall.

1. This poem is a soneto endecasílabo. Quevedo uses a scheme of rima abrazada (ABBA, ABBA) in the quatrains, and rima encadenada (CDC, DCD) in the tercets.

2. The poem's subject matter is clearly indicated in its title. Quevedo, with a good deal of irony, suggests that ignorance of one's lineage is better than, quite literally, opening up the "can of worms" of the genealogical investigation that might reveal some sort of problem. Quevedo emphasizes his theme by referring to the myth of Phaëthon.

5. The most important technique Quevedo uses in this sonnet --and what holds it together-- is alusion. There are really two types of allusion to examine here: the fairly conventional mythological references to Phaëthon, and the essential issue being addressed by this sonnet: the question of lineage and blood purity in Golden Age Spain. The latter was, for Quevedo and his immediate audience, an allusion to a contemporary reality that permeated the life of Spanish society at every level. For us, however, it becomes an historical allusion, and in order to deal with this poem we need to have some sense of what it was all about.

Having eliminated the last moorish kingdom on the Iberian Peninsula with the Reconquest of Granada in 1492, Spain was finally able to identify herself as a truly "Christian" country. The Jews were expelled from Spain in the same year, and the moriscos were expelled some years later. While many people of Jewish and Moslem ancestry had converted to Christianity and still lived in Spain as New Christians, the Inquisition was constantly on the alert to make sure that these people were not secretly reverting to the practice of their old religions, whether they had converted recently or their ancestors had turned to Christianity many generations before. A series of laws, the Statutes of Pure Blood, were enacted, some even before 1492. They were designed to protect certain institutions and organizations from "racial contamination," and simply prohibited any person with New Christian ancestry from holding certain kinds of jobs, belonging to certain kinds of organizations, and receiving certain kinds of honors.

There was the prevailing notion in Golden Age Spain that the nobility had more to worry about with regard to blood purity than the peasantry, since the upper classes were simply more likely to have intermarried with people of Jewish extraction. Unfortunately, it was often the case that an upper class Spaniard of Quevedo's day might want to join a very prestigious organization (the military orders were a common example) that required an investigation to produce an "ejecutoria," a document that detailed the results of that investigation. A successful investigation (certification of a person's Old Christian heritage) would guarantee social status and prestige. Should, however, such an investigation produce problems, or even questions, the individual involved would be completely discredited and lose all social status.

Quevedo likens the impulse to investigate one's lineage to the story of Phaëton. Phaëthon insisted, to prove to all that he was the son of Apollo, that his father allow him to drive the chariot of the sun. When Phaëthon could not control the chariot and started wreaking havoc on the world below, Apollo was forced to destroy him, striking with a thunderbolt and casting him down to earth --and to his death-- in flames. While references to Phaëthon as a warning against impulsiveness or excessive ambition were fairly common in Golden Age poetry, Quevedo's use of the allusion here is even more compelling, since Phaëthon's story is directly related to the question of lineage.

3. In order to make his point, Quevedo alternates references to genealogical investigations and to Phaëthon. The first quatrain and the first tercet deal with the matter at hand, and contain Quevedo's advice to not undertake such an investigation. The second quatrain and second tercet refer to Phaëthon, and tie his error --and his fate-- to the situation of Quevedo's friend.

The most striking figure in the poem appears in the second quatrain, where Quevedo introduces a dilogía, using the verb descender twice: first to refer to lineage, then to refer to falling. A similar technique is used in the first tercet, with the word gusanos. The notion that if you open up an ancient tomb you're likely to find more worms than coats-of arms is obvious in a literal sense, but the reference to worms also suggests something infected, contaminated. Finally, in the second tercet, Quevedo brings together his two allusions with the reference to fire, as the flames in which Phaëthon dies merge with the flames of the auto de fe : the possible fate of an overly ambitious Spaniard.

4. This is a poem with a clear message. In order to convey that message, Quevedo resorts to fairly straightforward language and syntax. This gives greater impact to the few devices he does use, which are all designed to underscore the theme.

Comparing Two Poems

The first steps you take when you compare two poems are essentially the same as those necessary for an analysis. In addition, you need to begin any comparison with a clear notion of why it is you are comparing these two particular poems. Do they have the same theme? Was one used as the basis for the other? Do they demonstrate two conflicting ideas? Do they both use the same allusions? There are any number of possibilities, and the terms of comparison will determine, to a certain extent, the questions you will want to answer.

The sample below compares two sonnets that have very similar themes. We will ask ourselves the following questions:

1. What do these two poems have in common? The answer to this question will establish the basis for comparison.

2. How are specific elements of poetic language and structure in each poem used to elucidate the theme?

3. Compare, using specific examples, the ways in which each poem's language and structure contribute to the poem's intellectual and/or emotional impact on the reader.

Sample: Comparison of Two Poems

Luis de Góngora: Infiere, de los achaques de la vejez, cercano el fin, a que católico se alienta

En este occidental, en este, oh Licio,
climatérico lustro de tu vida,
todo mal afirmado pie es caída,
toda fácil caída es precipicio.

¿Caduca el paso? Ilústrese el jüicio.
Desatándose va la tierra unida;
¿qué prudencia del polvo prevenida
la rüina aguardó del edificio?

La piel, no sólo, sierpe venenosa,
mas con la piel los años se desnuda,
y el hombre, no. ¡Ciego discurso humano!

¡Oh aquel dichoso, que la ponderosa
porción depuesta en una piedra muda,
la leve da al zafiro soberano!

Inferring, from the ailments of old age, that death is near, and as a Catholic takes heart

Now in this Occidental, Licïus,
this climacteric epoch of your life,
each uncertain step will be a fall,
and every easy fall a precipice.

Does your step falter? You must use your mind!
the wholeness of all matter falls apart.
What prudence ever clearly warned by dust
the ruin awaited of the edifice?

Not only does its skin, the venomous snake,
but with its skin its very years it sheds
and man cannot. How human thought is blind!

Oh, he's a lucky man, who giving up
his heavier part to rest on silent stone
the lighter to a sovereign sapphire binds.




Francisco de Quevedo:
Conoce la diligencia con que se acerca la muerte, y procura conocer también la conveniencia de su venida, y aprovecharse de ese conocimiento

Ya formidable y espantoso suena
dentro del corazón el postrer día;
y la última hora, negra y fría,
se acerca, de temor y sombras llena.

Si agradable descanso, paz serena
la muerte en traje de dolor envía,
señas da su desdén de cortesía:
más tiene de caricia que de pena.

¿Qué pretende el temor desacordado
de la que a rescatar piadosa viene
espíritu en miserias anudado?

Llegue rogada, pues mi bien previene;
hálleme agradecido, no asustado;
mi vida acabe, y mi vivir ordene.

Recognizing the diligence with which death approaches, and trying to recognize also the desirability of her arrival, and to take advantage of such recognition

Now formidably and frightfully resounds
within my heart the day when all will end
and now the last hour, black, and cold, and drear
approaches, full of shadows and of fear.

If pleasant rest, serene tranquillity
death offers me, dressed up to look like grief
her scorn to me resembles courtesy:
there's more caress in her than penalty.

What point is there so foolishly to dread
the one who comes compassionately to loose
a spirit who in misery lies chained?

I beg she come, my welfare she insures;
thankful may she find me, not afraid;
she'll end my life, my living she'll arrange.

1. These two Golden Age sonnets have similar themes: the poet's assertion that death, which is clearly approaching, should not be feared but welcomed, because it is the gateway to eternal life. Like all Golden Age sonnets, these have lines of eleven syllables. The rhyme schemes of the quatrains are identical: ABBA, ABBA (rima abrazada). Góngora's tercets use a form of rima encadenada with three rhymes (CDE, CDE), while Quevedo uses a rima encadenada with two rhymes (CDC, DCD).


2. As we look at the two sonnets more carefully, we realize that while the themes are very similar, there is a definite difference in emphasis. Góngora stresses the idea that one should prepare oneself intellectually for death, while Quevedo's focus is on the emotional conflict between fear and anticipation.

We can see this difference quite clearly in the quatrains. Góngora's first quatrain presents the terrifying nature of old age in terms of things, quite literally, "going downhill." This is accomplished by establishing a logical "chain," by means of a clímax to illustrate the dangers of old age: "todo mal afirmado pie es caída/toda fácil caída es precipicio." Quevedo, on the other hand uses his first quatrain to emphasize, through the senses of sound, sight, and touch the element of fear that death brings:

Ya formidable y espantoso suena
dentro del corazón el postrer día;
y la última hora, negra y fría,
se acerca, de temor y sombras llena.

In the second quatrain each poet introduces the second component of his view of death. Góngora refers specifically to intellectual preparation ("Ilústrese el jüicio") and then goes on to declare what the logical reaction should be to total physical collapse:

Desatándose va la tierra unida;
¿qué prudencia del polvo prevenida
la rüina aguardó del edificio?

Quevedo's second quatrain, on the other hand, serves to contradict the tone of fear he established in the first. There is a kindness in death that will bring us emotional rewards:

Si agradable descanso, paz serena
la muerte en traje de dolor envía,
señas da su desdén de cortesía:
más tiene de caricia que de pena.

Góngora, in his first tercet, again appeals to the intellect, partly by means of hipérbole: we are guilty of faulty of "blind" reasoning, he says, if we assume that we can emulate the snake which, according to Góngora, in shedding its skin also renews its youth. Quevedo's first tercet, referring to fear as something "out of tune" ("desacordado"), and to death in terms of a rescue from physical bonds, continues his appeal to the senses to make his point:

¿Qué pretende el temor desacordado
de la que a rescatar piadosa viene
espíritu en miserias anudado?

It is only in his final tercet that Góngora explains the point of his argument:

!Oh aquel dichoso, que la ponderosa
porción depuesta en una piedra muda,
la leve da al zafiro soberano!

Here he uses a series of techniques. The tercet contains two antitheses, contrasting both heavy with light (ponderosa, leve) and the mute stone with the sovereign sapphire. Moreover, none of these four terms involved in these antitheses can be taken literally. The "heavy part" is a periphrasis, an indirect reference to the body, just as the "light one" ("la leve") refers in a similar manner to the soul. The "mute stone," also a periphrasis, refers specifically to a tombstone, and perhaps more generally to the earth itself, while the "sovereign sapphire" is a metaphor in which elements of color, beauty, value, and power refer to heaven in terms of a precious blue (for the sky) stone.

In Quevedo's final tercet we also see a series of poetic techniques that bring the poet's statement to its conclusion.

Llegue rogada, pues mi bien previene;
hálleme agradecido, no asustado;
mi vida acabe, y mi vivir ordene.

Each line is divided into two phrases, setting up a parallel structure in which the first half of each line contains an indirect command, and the second half a reaction to that command. In the final line both halves contain indirect commands. The two final lines also contain antitheses: thankful/afraid (agradecido/asustado) and "end my life"/"arrange my living" (mi vida acabe/mi vivir ordene).

The sonnet's last line is exceedingly complex. It contains an example of dilogía, in which the word ordene clearly retains both of its possible meaning, comparable to the verb "to arrange" in English. On the one hand, says Quevedo, death orders, or mandates, or arranges for a new kind of life. On the other hand, death also puts into proper order, or arranges in that sense, one's life. Double meaning is also evident in the use of vida and vivir as antithetical elements: the first refers to phyisical life, the life of the body; the second refers to spiritual life, the life of the soul.


3. Interestingly enough, Góngora's thematic focus on the intellect is also reflected in his approach to the reader, while Quevedo's whose theme stresses feeling, has a more emotional effect on the reader. Góngora's language is exaggeratedly erudite and is organized using a series of extreme hipérbatos which add a sense of linguistic disconnectedness to Góngora's view of old age as the time when physical connections break down.

En este occidental, en este, oh Licio,
climatérico lustro de tu vida

Góngora's first hipérbaton separates two excessively erudite and latin-sounding adjectives, occidental and climactérico, with an apóstrofe directed toward an imaginary listener with a similarly latin-sounding name. The noun lustro, to which the adjectives refers, also has a latin ring to it. These are all words chosen for their sound and their inaccessibility to the ordinary reader, rather than for their meaning. None of these words would normally be used in the sense Góngora gives them in ordinary, spoken Spanish, and the reader has to work pretty hard to figure out just what Góngora is talking about. "Occidental" is not in itself an uncommon word, but here it is being used as a perífrasis. The west (Occident) is the place where the sun sets, and the "occidental" moment in one's life is its time of losing light or force: old age. The word "climacteric," whose roots, from the Greek word meaning "ladder" are the same as those of the word "climax," refers to a period in a person's life in which a major physical change occurs. While it is being used in a literally correct manner in this sonnet, it is not, to say the least, a word with which the reader would be familiar.

Desatándose va la tierra unida;
¿qué prudencia del polvo prevenida
la rüina aguardó del edificio?

Góngora's assertion that everything is falling apart unites, metaphorically, the wholeness of the physical world (tierra) to that of the human body, and is followed by two lines that seem to fall apart before our eyes. Rearranged without the hipérbatos those lines would read: "Qué prudencia, prevenida del polvo, aguardó la ruina del edificio? And once we have unravelled the word order we realize that the reader must again work hard to understand what Góngora is referring to. With the word prudencia Góngora uses the noun "prudence" in a metonimia to mean "prudent person," while the word polvo (dust) is being used in a similar fashion to refer to death: both dust in a biblical sense and the real dust that remains when all physical things fall apart. In the final line, once again, a ruined building stands in metaphorically for a decrepit body.

La piel, no sólo, sierpe venenosa,
mas con la piel los años se desnuda,
y el hombre, no. ¡ Ciego discurso humano!

The hipérbatos in the passage above are the most extreme in the poem. They would be reordered in comprehensible prose as follows: La sierpe venenosa no sólo se desnuda (i.e. pierde) la piel sino [también] los años. If human reason was blind before working on this passage, the very act of deciphering it --not to mention its message-- must in itself be somewhat illuminating. In fact, to make any sense at all out of much of this sonnet, the reader must follow Góngoras advice: Ilústrese el jüicio. Even the word muerte is absent in the poem. The reader will have to figure it out.

The Quevedo sonnet involves a very different sort of reading experience. While Góngora's approach might be said to overload the intellect, Quevedo's permeates the senses and emotions. Relatively free of hipérbatos, Quevedos lines have a ponderous, resonant, quality designed to produce a somber tone. The disconnectedness in Góngora is contrasted by a sense of continuity in Quevedo. The reader reacts strongly to this sonnet as a whole, rather than having to decipher it in pieces.

How, we are asked, does death make us feel? If in the first quatrain Quevedo attributes to the heart a sense of fear and loathing with such words as espantoso, negro, frío, sombras, and temor, in the second quatrain a new set of feelings is introduced with agradable descanso, paz serena, cortesía, and caricia:

Si agradable descanso, paz serena
la muerte en traje de dolor envía,
señas da su desdén de cortesía:
más tiene de caricia que de pena.

In the first tercet, the feeling of relief is added:

¿Qué pretende el temor desacordado
de la que a rescatar piadosa viene
espíritu en miserias anudado?

Finally, in the second tercet Quevedo adds a feeling of urgency:

Llegue rogada, pues mi bien previene;
hálleme agradecido, no asustado;
mi vida acabe, y mi vivir ordene.

It is perhaps interesting to note, as we come to the end of this comparison, that our conclusions with respect to these two sonnets give us a very different view of Góngora and Quevedo than what we get from the general statements we find in literary histories and anthology introductions. Góngora, we are told, is the sensualist; Quevedo is the intellect. Góngora, they say, is more concerned with the musicality of his language, while Quevedo relies more on the ingenious interplay of ideas. While we do find some confirmation of these views in our comparison (e.g., the confused "rhythm" of Góngoras hipérbatos; Quevedo's final statement of theme with a dilogía), this exercise has also served to make an important point: that each poem needs to be analysed in its own context and without reliance on the general summaries that are not based on concrete examples.