GCSE Revision 101

Guide to GCSE English Literature

Best Words Post-1914 Collection
Notes on the post-1914 poems

For the 2005 specification onwards

Contents
Long Distance Tony Harrison

The Sick Equation Brian Patten

I Shall Return Claude McKay

Blackberrying Sylvia Plath

Churning Day Seamus Heaney

13

War Photographer Carol Ann Duffy

15

A Martian Sends a Postcard Home Craig Raine

17

Bedtime Story George Macbeth

19

An Advancement of Learning Seamus Heaney

21

Once Upon a Time Gabriel Okara

12

Mirror Sylvia Plath

13

My Grandmother Elizabeth Jennings

14

Afternoons Philip Larkin

15

The Road Not Taken Robert Frost

16

Ballad of the Bread Man Charles Causley

17

Roe-Deer Ted Hughes

18

Long Distance Tony Harrison (born 1937)

Though my mother was already two years dead
Dad kept her slippers warming by the gas,
put hot water bottles her side of the bed
and still went to renew her transport pass.
You couldn't just drop in. You had to phone.
He'd put you off an hour to give him time
to clear away her things and look alone
as though his still raw love were such a crime.
He couldn't risk my blight of disbelief
though sure that very soon he'd hear her key
scrape in the rusted lock and end his grief.
He knew she'd just popped out to get the tea.
I believe life ends with death, and that is all.
You haven't both gone shopping; just the same,
in my new black leather phone book there's your name
and the disconnected number I still call.

Long Distance Tony Harrison

Long Distance is a poem which describes the way a father deals with the loss of his wife, and
the way his son handles the death of his parents after the father dies. The persona tells us
that he does not think the same as his father when it comes to death; he believes that life
ends with death, and that is all. However, when his father does die, he find himself soon
behaving in a very similar way to his father.
The first stanza shows us that the father is finding it tremendously difficult to cope with his
wifes passing, we are told that he still keeps her slippers warm by the gas for her, and hot
water bottles on her side of the bed. This could be because she always had water bottles,
but it could also be interpreted as the father arranging them to be a physical representation
of his wife so he would feel as though he is lying next to her, feeling the warmth of her
body. We learn in this stanza that the son was most likely closer to his father, because he
refers to his mother as mother (formal) and his father as Dad.
In the second stanza we learn that the father was ashamed of the way he was behaving.
There is an air of contrast between the fact that he denied the death of his wife, but was
entirely sure that the way he was behaving was erratic. However, the persona assures us
that acting this way was not strange as though his still raw love were such a crime shows
us there is nothing wrong with wanting her still there with him.
In the final stanza, the first line brings us back to death, and the word both in the second
line tells us the father has died too. He says you havent both gone shopping, which shows
us he is fully aware they are both dead and not coming back, yet we learn in the next two
lines he still rings his Dad, presumably to hear his voice. He is behaving exactly as his father
once did. The idea of phoning his dead father links back to the title, i.e. a long distance
phone call, it is no longer local.
The poem is written with an abab alternate rhyme scheme which changes in the final
quatrain to abba which automatically puts the focus of the whole poem on those final two
lines. Long Distance is a mixture of natural rhyme and colloquial speech, which makes the
poem seem simple at first, but a lot more significant upon second look. The everyday
language, and the rhyme of gas and pass shows us that Harrison is northern.
In the fourth stanza, the first line I believe life ends with death, and that is all suggests he
will not act as his father did, because he does not want to be like that he wants to move
on, but the other three lines after it tell us otherwise. The persona either hates himself for
doing what his father did, even though when his father did it he claimed it was nothing to be
ashamed of, or now understands why his father did it and is happy to continue behaving in
such a way but because the ending is ambiguous, we cannot know which.

The Sick Equation Brian Patten (born 1946)

In school I learned that one and one made two,
It could have been engraved in stone,
An absolute I could not question or refute.
But at home, sweet home, that sum was open to dispute In that raw cocoon of parental hate is where
I learned that one and one stayed one and one.
What's more, because all that household's anger and its pain
Stung more than any teacher's cane
I came to believe how it was best
That one remained one,
For by becoming two, one at least would suffer so.
Believing this I threw away so many gifts I never let love stay long enough to take root,
But by thinking myself of too little worth
I crushed all its messengers.
I grew - or did not grow And kept my head down low,
And drifted with the crowd,
One among the many whose dreams of flight
Weighed down the soul,
And kept it down,
Because to the flightless
The dream of flight's an anguish.
I stayed apart, stayed one,
Claiming separateness was out of choice,
And at every wedding ceremony I saw
The shadow of that albatross - divorce Fall over groom and bride,
And I took small comfort in believing that, to some degree
They too still harboured dreams of flying free.
I was wrong of course,
Just as those who brought me up were wrong.
It's absurd to believe all others are as damaged as ourselves,
And however late on, I am better off for knowing now
That given love, by taking love all can in time refute
The lesson that our parents taught,
And in their sick equation not stay caught.

The Sick Equation Brian Patten

A poem written about love, yet it is not romantic The Sick Equation focuses on the idea of
love breaking down and why the persona cannot get involved in relationships, because of
his parents relationship he suffered through in his childhood.
Patten learned at school that one plus one gave two because school was a place ordered
by rules whether this was rules of conduct or the cane, it was governed by them. But at
home it was a completely different story. Here, one and one remained one and one, of
course symbolising his parents staying apart. The fourth and fifth lines tell us that his
childhood was not filled with warmth, but anger, suffering and pain, which later reflected on
the rest of his life. The home, sweet home and raw cocoon of parental hate is a
juxtaposition of ideas which proves this. We learn that his parents cannot live together
because things will only be made worse, and would save all three of them a lot of pain for
the future but this was not really the case for the persona.
The start to the third stanza could mean that even though he was growing up physically and
in terms of age, emotionally he remained stationary. There is a key idea of flight in this
stanza, the mentions of dreams of flight, flightless and flights an anguish suggest that
flying away would provide a means of escape, escape being the thing he most needed.
I stayed apart, stayed one. This is a link back to the beginning of the poem, back to the
idea of 1+1 = 1+1 and means that he remained single, unable to get involved in a
relationship because he was scared of turning out like his parents, which he believed all
relationships did in the end. The idea of divorce always lingers, presented as the shadow of
that albatross (an albatross is usually the bird used to represent evil and burdens). Again
comes the theme of flight at the end of this stanza, They too still harboured dreams of
flying free.
The final stanza kicks off with I was wrong of course, which tells us how the persona finally
realised not all relationships inevitable end like his parents did, and he now regrets
resenting love and rejecting any signs of emotion that were offered to him.
The sick equation is obviously to do with the failure of the relationship here. However,
towards the end of the poem, we learn that the sick equation, like all other mathematical
equations, can be balanced. The key here is love it is love that can balance a sick equation,
and it is the lack of love which makes it sick.
The Sick Equation is written like an ordered speech, with a lot of enjambment, which reflects
Pattens flow of ideas on the matter. The rhyme scheme is occasional, with the odd rhyming
couplet. The out-of-place rhyming couplets are usually inserted to emphasise the
particularly emotional points to the poem.

I Shall Return Claude McKay (1881-1948)

I shall return again; I shall return
To laugh and love and watch with wonder-eyes
At golden noon the forest fires burn,
Wafting their blue-black smoke to sapphire skies.
I shall return to loiter by the streams
That bathe the brown blades of the bending grasses,
And realize once more my thousand dreams
Of waters rushing down the mountain passes.
I shall return to hear the fiddle and fife
Of village dances, dear delicious tunes
That stir the hidden depths of native life,
Stray melodies of dim remembered runes.
I shall return, I shall return again,
To ease my mind of long, long years of pain.

I Shall Return Claude McKay

With fourteen lines, this poem is a sonnet. Claude McKay was born into a poor Jamaican
family, and in adulthood, he moved to America to study farming, and it was here that he got
caught up in the time of the black peoples struggle to live in a predominantly white country
where equality had not yet been established.
The opening line already contains repetition of the title I shall return which proves
McKays determination to return to his home country one day in the future. And the second
line features alliteration in laugh and love and watch with wonder-eyes. These first four
lines or so take us back to his childhood, the third and fourth lines in particular which use a
number of colours (golden, blue-black, sapphire) which are most likely to describe the
landscape of his childhood in Jamaica. His memories are vivid and beautiful. The use of the
word loiter suggests time slowing down, passing by. This emphasises how he would rather
be at home time is much slower when he is away from his homeland.
The following line features yet more alliteration, bathe the brown blades of the blending
grasses. This is a description of the stream, which is described differently at its different
courses. Whilst here the gentle streams bathe, it rushes down the mountain streams,
which is a vivid contrast. There is more repetition of the title in the next line, and we are
told about McKay hearing the fiddle and fife reminds us of Jamaican music which
engages our sense of sound. The music strikes a deep chord with him and his people, and
McKay longs to hear it again in Jamaica, because hearing it in his own head is not quite the
same, because they come out dim remembered i.e. he has been away from the proper
music for so long he cannot truly remember the tunes.
The penultimate and final lines start with I shall return, I shall return again, which is a
repeated line to the first line. The long, long years of pain emphasise the length of pain he
has experienced as being an exile, a victim of racial abuse; and we are reminded of the
problems he will have faced as a black man in America at those times.
I Shall Return is a sonnet of 14 lines, consisting of three quatrains of abab alternate rhyming
ending with a rhyming couplet, much like some of Shakespeares sonnets. Notice that every
quatrain and the couplet begin with I shall return. It is this repetition throughout the
poem which emphasises his longing for returning home. It is a sensual poem which touches
on all five of our senses, not only do we have the vibrant colours of his Jamaican childhood,
but also the beautiful music, and so on.

Blackberrying Sylvia Plath (1932-1963)

Nobody in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blackberries,
Blackberries on either side, though on the right mainly,
A blackberry alley, going down in hooks, and a sea
Somewhere at the end of it, heaving. Blackberries
Big as the ball of my thumb, and dumb as eyes
Ebon in the hedges, fat
With blue-red juices. These they squander on my fingers.
I had not asked for such a blood sisterhood; they must love me.
They accommodate themselves to my milk bottle, flattening their sides.
Overhead go the choughs in black, cacophonous flocks --Bits of burnt paper wheeling in a blown sky.
Theirs is the only voice, protesting, protesting.
I do not think the sea will appear at all.
The high, green meadows are glowing, as if lit from within.
I come to one bush of berries so ripe it is a bush of flies,
Hanging their blue-green bellies and their wing panes in a Chinese screen.
The honey-feast of the berries has stunned them; they believe in heaven.
One more hook, and the berries and bushes end.
The only thing to come now is the sea.
From between two hills a sudden wind funnels at me,
Slapping its phantom laundry in my face.
These hills are too green and sweet to have tasted salt.
I follow the sheep path between them. A last hook brings me
To the hills' northern face, and the face is orange rock
That looks out on nothing, nothing but a great space
Of white and pewter lights, and a din like silversmiths
Beating and beating at an intractable metal.

Blackberrying Sylvia Plath

Nobody in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blackberries. Notice how this opening line
contains so much symbolism for emptiness and loneliness. The basic setting for the poem is
a blackberry lane, and the word blackberry is repeated frequently in the first four lines.
They are described as being big as the ball of [Plaths] thumb and dumb as eyes Ebon so
already we have two similes. The blackberries are said to squander, which is a rather
interesting choice of verb to describe them, it suggests they are ripe as they are picked.
Plath states she had not asked for a blood sisterhood but they still loved her. The fact that
it is a sisterhood suggests that she is saying nature is female. The final line of this stanza
personifies the berries as they accommodate themselves into the bottle. Somehow, they all
manage to fit exactly in.
The crows (choughs) are bits of burnt paper in the sky. Their cacophonous ways of
shrieking paint sound imagery in our minds, so Blackberrying is another sensual poem. They
are protesting, but we are not told why. We begin to wonder what it is troubling the crows.
Further along the stanza we encounter the first of a number of descriptive contradictions, a
bush of flies. To most people, a bush of flies would be horrible, but Plath presents it as
beautiful, it is used to describe the bush of extremely ripe berries. Why did she choose to
describe a bush of gorgeous berries as a bush of flies? The metaphorical description of the
blackberries as flies continues, with their blue-green bellies and their wings pictured as
Chinese screens. The use of honey-feast suggests the berries being sweet and ripe. Finally,
we reach the end of the blackberry lane. There are no more blackberries, but just the sea far
out in the distance. This point is marked by the word end which also conveniently lies at
the end of the second stanza.
A sudden wind appears, slapping its phantom laundry in her face which again sounds like
it should be a harsh experience, but the wind is fairly gentle with her, so a link with the bush
of flies. The hills are apparently too green to have tasted salt, which is personification of the
hills. They are also described as having orange faces, which is personification as hills do not
tend to have faces like cliff faces. Notice once again how they look out on nothing, nothing
but a great space. This is not only further repetition of the nothing from the opening line
of the poem, but also the use of great space depicts the massive emptiness of the bare
field.
The end of the poem is a lot more subtle than other poems, and there is a presence of some
sound imagery, with the mention of the silversmiths. Their loud beating and beating is
picked up on, the famous irritating noise. This is a harsh and cold ending to an otherwise
colourful poem (even if before the poem had depressing moments, they were written
gently).

10

We are aware of just how long the berry lane is because the sea is mentioned frequently, so
we are often reminded of how far she has travelled down the lane, and yet the sea is still so
far away.
There is no particular structure to Blackberrying and no set rhyme scheme because of this.
There is, however, a strong rhythm to the poem, perhaps created by the large content of
enjambment throughout the three stanzas of the poem.

11

12

Churning Day Seamus Heaney (born 1939)

A thick crust, coarse-grained as limestone rough-cast,
hardened gradually on top of the four crocks
that stood, large pottery bombs, in the small pantry.
After the hot brewery of gland, cud and udder,
cool porous earthenware fermented the butter milk
for churning day, when the hooped churn was scoured
with plumping kettles and the busy scrubber
echoed daintily on the seasoned wood.
It stood then, purified, on the flagged kitchen floor.
Out came the four crocks, spilled their heavy lip
of cream, their white insides, into the sterile churn.
The staff, like a great whiskey muddler fashioned
in deal wood, was plunged in, the lid fitted.
My mother took first turn, set up rhythms
that, slugged and thumped for hours. Arms ached.
Hands blistered. Cheeks and clothes were spattered
with flabby milk.
Where finally gold flecks
began to dance. They poured hot water then,
sterilised a birchwood bowl
and little corrugated butter-spades.
Their short stroke quickened, suddenly
a yellow curd was weighting the churned-up white,
heavy and rich, coagulated sunlight
that they fished, dripping, in a wide tin strainer,
heaped up like gilded gravel in the bowl.
The house would stink long after churning day,
acrid as a sulphur mine. The empty crocks
were ranged along the wall again, the butter
in soft printed slabs was piled on pantry shelves.
And in the house we moved with gravid ease,
our brains turned crystals full of clean deal churns,
the plash and gurgle of the sour-breathed milk,
the pat and slap of small spades on wet lumps.

13

Churning Day Seamus Heaney

This poem takes Heaney back to his childhood. Heaney grew up on a small farm, and
Churning Day takes us on a tour of the butter-making process. You can tell from reading the
poem that he enjoyed the process, and that there was nothing better for him that the
satisfaction of seeing the finished product turn out right.
There are four crocks, each with a hard crust formed on them. We know the crust is rough
and cracked from the simile coarse-grained as limestone rough-cast and the metaphor
pottery bombs further on creates excitement and readiness for the reader. There is a
good contrast description between the hot brewery and the cool earthenware, and the
word plumping is used, most likely to imitate the sound of the boiling kettles because the
word is onomatopoeic.
With a break, a new stanza means a new stage in the production process, and now the
crocks have spilled their heavy lip a personification of the crocks. The staff are like a great
whiskey muddler, which tells us that the process is similar to the making of whiskey and
that it is an equally (if not more) important process (we know this from the use of great).
Short, but powerful, sentences are used for effect later on: Arms ached. Hands blistered.
These tell us that a lot of hard work goes into it, but it is worth it in the end. It could be
argued that as the workers get cloaked in the splattered milk, they become both literally
and metaphorically immersed in the production process.
Into the third stanza, and the pace begins to quicken and there is yet more personification
as the gold flecks dance. It is almost a celebratory dance to mark the making of a beautiful
product. It is heavy and rich and particularly important to Heaney. He finds the
satisfaction of seeing all that work pay off to make such an amazing product better than any
other glory. This full transformation process is noticeable when the yellow curd clearly
shows up against the neighbouring white whey-milk.
The final stanza describes the after-effects of the process. They are satisfied with their hard
work paying off, but now the house reeks of a smell like a sulphur mine. But this was fine for
them because it is what made it feel like home for them. The empty crocks are put back
and arranged ready for the next time. The final four lines inform us of their job well done
feeling of satisfaction.
Key themes in the poem are obviously the satisfaction of seeing that butter at the end of
the process, but also the idea of nothing good happening without patience and effort. Think
of it like good things come to those who wait. The making of the butter took a lot of effort
indeed, and it was almost a ritualistic experience for the staff there.

14

War Photographer Carol Ann Duffy (born 1955)

In his darkroom he is finally alone
with spools of suffering set out in ordered rows.
The only light is red and softly glows,
as though this were a church and he
a priest preparing to intone a Mass.
Belfast. Beirut. Phnom Penh. All flesh is grass.
He has a job to do. Solutions slop in trays
beneath his hands which did not tremble then
though seem to now. Rural England. Home again
to ordinary pain which simple weather can dispel,
to fields which don't explode beneath the feet
of running children in a nightmare heat.
Something is happening. A stranger's features
faintly start to twist before his eyes,
a half-formed ghost. He remembers the cries
of this man's wife, how he sought approval
without words to do what someone must
and how the blood stained into foreign dust.
A hundred agonies in black-and-white
from which his editor will pick out five or six
for Sunday's supplement. The reader's eyeballs prick
with tears between bath and pre-lunch beers.
From aeroplane he stares impassively at where
he earns a living and they do not care.

15

War Photographer Carol Ann Duffy

It is evident in this poem from the use of male pronouns that the persona is not Carol Ann
Duffy. The persona is a professional war photographer, whose job is to take photos of war
zones for a newspaper. He feels alone in this, and he finds the images he is taking truly
disturbing but no one else feels or understands how he feels.
The use of alone in the first line is symbolic and repeated throughout the poem,
representing the idea of no one else understanding how he feels. There is then a
comparison to a church, where the photographer is a priest and the darkroom a church. This
shows us the photographers moral discomfort with the role he has, which could almost be
seen as sacrilegious. Belfast. Beirut. Phnom Penh. All flesh is grass. We are given a list of
some of the areas of civil war he has had to work in. By the sound of the list, it is most likely
that he is saying all the same. The all flesh is grass comment is a biblical reference,
meaning everyone will return whence they came.
There is clear use of alliteration when the solutions slop and the word slop is
onomatopoeic. The fact that children are brought into the images makes it only the more
disturbing. The war photographer is clearly beginning to become distraught by these images
he is taking and then having to rewatch as he develops them alone in his darkroom. In the
third stanza, the word twist is an interesting and emotive use of the verb, and the halfformed ghost suggests that he is now being haunted by the war victims because of how
disgusting his job is. The highest point of the photographers guilt is made clear when he
remembers the cries of a dead mans wife, and yet he sought approval for his job.
It is this final stanza which really illiterates how disturbing the photographer finds taking his
own pictures, but how no one else understands his pain. The newspaper will pick out five
or six, explaining that he does not care about the peoples stories behind it, he is just
picking out the best pictures, like choosing food off of a menu. The readers eyeballs prick.
At least the readers (us) of the newspaper begin to find the images distressing at first, as our
eyeballs prick, but before long we have forgotten about them and dont have to live with
the images haunting us not like the photographer.
Every line in the poem contains either ten or twelve syllables, and there is only one
exception to this rule. This orderedness reflects the rows of photos, and also gives the poem
a rather strong rhythm. Could it be that the odd line out is there to attract focus with a
change in the rhythm? There are four stanzas, each with six lines that follow an abbcdd
rhyming scheme. This gives the poem more pace and makes it appear slightly more upbeat,
even if the general piece is quite depressing.

16

A Martian Sends a Postcard Home Craig Raine (born 1944)

Caxtons are mechanical birds with many wings
and some are treasured for their markings -

If the ghost cries, they carry it

to their lips and soothe it to sleep

they cause the eyes to melt

or the body to shriek without pain.

with sounds. And yet, they wake it up

deliberately, by tickling with a finger.

I have never seen one fly, but

sometimes they perch on the hand.

Only the young are allowed to suffer

openly. Adults go to a punishment room

Mist is when the sky is tired of flight

and rests its soft machine on the ground:

with water but nothing to eat.

They lock the door and suffer the noises

then the world is dim and bookish

like engravings under tissue paper.

alone. No one is exempt

and everyone's pain has a different smell.

Rain is when the earth is television.

It has the properties of making colours darker.

At night, when all the colours die,

they hide in pairs

Model T is a room with the lock inside a key is turned to free the world

and read about themselves in colour, with their eyelids shut.

for movement, so quick there is a film

to watch for anything missed.
But time is tied to the wrist
or kept in a box, ticking with impatience.
In homes, a haunted apparatus sleeps,
that snores when you pick it up.

17

A Martian Sends a Postcard Home Craig Raine

This poem is written as a letter home to Mars by a Martian describing planet Earth and what
humans do. Sounds simple enough? The poem is written in free verse, and there is no set
rhyming scheme this is totally appropriate to a Martian who would not write in rhyming
poetry. Everything described is done so using a metaphor and we, the readers, are left to
try and decipher what each item being described is.
First of all we have Caxtons. These are mechanical birds with multiple wings they must be
books, referring of course to Caxton printing press. Raine was very clever in the way he
described their movement I have never seen one fly, but sometimes perch on the
hand. Model T is referring to a car, probably a Ford. This film being played is this the
streets zooming past as you drive along them? A key is turned to free the world. Time
trapped in a box tied to the wrist is an easy one clearly a wristwatch.
What is this haunted apparatus? If we picking it up triggers its snoring, it is most likely a
phone. This idea agrees with it crying, i.e. ringing (notice how it is referred to as the ghost
linking back to its hauntedness), and being soothed back to sleep by us talking into it. There
is another element of humour in tickling the phone with our fingers deliberately, i.e. dialling.
The punishment room is a toilet. Only the young are allowed to suffer openly because
they do not use toilets like the adults. More humour in the idea of us having water to drink
but nothing to eat in the toilet, because not only does it sound absurd to us, but also is the
opposite of the reason we use toilets.
What is interesting is the next one, where we get into pairs at night and hide. All the colours
are dead meaning it is pitch black outside, and yet he does not understand that we are
sleeping. This is particularly striking because earlier the phone was said to be soothed back
to sleep. How do they not know what sleep is, if they do? Of course, Raine was not trying to
be logical in this poem, but entertaining and creative, which is why we can ignore that false
math. The Martian says that we read about ourselves in our sleep, so this must be dreaming
and we do it in colour this is a contrast against the darkness of the nighttime.
This is a poem of culture shock. The Martian is new to our planet and new to our way of life,
and he is finding learning what we do very interesting. All the meanwhile he is commenting
on how strange our behaviour is all of these things we do which we find normal and part
of our daily routine. The use of such vivid metaphors in this poem really does engage the
reader and paint interesting images in our heads.

18

Bedtime Story George Macbeth (1932-1992)

Long long ago when the world was a wild place
Planted with bushes and peopled by apes, our
Mission Brigade was at work in the jungle
Hard by the Congo

Later the Queen was informed. There were no more

Men. An impetuous soldier had killed off,
Purely by chance, the penultimate primate.
When she was certain.

Once, when a foraging detail was active;

Scouting for green-fly, it came on a grey man, the
Last living man, in the branch of a baobab
Stalking a monkey.

Squadrons of workers were fanned through the Congo

Detailed to bring back the man's picked bones to be
Sealed in the archives in amber. I'm quite sure
Nobody found them

Earlier men had disposed of, for pleasure,

Creatures whose names we scarcely remember- ;
Zebra, rhinoceros, elephants, wart-hog,
Lion, rats, deer. But

After the most industrious search, though.

Where had the bones gone? Over the earth, dear,
Ground by the teeth of the termites, blown by the Wind,
like the dodo's.

After the wars had extinguished the cities

Only the wild ones were left, half-naked
Near the Equator: and here was the last one,
Starved for a monkey.
By then the Mission Brigade had encountered
Hundreds of such men: and their procedure,
History tells us, was only to feed them:
Find them and feed them,
Those were the orders. And this was the last one.
Nobody knew that he was, but he was. Mud
Caked on his flat grey flanks. He was crouched, halfarmed with a shaved spear
Glinting beneath broad leaves. When their jaws cut
Swathes through the bark and he saw fine teeth shine,
Round eyes roll round and forked arms waver
Huge as the rough trunks.
Over his head, he was frightened. Our workers
Marched through the Congo before he was born, but
This was the first time perhaps that he'd seen one
Staring in hot still
Silence, he crouched there: then jumped. With a long swing
Down from his branch, he had angled his spear too
Quickly, before they could hold him, and hurled it
Hard at the soldier
Leading the detail. How could he know Queen's
Orders were only to help him? The soldier
Winced when the tipped spear pricked him.
Unsheathing his sting was a reflex.

19

Bedtime Story George Macbeth

This poem is written as a letter home to Mars by a Martian describing planet Earth and what

20

An Advancement of Learning Seamus Heaney (born 1939)

I took the embankment path
(As always deferring
The bridge). The river nosed past,
Pliable, oil-skinned, wearing
A transfer of gables and sky.
Hunched over the railing,
Well away from the road now, I
Considered the dirty-keeled swans.
Something slobbered curtly, close,
Smudging the silence: a rat
Slimed out of the water and
My throat thickened so quickly that
I turned down the path in cold sweat
But God, another was nimbling
Up the far bank, tracing its wet
Arcs on the stones, incredibly then
I established a dreaded
Bridgehead. I turned to stare
With deliberate, thrilled care
At my hitherto snubbed rodent.
He clockworked aimlessly a while,
Stopped, back bunched and glistening,
Ears plastered down on his knobbed skull,
Insidiously listening.
The tapered tail that followed him,
The raindrop eye, the old snout:
One by one I took all in.
He trained on me, I stared him out
Forgetting how I used to panic
When his grey brothers scraped and fed
Behind the hen-coop in our yard,
On ceiling boards above my bed.
This terror, cold, wet-furred, small-clawed,
Retreated up a pipe of sewage.
I stared a minute after him.
Then I walked on and crossed the bridge.
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An Advancement of Learning Seamus Heaney

An Advancement of Learning is a poem that again takes Heaney back to his childhood, only
this time it is all about confronting your fears, and as Heaney did this, he persevered.
The opening sentence already contains a metaphor which could mean crossing from the
past the future. Leading onto the second stanza is very noticeable enjambment which
reflects Heaneys flow of ideas, in this sense it details vivid memories if he has a lot to say
about it.

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