Experiment Day 107 Complete!
A conversation on being proud of the privilege of being an American as we look at 250 years together, and the legacy of those who sacrificed before us.
Discussing the 3 F’s to help you write poetry—Feel, Flow, Function.
And reading 3 poems.
God bless America, and have a happy Independence Day!
3 F’s for Poetry
Feel: “Show, don’t tell.” People need to “see” it to “feel” it. Can you see it?
Flow: The poem needs to flow with rhythmic sound. Read it out loud to hear for yourself. Can you hear it?
Function: This is how you want the reader or listener to experience the poem, whether in a concept or emotion. Does it make sense?
Reading 3 Poems
“Concord Hymn”
By Ralph Waldo Emerson
By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set today a votive stone; That memory may their deed redeem, When, like our sires, our sons are gone. Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die, and leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee.
“I Hear America Singing”
By Walt Whitman
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the
steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon
intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing
or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.“The Gift Outright”
By Robert Frost
The land was ours before we were the land’s. She was our land more than a hundred years Before we were her people. She was ours In Massachusetts, in Virginia, But we were England’s, still colonials, Possessing what we still were unpossessed by, Possessed by what we now no more possessed. Something we were withholding made us weak Until we found out that it was ourselves We were withholding from our land of living, And forthwith found salvation in surrender. Such as we were we gave ourselves outright (The deed of gift was many deeds of war) To the land vaguely realizing westward, But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced, Such as she was, such as she would become.
