Lesson Plan: Writing Narrative Poetry
Author: B. Wu, Murry Bergtraum HS, New York, NY
Subject: English
Grade Level: 9-12
Overview: This lesson is designed to help students understand the literary elements in a narrative poem and how to identify them. Through this lesson, students will be able to understand how to analyze a narrative poem, which is a very necessary skill in writing Regents Task III essays. They will also learn, through this lesson, how the stylistic techniques used in the poems help illustrate the theme.
Objective: The student will
- Read and discuss the poem
- Recall and interpret facts and extend meanings
- Respond to critical opinion about the poem
- Analyze narrative poetry and the use of repetition and metaphor in a poem
- Discuss the following themes: courage and honor; leaders and followers
Materials: Poem" The Charge of the Light Brigade" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson(1809-1892)
Procedures and Activities:
- Motivation: Writing before Reading
Ask students to explain the purpose and style of fight songs and cheers at a sporting event. Point out that such chants are rhythmical, direct, emotional, repetitive, and chauvinistic in order to rouse the spirits of spectators and to elicit response from them. Explain the poem we are going to read is a kind of fight song about the Battle of Balaklava(1854), in which the British Light Cleverly Brigade charged enemy Russian troops. - Reading and response:
- According to stanza 2, why do the men of Light Brigade charge when they know the order is a mistake?
- According to stanza 5, what is the outcome of the battle?
- In the last stanza, how does the poet urge us to regard the Light Brigade?
- What effect does the repetition of words and lines have on the story of the battle?
- List some of the verbs used in stanzas 1,3, and 5. What effect do these verbs have on the effect on the plot of the poem?
- What specific details suggest that very few members of the Light Brigade survived the famous charge?
- After reading a newspaper account of the battle, Tennyson composed the poem in just a few minutes, but the poem was an instant and lasting success. Soldiers considered the poem "a fine rolling war-chant". In what ways do you think the poem is a "war chant"? What do you think made the poem popular with soldiers?
- Literary elements: a) What is the meaning of the metaphor--"jaw of death" "mouth of hell" ? b) Why did the poet use "half the league" in the first stanza and " Rode the six hundred" in the first three stanzas repetitiously? C) What is the plot and setting? Who are the characters? What is the rising action and falling action? What is the climax and resolution of the story? What is the theme?
- Reflecting on the poem: Do you agree that the light Brigade should be honored? Why or why not?
Follow-up Activities:
- Write a journal on " Are courage and devotion to duty necessary even if they lead to the end of life"?
- Find a newspaper story that causes you to react strongly. Write a response to the article in poetry.
Evaluation:
Open-book Test: Answer the following questions:
- Why awes the brigade in the poem called " the Light Brigade"?
- The brigade may best be described as--
- In stanza 2, the soldier knows that some one has --
- What theme is implied in the title"The Charge of the Light Brigade" ?
- The repetition of words and lines stresses the brigade's a)action, weakness, fear, and defeat b)reaction, violence, marching, and surrender c) charge, cannon fire, bloodshed, and victory d) action, determination, losses, and honor
Class Notes:
Narrative is the recounting of a succession of events. Many narratives are fictional, including epics and novels, but narrative can include nonfiction such as history and autobiography. Narratives needn't be in prose: epics, for instance, are narrative verse.
Narratives are not always told in sequence. Many stories start in medias res and jump about chronologically.
(In medias res is Latin for "in the middle of things." It usually describes a narrative that begins, not at the beginning of a story, but somewhere in the middle -- usually at some crucial point in the action.)
BALLAD - By John Keats
I.
O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
II.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
III.
I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
IV.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful--a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
V.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
VI.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.
VII.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said--
"I love thee true."
VIII.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh'd fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
IX.
And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream'd--Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill's side.
X.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried--"La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
XI.
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.
XII.
And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Edgar Allan Poe
Annabel Lee
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
The Raven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown
before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or
devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or
devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,
upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
The Charge of the Light Brigade
1 Half a league half a league
2 Half a league onward
3 All in the valley of Death
4 Rode the six hundred:
5 `Forward the Light Brigade
6 Charge for the guns' he said
7 Into the valley of Death
8 Rode the six hundred
2
9 `Forward the Light Brigade!'
10 Was there a man dismay'd?
11 Not tho' the soldier knew
12 Some one had blunder'd:
13 Theirs not to make reply,
14 Theirs not to reason why,
15 Theirs but to do & die,
16 Into the valley of Death
17 Rode the six hundred.
3
18 Cannon to right of them,
19 Cannon to left of them,
20 Cannon in front of them
21 Volley'd & thunder'd;
22 Storm'd at with shot & shell,
23 Boldly they rode & well,
24 Into the jaws of Death,
25 Into the mouth of Hell
26 Rode the six hundred.
4
27 Flash'd all their sabres bare,
28 Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
29 Sabring the gunners there,
30 Charging an army while
31 All the world wonder'd:
32 Plunged in the battery-smoke
33 Right thro' the line they broke;
34 Cossack & Russian
35 Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,
36 Shatter'd & sunder'd.
37 Then they rode back, but not
38 Not the six hundred.
5
39 Cannon to right of them,
40 Cannon to left of them,
41 Cannon behind them
42 Volley'd & thunder'd;
43 Storm'd at with shot & shell,
44 While horse & hero fell,
45 They that had fought so well
46 Came thro' the jaws of Death
47 Back from the mouth of Hell,
48 All that was left of them
49 Left of six hundred.
6
50 When can their glory fade?
51 O the wild charge they made!
52 All the world wonder'd.
53 Honour the charge they made!
54 Honour the Light Brigade,
55 Noble six hundred!
An Old Man's Winter Night
- All out of doors looked darkly in at him
- Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
- That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.
- What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze
- Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.
- What kept him from remembering what it was
- That brought him to that creaking room was age.
- He stood with barrels round him - at a loss.
- And having scared the cellar under him
- In clomping there, he scared it once again
- In clomping off; - and scared the outer night,
- Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar
- Of trees and crack of branches, common things,
- But nothing so like beating on a box.
- A light he was to no one but himself
- Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,
- A quiet light, and then not even that.
- He consigned to the moon, such as she was,
- So late-arising, to the broken moon
- As better than the sun in any case
- For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,
- His icicles along the wall to keep;
- And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt
- Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,
- And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.
- One aged man - one man - can't keep a house,
- A farm, a countryside, or if he can,
- It's thus he does it of a winter night.
- Robert Frost
The Soldier
- He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
- That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
- But still lies pointed as it ploughed the dust.
- If we who sight along it round the world,
- See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
- It is because like men we look too near,
- Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
- Our missiles always make too short an arc.
- They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
- The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
- They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
- But this we know, the obstacle that checked
- And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
- Further than target ever showed or shone.
- Robert Frost
La Belle Dame sans Merci
(The Beautiful Woman without Mercy)
BALLAD.
I.
O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
II.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
III.
I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
IV.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful--a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
V.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
VI.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.
VII.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said--
"I love thee true."
VIII.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh'd fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
IX.
And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream'd--Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill's side.
X.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried--"La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
XI.
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.
XII.
And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Donald Justice
by Donald Justice
-- Coronado Beach, California, March, 1905
In a hotel room by the sea, the Master
Sits brooding on the continent he has crossed.
Not that he foresees immediate disaster,
Only a sort of freshness being lost --
Or should he go on calling it Innocence?
The sad-faced monsters of the plains are gone;
Wall Street controls the wilderness. There's an immense
Novel in all this waiting to be done.
But not, not -- sadly enough -- by him. His talents,
Such as they may be, want a different theme,
Rather more civilized than this, on balance.
For him now always the recurring dream
Is just the mild, dear light of Lamb House falling
Beautifully down the pages of his calling.