IntroductionIn this P.O. I am going to talk about poetry. That means I had to collect poems. I have poems that I like and Poems that I don’t like. Also I have to tell why I like a poem. What the diffrence is between te poems. And what a different Poetry you have. There are so many kinds of poems. I think that music is poetry too. Eminem and Stromae i like the most. They have a inspired text that I really like. Do you know, that if you turn Stro and Mae around, you have Maestro? This is why i like Stromae. He is so telling you how the world is in his songs. Or how he sees the world. I think that poetry is a revieuw from people. That they think that, that one little thing is how they think it is. Just as I think that Music is also poetry. But poetry has been around so long, I find it clever if you find a new topic to write about.

Wat is Poëzie?Poëzie of dichtkunst is een vorm van schrijven waarin muzikale en beeldende effecten gebuikt worden de echte betekenis te omlijsten, oftewel om er een andere betekenis van te maken. De dingen die vaak herkend worden in Poëzie is de bijzondere combinatie van vorm, klank en betekenissen de vaak anders worden omschreven en de gevoelens van de schrijver te voelen/lezen bij het onderwerp. "De kunst van het verenigen van plezier met waarheid door voor de rede de hulp in te roepen van de verbeelding."— Samuel JohnsonDit stukje vond ik erg interessant, omdat hierin de poëzie ‘kunst’ word genoemd. Als ik aan kunst denk, denk ik aan schilderijen en beelden. Maar kunst kan dus figuurlijk en niet alleen levensecht. Zo zijn er dan wel plaatjes bij de tekst of op de achtergrond, maar dit kan ook alleen zo zijn om het duidelijker te maken of om het gewoon zo op te vrolijken. Dit

vond ik ook wel grappig want ik weet niet eens waarvoor de plaatjes er soms bij zijn. Zo zijn er ook meerdere onderwerpen waarover ik denk, waarom zou je hier over willen schrijven? Maar misschien heeft de schrijver hiermee wel een ervaring mee gehad. Zo zou ik bijvoorbeeld zelf een gedicht kunnen schrijven over paarden, of een wat diepgaander verhaal. Familie. Van wat voor een soort Poëzie houd ik?Ik houd van volrijm, omdat het lekker vlot is. Je kan het makkelijk snel opzeggen. Ook vind ik slepend rijm altijd wel interessant omdat dit voor mijn gevoel zijn woorden zo een beetje doorgeeft. Maar niet alleen teksten vind ik Poëzie, ook muziek! Dan houd ik van R&B en Popmuziek. Zoals Stromae en Eminem. Beeldspraak vind ik meestal wel grappig als dit word gebruikt, zoals u al noemde. Iemand een ‘ezel’ vinden. Zo had ik laatst dit gedicht gelezen: Beeldspraak. laat verwarring waaien. heen en terug met de wind mee. laat het varen. laat beeldspraak voorbij varen. ze komen, ze gaan. soms blijven ze staan.Om dit gedicht kon ik wel lachen want hierin werd zoveel beeldspraak gebruikt, om de definitie van beeldspraak duidelijk mee te maken. Hoe dan ook, ik vind vele soorten poëzie leuk. Maar mij gaat het om de inhoud, niet om hoe het geschreven is. Want je vind schoonheid niet van buiten, maar van binnen.

The rime of the ancient mariner.

It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: May'st hear the merry din.'

He holds him with his skinny hand, 'There was a ship,' quoth he. 'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!' Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his glittering eye— The Wedding-Guest stood still, And listens like a three years' child: The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone: He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner.

'The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top. The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right

Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon—' The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner.

And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by,

As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken— The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound!

At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat, And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind; The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariner's hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white Moon-shine.'

'God save thee, ancient Mariner! From the fiends, that plague thee thus!— Why look'st thou so?'—With my cross-bow I shot the ALBATROSS.

-Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Daydreamer

Daydreamer sitting on the sea Soaking up the sun He is a real lover of making up the past And feeling up his girl like he's never felt her figure before

A jaw dropper Looks good when he walks He's the subject of their talk He would be hard to chase but good to catch And he could change the world with his hands behind his back Oh

You can find him sitting on your doorstep Waiting for the surprise And he will feel like he's been there for hours And you can tell that he'll be there for life

Daydreamer with eyes that make you melt He lends his coat for shelter Plus he's there for you when he shouldn't be but he stays all the same

Waits for you then sees you through

There's no way I could describe him But I'll say he's just what I'm hoping for

But I will find him sitting on my doorstep Waiting for the surprise And it will feel like he's been there for hours And I can tell that he'll be there for life And I can tell that he'll be there for life

- Adele

To You

WHOEVER you are, I fear you are walking the walks of dreams, I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your feet and hands; Even now, your features, joys, speech, house, trade, manners, troubles, follies, costume, crimes, dissipate away from you, Your true Soul and Body appear before me, They stand forth out of affairs—out of commerce, shops, law, science, work, forms, clothes, the house, medicine, print, buying, selling, eating, drinking, suffering, dying. Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem; I whisper with my lips close to your ear, I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you. O I have been dilatory and dumb; I should have made my way straight to you long ago; I should have blabb’d nothing but you, I should have chanted nothing but you.

I will leave all, and come and make the hymns of you; None have understood you, but I understand you; None have done justice to you—you have not done justice to yourself; None but have found you imperfect—I only find no imperfection in you; None but would subordinate you—I only am he who will never consent to subordinate you; I only am he who places over you no master, owner, better, God, beyond what waits intrinsically in yourself. Painters have painted their swarming groups, and the centre figure of all; From the head of the centre figure spreading a nimbus of gold-color’d light; But I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head without its nimbus of gold-color’d light; From my hand, from the brain of every man and woman it streams, effulgently flowing forever. O I could sing such grandeurs and glories about you! You have not known what you are—you have slumber’d upon yourself all your life; Your eye-lids have been the same as closed most of the time; What you have done returns already in mockeries; (Your thrift, knowledge, prayers, if they do not return in mockeries, what is their return?) The mockeries are not you; Underneath them, and within them, I see you lurk; I pursue you where none else has pursued you; Silence, the desk, the flippant expression, the night, the accustom’d routine, if these conceal you from others, or from yourself, they do not conceal you from me; The shaved face, the unsteady eye, the impure complexion, if these balk others, they do not balk me, The pert apparel, the deform’d attitude, drunkenness, greed, premature death, all these I part aside.

There is no endowment in man or woman that is not tallied in you; There is no virtue, no beauty, in man or woman, but as good is in you; No pluck, no endurance in others, but as good is in you; No pleasure waiting for others, but an equal pleasure waits for you. As for me, I give nothing to any one, except I give the like carefully to you; I sing the songs of the glory of none, not God, sooner than I sing the songs of the glory of you. Whoever you are! claim your own at any hazard! These shows of the east and west are tame, compared to you; These immense meadows—these interminable rivers—you are immense and interminable as they; These furies, elements, storms, motions of Nature, throes of apparent dissolution—you are he or she who is master or mistress over them, Master or mistress in your own right over Nature, elements, pain, passion, dissolution. The hopples fall from your ankles—you find an unfailing sufficiency; Old or young, male or female, rude, low, rejected by the rest, whatever you are promulges itself; Through birth, life, death, burial, the means are provided, nothing is scanted; Through angers, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui, what you are picks its way.

- Walt Whitman

The RavenOnce 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 mortal 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 blessed 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 lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light 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 lamp-light 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!

- Edgar Allen Poe

Jaberwocky`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought -- So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!' He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.

- Lewis Caroll

It’s OK!It's a broke day but everything is ok (It's ok) I'm up all night, but everything is alright (It's alright)

It's a rough week, and I don't get enough sleep (I can't sleep) It's a long year pretending I belong here (Belong here) It's a broke day but everything is ok (It's ok) I'm up all night, but everything is alright (It's alright) It's a rough week, and I don't get enough sleep (I can't sleep) It's a long year pretending I belong here (Belong here)One day I plan to be a family man happily married I wanna grow to be so old that I have to be carried Till I'm glad to be buried And leave this crazy world And have at least a half a million for my baby girl It may be early to be planning this stuff Cause I'm still struggling hard to be the man, and it's tough Cause man it's been rough, but still I manage enough I've been taken advantage of, damaged and scuffed My hands have been cuffed But I don't panic and huff, frantic and puff Or plan to give up, the minute shit hits the fan it erupts I'm anteing up double or nothing, I've been trouble enough And I'm sick of struggling and suffering, see My destiny's to rest at ease, till I'm impressed and pleased With my progress, I won't settle for less than cheese I'm on a quest to seize all, my own label to call Way before my baby is able to crawl I'm too stable to fall, the pressure motivates To know I hold the weight of boulders on my shoulder blades I seen the golden gates to heaven on Earth Where they don't pull a weapon on you when you stepping on turf, Q

It's a broke day but everything is ok (It's ok) I'm up all night, but everything is alright (It's alright) It's a rough week, and I don't get enough sleep (I can't sleep)

It's a long year pretending I belong here (Belong here) It's a broke day but everything is ok (It's ok) I'm up all night, but everything is alright (It's alright) It's a rough week, and I don't get enough sleep (I can't sleep) It's a long year pretending I belong here (Belong here) I'm going for broke, gambling and playing for keeps Everyday in the streets, scrambling and paying for cheep Praying for sleep Dreaming with a watering mouth Wishing for a better life for my daughter and spouse In this slaughtering house, caught up in bouts With the root of all evil I've seen it turn beautiful people crude and deceitful And make them do shit illegal For these Grant's and Jackson's These transactions explain a man's actions But in the mist of this insanity, I found my Christianity Through God and there's a wish he granted me He showed me how to cope with the stress And hope for the best, instead of mope and depressed Always groping a mess, of flying over the nest To selling dope with the rest I quit smoking cess to open my chest Life is stressful inside this cesspool Trying to wrestle, I almost bust a blood vessel My little brother's trying to learn his mathematics He's asthmatic, running home from school away from crack addicts Kids attract static, children with automatics Taking target practice on teens for Starter Jackets I'm using smarter tactics to overcome this slum I won't become as dumb as some and succumb to scum

It's cumbersome, I'm trying to do well on this Earth But it's been Hell on this Earth since I fell on this Earth

It's a broke day but everything is ok (It's ok) I'm up all night, but everything is alright (It's alright) It's a rough week, and I don't get enough sleep (I can't sleep) It's a long year pretending I belong here (Belong here) It's a broke day but everything is ok (It's ok) I'm up all night, but everything is alright (It's alright) It's a rough week, and I don't get enough sleep (I can't sleep) It's a long year pretending I belong here (Belong here)

Uh, it's ok, yeah it's alright, even though I can't sleep Uh yeah, it's ok, it's alright, I can’t sleep

-Eminem ft. Eye-Kyu

All That is gold does not glitterAll that is gold does not glitter,Not all those who wander are lost;The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost.From the ashes a fire shall be woken,A light from the shadows shall spring;Renewed shall be blade that was broken,The crownless again shall be king

- J.R.R. Tolkien

Beyonce - ListenListen

To the song here in my heart A melody I start but can't complete

ListenTo the sound from deep within It's only beginning to find release

Oh, the time has come for my dreams to be heard. They will not be pushed aside and turned Into your own all 'cause you won't listen

Listen I am alone at a crossroads I'm not at home in my own home And I've tried and tried to say what's on my mind You should have known -Oh Now I'm done believing you You don't know what I'm feeling I'm more than what you made of me I followed the voice you gave to me But now I've gotta find my own You should have listened

There is someone here inside Someone I thought had died so long ago Oh, I'm screaming out and my dreams will be heard They will not be pushed aside or worse Into your own all 'cause you won't listen

Listen

I am alone at a crossroads I'm not at home in my own home And I've tried and tried to say what's on my mind You should have know

Oh, now I'm done believing you You don't know what I'm feeling I'm more than what you made of me I followed the voice you gave to me But now I've gotta find my own

I don't know where I belong But I'll be moving on If you don't, if you won't

Listen To the song here in my heart A melody I start But I will complete - Oh

Now I'm done believing you You dont know what I'm feeling I'm more than what you made of me I followed the voice you think you gave to me But now I gotta find my own My own

Summary Listen

I have chosen this song, because this song had the biggest impact in my whole life. I like beyoncé so much, she’s my hero! That’s why I definetly needed a song of her in this P.O. I found the poem techniques: a poem without any rhyme and I found too: at the end of a line right away by reading to the next. This song is about her best friend Sitoga Pulemau. She was in a relationship where the guy never listened to her and also wanted what he wanted in the relationship. There was no compromising - nothing. Now she's speaking out telling him that she's sick of it and now she's telling the world and he better LISTEN. This song is written for her best friend and for people that need support from someone.

Summary All that is gold does not glitterI have chosen this poem because I found it interesting that ‘’all that is gold does not glitter’’. It says that evryting is worth something. I found : crossed-rhyme. that it says what it says : wandering may be seen as having no purpose or direction but it doesn’t mean that what you see is what it seems. There is a purpose and a motivation for wandering : to know, understand, find a way through something, find a solution, find your way. It cannot be done with the exast destination in mind. But you always end up somewhere and the journey is worth it. Why he wrote it:

It was written in context as part of the original text for The Lord of the Rings, Volume I, The Fellowship of the Rings and introduces key plot points as part of Gandalf's letter to the hobbits. Bilbo reveals to Frodo that he wrote it years earlier, thus it is prophetic in character. Tolkien adapted it from a similar though thematically opposite verse in Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice.

Summary Jaberwocky

I find this poem pretty fun and it's best short. the other are so long. This is also fine to read. I found crossed-rhyme. The poem begins with a description of the setting – an afternoon, with strange, nonsense-creatures milling around and making noises. Then, we have some dialogue. A father tells his son to beware of something called a "Jabberwocky" that lurks in the woods and has horrible claws and teeth. There's also some other nasty stuff out there – the "Jubjub bird" and the "Bandersnatch". The son takes his sword and goes out looking for these creatures, and finally finds and kills the Jabberwocky. Upon returning with the creature's head, the father is overjoyed and they celebrate. The first stanza repeats, and things appear to return back to normal.It’s written for, I think, for fun or for some experience that he got.And for who he wrote it, for people that read his poems, but also for people who like to read something like Alice in Wonderland.

Summary It’s Ok!I like Eminem very much. I listen it sometimes, because beyoncé has stolen my heart. I have found a little bit of paired-rhyme, a poem without any rhyme and I found too: at the end of a line right away by reading to the next. Their is not a lot information of this, that’s why I don’t know what it means and why he wrote it. Also for who.

Summary The RavenI have chosen this poem because I like the name. Than I read it and I liked it too! This poem is a re-crossed-rhyme and a little bit of paired rhyme.

It's late at night, and late in the year. A man is sitting in his room, half reading, half falling asleep, and trying to forget his lost love, Lenore. He calls out, apologizing to the "visitor" he imagines must be outside. Then he opens the door and finds…nothing. This freaks him out a little, and he reassures himself that it is just the wind against the window. So he goes and opens the window, and their flies a raven in. He asks the birds name and the bird answers: ‘Nevermore’. The man was suprised and asks more questions. Our narrator catches on to this rather slowly and asks more and more questions, which get more painful and personal. The Raven, though, doesn't change his story, and the poor speaker starts to lose his sanity.I think this is written to himself, because I couldn’t find to who it was written. Maybe it is something, that has happened to him. And why, every poem that I have, I can’t find WHY they wrote it. Summary Daydreamer.I really like Adele. She has something in her voice that even I can’t reach. That’s why I choose this song. What kind of poetry techniques I have found is… a poem without any rhyme. I found too: at the end of a line right away by reading to the next. I think it's fairly obvious (not to sound pretentious) that she's not describing a daydreamer, rather, she is the daydreamer, or we all are.this is a daydreamer's description of what the perfect man is. And that this the reason is why she wrote and to she wrote this. Because their are people who deserve to be happy. Just like Adele.

Summary To you.Actually, I don’t know what to think about this poem. It’s is not a poem were I can think: ‘’Wow.’’ I think it’s a too overextend text, but it is very sweet. I found it interesting that’s why I choose this one.I found the poetry techniques: a poem without any rhyme. And that’s allright. Because if all the poems were the same, than

was that so boring. In this short poem the poet addresses an unidentified stranger and questions society's expectation that strangers should refrain from addressing one another. He wonders why, if parties are willing, two strangers cannot meet on the street and communicate freely. The poem is a direct first-person address to a stranger, about whom Whitman reveals nothing.

Summary The Ancient MarinerI have chosen this poem because it is so famous. I had the first time I read this poem, I found it boring. But when I had read it all the way through, I was a bit more positive about this. This poem is a re-crossed-rhyme. It was easy to speak, but sometimes had a little trouble with the transition. This poem is about a sailor that shoots down an albatross at sea without a reason. For this he is punished by the crew. The South wind has blown their boat away by the ice and releases their to an open sea that is unknown. The sailor had to hang the albatross around his neck as punishment, but he was the only one that not died of thirst. He blesses water hoses and his debt become obliterated. He came back with the boat, alone. After this he traveled around the world to tell his story. I could unfortunately not find for who it was written and why he wrote it, but I think he written it for someone that something has experienced.