An analysis of sunday morning by wallace steven

Can we believe seriously in an afterlife? As World War I intensified and Stevens neared middle age, he broached these subjects with quiet urgency in a poem as beautiful as it is difficult. It debuted in Poetry magazine during a year that brought several other Modernist milestones, including T. The first stanza ushers us into a pleasant domestic setting, where a nameless woman lingers over breakfast:

An analysis of sunday morning by wallace steven

Wallace Stevens- I Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair, And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice. She dreams a little, and she feels the dark Encroachment of that old catastrophe, As a calm darkens among water-lights.

The pungent oranges and bright, green wings Seem things in some procession of the dead, Winding across wide water, without sound. The day is like wide water, without sound, Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet Over the seas, to silent Palestine, Dominion of the blood and sepulchre.

II Why should she give her bounty to the dead? What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in dreams?

Shall she not find in comforts of the sun, In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else In any balm or beauty of the earth, Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven? Divinity must live within herself: Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow; Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued Elations when the forest blooms; gusty Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights; All pleasures and all pains, remembering The bough of summer and the winter branch.

These are the measures destined for her soul. III Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth. No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind He moved among us, as a muttering king, Magnificent, would move among his hinds, Until our blood, commingling, virginal, With heaven, brought such requital to desire The very hinds discerned it, in a star.

Sunday Morning Summary - tranceformingnlp.com

Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be The blood of paradise? And shall the earth Seem all of paradise that we shall know? The sky will be much friendlier then than now, A part of labor and a part of pain, And next in glory to enduring love, Not this dividing and indifferent blue.

IV She says, "I am content when wakened birds, Before they fly, test the reality Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings; But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields Return no more, where, then, is paradise?

An analysis of sunday morning by wallace steven

V She says, "But in contentment I still feel The need of some imperishable bliss. Although she strews the leaves Of sure obliteration on our paths, The path sick sorrow took, the many paths Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love Whispered a little out of tenderness, She makes the willow shiver in the sun For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet.

She causes boys to pile new plums and pears On disregarded plate. The maidens taste And stray impassioned in the littering leaves. VI Is there no change of death in paradise? Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs Hang always heavy in that perfect sky, Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth, With rivers like our own that seek for seas They never find, the same receding shores That never touch with inarticulate pang?

Why set the pear upon those river-banks Or spice the shores with odors of the plum? Alas, that they should wear our colors there, The silken weavings of our afternoons, And pick the strings of our insipid lutes! Death is the mother of beauty, mystical, Within whose burning bosom we devise Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.

VII Supple and turbulent, a ring of men Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn Their boisterous devotion to the sun, Not as a god, but as a god might be, Naked among them, like a savage source.

Their chant shall be a chant of paradise, Out of their blood, returning to the sky; And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice, The windy lake wherein their lord delights, The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills, That choir among themselves long afterward.

They shall know well the heavenly fellowship Of men that perish and of summer morn. And whence they came and whither they shall go The dew upon their feet shall manifest. It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.Analysis of Wallace Stevens' Sunday Morning “Sunday Morning” by Wallace Stevens is a poem about a woman having a late breakfast and thinking about the purpose of religion.

Stevens wants the readers to ask themselves the questions that the woman asks, and to explore their feelings towards Christianity. It’s a Sunday morning, and while many people are at church, a woman is sitting outside in her nightgown, eating a late breakfast and enjoying the morning.

It’s a Sunday morning, and while many people are at church, a woman is sitting outside in her nightgown, eating a late breakfast and enjoying the morning.

An analysis of sunday morning by wallace steven

If not for all the beauty around her, including a pet tropical bird, she’d feel guilty about not being in church. An Analysis of Wallace Stevens' Sunday Morning “Sunday Morning” by Wallace Stevens is a poem about a woman having a late breakfast and thinking about the purpose of religion.

Stevens wants the readers to ask themselves the questions that the woman asks, and to explore their feelings towards Christianity. In its final form, “Sunday Morning” consists of eight self-contained, fifteen-line strophes, written in Wallace Stevens’s customary version of blank verse.

The speaker’s meditation on life. What do Wallace Stevens and hip-hop music have in common? Rhythm, and lots of it. In both "Sunday Morning" and a hip-hop song, the rhythm matters at least as much as the words.

Wallace Stevens: “Sunday Morning” by Austin Allen | Poetry Foundation