Madeline+Stephenson



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Everything's funny.

Through the gentle lacing of delicacy and quietude, Billy Collins portrays life in his poem “Days” as a careful balance gaining fragility as time goes by. His diction presents a disparity between unsteadiness and peace, demonstrating life’s ultimate impermanence. What I first notice about the poem is its divergence from an expected cliché. Collins begins by stating “Each one //is// a gift, no doubt,” but quickly switches to the passive voice. In his opinion, each day is “placed in your hand” and “set upon your forehead,” suggesting an outward force controlling the onset of every day. Another interesting aspect of the poem is that it claims the beginning of the day to be moment “you open your eyes,” as if each waker is his or her own sunrise. Collins uses diction to illustrate the fragility of existence and humanity’s quiet desperation to keep going. His diction suggests days are cumulative in nature, each day “stacked high” on the “one before it.” He compares the addition of every new day to an “impossible tower of dishes.” When the poem turns, Collins begins addressing the reader as “you,” which makes me think of my own everyday construction of existence. The image of standing atop a “tall ladder,” maintaining caution as I risk adding more weight to the stack, strikes me as familiar. Collins generates an anxious tone as he describes “holding your breath” before placing the next day “on yesterday’s saucer.” Collins uses enjambment to invoke apprehension in his readers. His solid images, such as the portrayal of the physical world outside his window, are riddled with punctuation and possess an unyielding permanence. The images of unsteadiness contain less punctuation, conveying the sensation that the stanza is “tipping” and needs to be caught by a comma before it spills disastrously to the bottom of the page. This enjambment use symbolizes the impermanence of life; a stack of anything will always fall when it reaches a certain point. The thick snow and ice, on the other hand, are strong, uncumulative and of the natural world. They will always be allowed to return; their existence is dependent on nothing. Billy Collins presents the poem as a reminder to appreciate the beautiful delicacy of time. The fragility he describes helps the reader view life as something to treasure rather than take for granted. This intention reflects the beginning of the poem, which defines each day as a “gift.” ||
 * [[file:Days by Billy Collins.doc]] || ‍Poem Analysis #1 ‍

[] || Poem Analysis #2 Straying from his usual “humorizing the profound” routine, Billy Collins showcases his ability to find depth in everyday situations in his poem “Passengers.” He views sitting in an airport terminal through dark lenses but maintains a pleasant, accepting tone. Rather than going about the ordinary business of waiting to board, as everyone else around him is doing, Collins takes a moment to acknowledge the profundity of his circumstances. Collins begins centered in reality, sitting in the terminal alone, observing his surroundings. He immediately jumps into a glorified description of death as a heavenly affair and admits his aversion to this unrealistic fantasy. Grounded again, Collins jumps back into reality and observation. This time, he studies specific passengers and explains why their appearances move him. His imagination exhibits paranoia about “hard water” and “deep canyons below.” Finally, Collins ends with a profound thought, concluding that something, no matter how small, must be done to record “a few words” about the connection he shares with the passengers. Collins does not elevate sitting in the “possible company of his death”. “Not that I think” he explains, “we would all ascend together” to a glorified, heavenly ceremony celebrating communal demise. Instead, he simplifies it into the importance of sharing something profound as death with a diverse group of strangers. He feels deeply connected to those who could be present during his last moments on Earth. Collins describes the strangers around him with certain tenderness; he observes their quirks, such as a “girl cooling her tea” and a “woman” combing “her daughter’s hair.” These observations show Collins’ appreciation for the “miscellany” of his co-passengers’ lives. He thinks “it would be good if one of us…said a few words” to the group. Ultimately, however, he understands he must record his sentiments privately so as not to upset the blissfully naïve passengers with thoughts of catastrophe, and especially “so as not to involve the police.” This ending sums up Collins’ mildly paternal state of mind; he understands a truth both pleasant and troubling and ultimately acknowledges the impossibility of expressing it to the strangers he feels a bond with. ||
 * Passengers Link:

The meaning behind Billy Collins’ poem “Introduction to Poetry” lacks complexity or depth. In fact, its profundity lies within its simplicity. ‍The poem is not meant to perplex, it is meant to amuse and invoke healthy understanding ‍. Collins juxtaposes pleasant imagery with pictures of violence to create a contrast between the right and wrong poem-reading methods. His nice images portray poem interpretation as a diplomatic relationship between reader and words; his unpleasant images depict it as a misguided scholar attempting to “torture a confession” of the words. Overall, the poem’s uncluttered minimalism allows for some breathing room, thus enhancing the reading experience. The images Collins initially paints gratify the mind; “color slide,” “light switch,” “water-ski” are simple and lovely joys in life. He places these concepts throughout the first five stanzas to create a pleasing reading experience. They compel the reader to dance with the poem rather than conquer it, a method Collins deems essential. The word choices, simplistic and nice, carry no profound significance. Instead, they emphasize the metaphors Collins attributes to reading a poem, such as turning on a “light switch” or pressing “an ear to its hive.” The idea of “waving” to the author “on the shore” suggests the importance of forming a relationship with the poet. These mild analytical techniques involve more than finding academic understanding; they also involve tangible enjoyment of the analytical process. Conversely, in the final two stanzas, Collins switches to describing “what not to do” while reading poetry. He denounces the scholar’s tendency to try and “torture a confession” out of a poem by beating it “with a hose.” These suddenly brutal images shock the reader into understanding the futility of forcing analysis out of a poem without enjoying its simple delight. Collins simplifies the poem’s stanzas, distilling them to their purest form. No stanza surpasses three lines and each contains only one metaphor pertaining to poem interpretation. These succinct phrases result in a peaceful rhythm, enhancing the reading experience. The enjambment remains standard and succinct, occurring consistently in every stanza and only ending at the conclusion of each metaphor. The conciseness generates a pithy clarity that erases discrepancies about the poem’s meaning. The idea is plainly and deliberately stated. ||
 * [[file:introduction to poetry.doc]] || Poem Analysis #3

Billy Collins compares a day in the life of a human to “labor” in his poem “The Night House.” He describes our daily existence as a physical struggle. According to Collins, each human body is a cage by day, tied to harvesting “the grass of civics” and “money.” Only at night is the door unlocked. Only when our consciousness, the steadfast bodyguard of spiritual freedom, is asleep can our uninhibited character escape into the world. Collins uses sensuous imagery to express the wildness of the freed spirit. The heart awakens “restless” and escapes the “thick, pictureless” confines of the human’s bedroom to “heat some milk.” These vivid pictures symbolize the heart’s desire to seek out comfort, warmth and peace. The mind, not restless but deliberate, dresses in a “robe,” “lights a cigarette” and begins to read an engineering book. Different from the heart, the mind simply wants to rationalize and //think// in peace. The conscience has nightmares of its own; it “roams” around in the “dark.” Collins uses the imagery of a “strange fish” darting away from mirrors to describe this bizarre and grotesque creature that fears only itself. The most vivid image in the poem is the soul, who Collins describes as a female wearing a “nightdress,” sitting atop the roof, “singing” of “the wildness of the sea.” His depiction of this entity contains imagery of absolute freedom. The soul lacks fear of pain, fear of judgment and overall general common sense. She straddles the roof, singing a silly song, without a single care in the world. The purity of this image completes the idea Collins intends to get across: without the consciousness’ inhibition, the four subconscious voices of the mind roam entirely free. The end of the poem drives Collins’ intention home; his objective is to explain those vaguely arresting moments in which we drop everything to slip into a nameless daydream. It is in these moments, Collins suggests, that we lose our day blindness and momentarily hear our inner voices summoning the conscious mind. We “stare into the distance,” but not in the literal sense. Instead, we look within. ||
 * [[file:The Night House.doc]] || Poem Analysis # 4

Billy Collins’ “Some Final Words” moves me every time I read it because it lacks extremes; it does not bitterly remark “goodbye, cruel world,” nor does it over-gloriously celebrate the magic of being alive. Instead, it informs us of unhealthy cycles we must avoid in order to appreciate the present moment and ultimately maintain happiness, or at least peace of mind. “I cannot leave you without saying this” Collins says candidly to the reader, and launches into the concept that “the past is nothing.” Using structure to justify his words’ argument, he reveals the absurdity of obsessing over past events that can never be changed; simultaneously, he venerates the reality of the accessible, tangible present. To exemplify the human tendency to dwell consumingly on small details of the past, Collins often slips into long tangents about mundane historical events. For example, he goes on about the death of Johann Strauss’ “younger brother” who died from a bad fall. Though Collins incessantly uses “forget” as a command, he continues to delve deeper and deeper into the memory, even going so far as to mention “the creaking of the lowered curtain” heard in the background of the brother’s insignificant death. This mirrors humanity’s fixation on forgetting the past, and how that makes it harder to truly forget. At the end of the poem, Collins returns to the present, describing the details of his current existence in the October forest at night. This hike outdoors contrasts with the fourth stanza, which urges the dweller to stop sitting stagnantly on the “couch of melancholy” as the “steely” sun passes by. Instead, Collins exemplifies the beauty of leaving the house and seizing the moment. “Johann Strauss,” “every great battle” and even the “stunned audience” that witnesses the younger brother’s death have no bearing on Collins in the now. He likens himself to a “thin reed blowing in the night,” no memories of the past or plans for the future. Simply being. ||
 * [[file:Some Final Words.doc]] || Poem Analysis #5

“Workshop” is a challenging poem to define. It is a poem completely aware of itself. It is also about the step-by-step process of poem interpretation based on the reader’s first impression. Collins’ speaker, “I,” partially refers to himself and partially acts as an ambiguous person with whom the reader can identify. Additionally, it is simply a humorous excursion through the sardonic mind of Billy Collins, who has probably read and evaluated enough poems to last several lifetimes. The first stanza mentions the poem’s title, praising its ability to grab “my attention.” The next phrase, in the style of this poem, blatantly confesses its own conspiracy, a “mode of self-pointing” that proposes poets’ supreme power of words. Collins toys with perspective, mentioning that he can “taste” the snake’s tail “in its own mouth.” The snake symbolizes the poem’s method: it satisfies itself by divulging in itself. Next, “I” worry the poem’s voice is condescending, but then thinks “maybe” its intention is to patronize. Whenever Collins voices the reader’s own concerns, he turns it around to remind them of his manipulative intentions. Yet, the reader still falls into his trap every time. The next few stanzas poke fun at those who try to analyze poetry on the first try. They contain lines such as “I like jigging” and “what’s an obbligato of snow?” Collins influences the reader to sink back into confusion. By becoming your voice, he controls your thought process. He almost loses momentum, but then regains affection by saying “this is where the poem wins me back.” By the time Collins writes “that gives me a very powerful sense of something,” the reader feels uplifted, as if they have just uncovered an unnamed philosophical treasure chest. The poem signifies nothing profound in a literal sense, but its ability to control the readers on such a deep level is meaningful in itself. This poem is as close as writing can get to hypnosis, the power of suggestion. ||
 * [[file:Workshop.doc]] || Poem Analysis #6

Billy Collins is less concerned with the commonplace cliché about dancing angels than with his own imaginative inquiries. His poem “Questions About Angels” is his outlet for curiosity about the entities. The first stanza states the “only” question “you ever hear” about angels, “how many can dance on the head of a pin”? Reasonably, Collins believes there ought to be more curiosity about the heavenly creatures. He embarks on a series of questions he would like to know about angels. Each contains more depth than the “pin” speculation. Collins starts with classic religious beliefs, wondering if they chant “in Latin,” feed hermits, or protect children on Earth. He then focuses on heavenly pastimes, wondering what hobbies angels spend all eternity enjoying. Next, he moves on to logistics, speculating about angels’ “sleeping habits” and experience in the physical world of Earth. These inquiries transcend the standard cliché and, by creating the potential for unique experiences, Collins bestows angels with individuality. The poem turns in stanza seven when Collins stops asking questions mocks the all-powerful “medieval theologians” of “the court” for arguing over a triviality. He explains the futility of the “pin” question; “it is designed” to send us straight to “infinite,” a number meaningless in size. “Perhaps the answer is simply one,” Collins ponders. Perhaps only a single “female angel” fits on the “little dance floor.” His imagination creates a wonderful image of the lone dancer, accompanied by a “small jazz combo.” The musicians are tiring out from providing this angel with dance songs, for they have been playing for all eternity. ||
 * [[file:Questions About Angels.doc]] || Poem Analysis #7

“To a Stranger Born in Some Distant Country Hundreds of Years from Now” is a classic example of Billy Collins style. This poem exemplifies both his fascination with relating to a faraway point in time and his striking sense of humor. While many would want to speak profoundly to a foreigner from the future, Collins tries to identify with an enduring human quirk: complete aversion to “wet dogs.” “Nobody here likes a wet dog,” begins Collins bluntly. I had to go back and reread the title, thinking perhaps it belonged to another poem, a poignant apology for polluting our planet. But no, Collins just finds a great deal of humor in life’s ordinary eccentricities. The first two stanzas of the poem impart the story of the poor wet dog; when people realize her condition, they immediately reject her appeals to be patted. Because, plain and simple, “nobody here likes a wet dog.” The final stanza switches to a more glorified, old-fashioned tone “O stranger of the future!/O inconceivable being!” Collins writes, suddenly dramatic. He lists a few potential lifestyle differences between him and the faraway foreigner, but quickly regards them as unimportant. What Collins truly finds significant is similarity, common ground, and the fact that “nobody likes a wet dog,” no matter what year it is. ||
 * [[file:To a Stranger Born in Some Distant Country Hundreds of Years from Now.doc]] || Poem Analysis #8

Transitioning from playful mockery to thoughtful reflection to poignant discovery, Bill Collins achieves a simple love story in his poem “Marginalia.” This work is the epitome of Collins’ cleverness. By depicting each reader’s need to say something about their reading material, Collins suggests that human nature compels each one of us to write “I was here” in the vast, flowing margins of time. The first five stanzas both celebrate and mock typical marginalist’s styles. The first ‍stereotype ‍Collins focuses on is the “ferocious,” “raging” critic, who scribbles frenetically and wants to “get” his or her “hands” on whomever wrote the literature. The next is the pretentious, “offhand” type, who patronizes the author with aloof phrases such as “Please!” and “Nonsense.” On the other hand, “students” approach margins timidly, conforming safely to the use of vocabulary words such as “Irony” and “Metaphor.” In fact, Collins applauds the college student who has refrained from writing “Man vs. Nature” in a margin. The “fans” scribble just as fiercely as the critics, though instead of disapproval they shower their margins with praise. Though these readers differ greatly in attitude, they all share the innate need to be heard. The next stanza describes how we claim “the white perimeter as our own” and actively printed “a thought into the wayside.” Humans need to make their existence known even in the smallest of ways. “Even Irish monks,” “anonymous” men who have completely devoted themselves to God, scribble in the margins, trying to catch “a ride into the future” on a “vessel” that will ultimately outlast them. The “Catcher in the Rye” girl, in Collins’ eyes, has succeeded hugely in perpetuating her existence for years to come. She certainly wins his affection with her simple Marginalia: “Pardon the egg salad stains, but I’m in love.” ||
 * [[file:Marginalia.doc]] || Poem Analysis #9

Billy Collins’ poem “Center” unites symmetrical imagery with the description of a spiritual revelation to illustrate an inspired moment. The poem begins at sunrise when Collins realizes that half of his house is bathed in early sunlight and half in receding moonlight. He takes advantage of this perfect balance to stand in the center of these two forces, ultimately reaching a moment of enlightened clarity. Collins reinforces the sensation of “centeredness” with balanced imagery. For example, the dominant colors in the poem, orange and blue, are opposites on the color wheel; this parallels the equilibrium between sunlight and moonlight. Additionally, Collins juxtaposes physical temperature with color temperature, describing the sunrise as “frosted with start orange light” and the moon as a “white blaze.” By swapping the expected temperature of both colors, Collins crafts a sense of absolute balance in the style of Yin and Yang. As the poem progresses, Collins begins to achieve a state of total balance. Primarily, he walks back and forth between the rooms, the contrast between the locations as stark “as if between countries.” Soon, he stops directly in the middle of the two natural forces and extends “both arms/like Leonardo’s man,” the “perfect” man. Collins believes he is the center of the universe. When he turns, he feels “the whole house turning” with him, and the sunrise and moonlight begin to rotate before his eyes. Next, the entire solar system spins according to his axis. Collins fleetingly taps into his spiritual and psychological center in this imaginative-but-not-imagined moment in time, “as wide awake” as he “will ever be.” ||
 * [[file:Center.doc]] || Poem Analysis #10