<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4939309586042020847</id><updated>2011-07-08T02:27:33.041-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Truth Within</title><subtitle type='html'>A Look Inside Confessional Poetry</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Britta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02975585331972798808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>7</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4939309586042020847.post-3174603561763555334</id><published>2009-06-05T10:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T10:11:09.767-07:00</updated><title type='text'>School</title><content type='html'>As I move on into the future, I am unsure whether or not I am happy or sad.  I am plagued with uncertainty, and confusion.   The words, "You don't know what you have, until you no longer have it," are hitting me hard, because I finally realized how much I appreciated high school, and found extreme comfort in it.  It is difficult to think of finding this comfort elsewhere.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We will have to see what New York has for Me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4939309586042020847-3174603561763555334?l=brittama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/feeds/3174603561763555334/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/2009/06/school.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default/3174603561763555334'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default/3174603561763555334'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/2009/06/school.html' title='School'/><author><name>Britta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02975585331972798808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4939309586042020847.post-9192424884954432782</id><published>2009-06-03T04:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T08:41:01.492-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Touching Fire</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Britta Akerley&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;I am drawn to its brilliant light.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;The heat wraps around me, it sends me chills&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;The invitation is difficult to resist.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;The warmth engulfs my body,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;And comforts my soul.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;As I close a gap between us, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;the comfort spreads through each limb&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;The feeling intensifies&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;The heat is ferocious&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;It burns, I feel pain.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;But am I the&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;one to blame?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;I should know that fire is unpredictable.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;So why is fire so irresistible?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The three confessional poets that made an impression on me with this project were Robert Lowell, Sylvia Plath, and Anne Sexton.  They each told told a lot of their personal lives, and inner emotions through their poetry.  I also noticed how they used illusions, and wrote about past figures, or well-known people.  They used circumstances and different actions to illustrate exactly how they felt.   I tried to use this idea, and illustrate an emotion that I feel, using fire as a metaphor.  I also tried to stay within the guidelines of a conceit poem, because their is more to confessional poetry than the "confession," and the form is very important. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4939309586042020847-9192424884954432782?l=brittama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/feeds/9192424884954432782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/2009/06/touching-fire.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default/9192424884954432782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default/9192424884954432782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/2009/06/touching-fire.html' title='Touching Fire'/><author><name>Britta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02975585331972798808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4939309586042020847.post-5234794560538124741</id><published>2009-06-03T02:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T09:18:41.416-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Words</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:19px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;By Anne Sexton&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Be careful of words, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;even the miraculous ones. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;For the miraculous we do our best, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;sometimes they swarm like insects &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;and leave not a sting but a kiss. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;They can be as good as fingers. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;They can be as trusty as the rock &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;you stick your bottom on. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;But they can be both daisies and bruises. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Yet I am in love with words. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;They are doves falling out of the ceiling. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;They are the trees, the legs of summer, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;and the sun, its passionate face. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Yet often they fail me. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;I have so much I want to say, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;so many stories, images, proverbs, etc. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;But the words aren't good enough, &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;the wrong ones kiss me. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Sometimes I fly like an eagle &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;but with the wings of a wren. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;But I try to take care &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;and be gentle to them. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Words and eggs must be handled with care. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;Once broken they are impossible &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;things to repair.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"&gt;The poem &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"&gt;Words&lt;/i&gt;, by Anne Sexton may be interpreted in many ways.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;In this poem, and in many of Sexton’s works, she uses a metaphor to illustrate what she wishes to say.   My take on the poem is that she is actually talking about the relationship between her parents and her.  In the line, "words and eggs must be handled with care, once broken they are impossible to repair," I think Sexton is talking about her parents as "words."  The egg, in this case would be her, as she would be the offspring of her parents.  Eggs also seem to symbolize innocence and fragility.  I researched her life, to understand her a bit better, and discovered that she actually had a somewhat abusive home life.  Her parents often mistreated her, but at the same time they expressed love for her. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The idea of confessional poetry is to really get an idea of what is inside the poet's head.  This poem, really shows an inner turmoil or confusion.  Sexton's use of words illustrated such a confusion of how she actually feels about the subject.  She explains "I am in love with words," and "They are the trees, the legs of summer, and the sun, its passionate face,"  but that "they often fail me."  Anne Sexton is explaining how much she loves the subject, and how there are many great aspects of it, but that it is not perfect.  Sexton also clarifies that she tries to take care of words, but they are fragile.  The clues of this poem made me to believe that this poem is about her home life, and the fragile relationship she had with her parents.  She felt it to be her fault, when things were not going well, and she loved her parents despite the mixed signals and mistreatment.  &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4939309586042020847-5234794560538124741?l=brittama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/feeds/5234794560538124741/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/2009/06/words.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default/5234794560538124741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default/5234794560538124741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/2009/06/words.html' title='Words'/><author><name>Britta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02975585331972798808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4939309586042020847.post-6601454662533727800</id><published>2009-06-03T02:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T10:05:55.163-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Reflection</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;After reading dozens of confessional poems, I feel that I have truly grasped the essence of this art.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Since these poems are direct insights into the poets’ lives, it believe I am more in touch with their intentions.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Feeling such closeness to an artist allows you to appreciate their work at a far greater extent.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;For example, when reading "Words" I truly connected with Anne Sexton’s emotions at the time she wrote it.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Having found a hypersensitivity to poets’ emotions has also helped me become aware of their treatment of language.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It is now clear for me to see slight variations in diction, syntax, and more specific poetic tools such as line breaks, and how these choices can affect the overall meaning of the poem.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Imagery, simile and metaphors were fairly common in the confessional poetry that I read.  I read many poems that had a deeper meaning than what was directly said.  I really enjoyed Anne Sexton's metaphors, and deciphering the meaning behind what she was actually saying.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The Poems I read are:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-“Words” by Anne Sexton&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-“Searching,” by Robert Lowell&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-“Daddy,” by Sylvia Plath&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-“All My Pretty Ones,” by Anne Sexton&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-“The Starry Night,” by Anne Sexton&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-“Lady Lazarus,” by Sylvia Plath&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-“Sleep in the Mojave Desert,” by Sylvia Plath&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-“Mr. Edwards and the Spider,” by Robert Lowell&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-“Wanting to Die,” by Anne Sexton&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-“The Moss of His Skin,” by Anne Sexton&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-“Dream Song 1,” by John Berryman&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;-and “Central Park, by Robert Lowell&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;   &lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4939309586042020847-6601454662533727800?l=brittama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/feeds/6601454662533727800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/2009/06/reflection.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default/6601454662533727800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default/6601454662533727800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/2009/06/reflection.html' title='Reflection'/><author><name>Britta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02975585331972798808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4939309586042020847.post-2705893885040869007</id><published>2009-06-02T07:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T08:40:30.256-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Post Secret</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;http://postsecret.blogspot.com/&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For my art, I chose something a little different.  The blog posted above is a blog of confessions.  People send postcards to postsecret, with something they wish to share, without revealing their identity.  Postsecret has also made books from from the content of the blogs, and there are postsecret exhibitions in various museums.   The Everson Museum of Art in Syracuse, New York and Hillier Art Space  in Washington DC are currently hosting PostSecret art exhibitions.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;These pieces of art capture the essence of the confessional movement, through personal art.   These postcards reveal insight into the lives of each artist.   Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton are responsible for countless poems where they shared intimate details about their personal lives, much like the postcards that are posted on the site.  Because the site is anonymous, the poets mask their identities much like the earlier confessional poets hid behind masks.  The nature of these poems have a vast range of emotions.  For the artists to reveal their innermost feelings, emotions and secrets,  is tremendously therapeutic.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The pictures under the label post secret are examples of postcards found on postsecret.  The picture concerning a father-child relationship is very similar to the subject of some of Plath's and Sexton's poems.  These two poets were inspired by their homelives and wrote of disconcerting relationships with their fathers.  For example Sylvia Plath's poem, "Daddy."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4939309586042020847-2705893885040869007?l=brittama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/feeds/2705893885040869007/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/2009/06/post-secret.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default/2705893885040869007'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default/2705893885040869007'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/2009/06/post-secret.html' title='Post Secret'/><author><name>Britta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02975585331972798808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4939309586042020847.post-253778515822267573</id><published>2009-05-20T10:31:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T02:07:15.872-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Confessional Poetry</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Poems that reveal insight into the poet’s life are deemed confessional poetry.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They are frequently about illness, sexuality, or despondence.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When poets first began to write confessional poetry it was unprecedented to write about yourself, at least explicitly.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Poets who had previously written about themselves had hidden behind a “mask” or otherwise had written about public issues using a detached persona (angelfire.com).&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Poets utilize confessional poetry for a variety of reasons.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;However, most commonly a poet will write a confessional poem to purge their innermost feelings and emotions.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;By doing so, the poet is able to “confess.”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Despite what one may assume, a confession is not necessarily limited to admitting a misdeed.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Rather, a confession may simply be a way a person can release their true feelings.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Writers that can successfully do so have found success and appreciation for their work.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;However, confessional poetry is not solely meant for an audience to enjoy, it is also very therapeutic.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Confessional poetry is an excellent tool to manage anger and other extreme emotions.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;According to poets.org, craft and construction were extremely important to confessional poets.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Although they led an innovational art, they did not stray from usual poetic conventions.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Despite their articulate craftsmanship though, confessional poets were much more concerned with the content and delivery of their work.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;WORKS CITED&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:0in"&gt;&lt;span style=" font-family:&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;mso-bidi-Times New Roman&amp;quot;font-family:&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"A Brief Guide to Confessional Poetry ." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;poets.org&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt; (2009) Web.2 Jun 2009.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;                &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;       &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmmid/5650&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmmid/5650&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:0in"&gt;&lt;span style=" font-family:&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;mso-bidi-Times New Roman&amp;quot;font-family:&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;"Confessional Poetry." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;angelfire.com&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt; (2009) Web.2 Jun 2009. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;http://www.angelfire.com/zine/donnamford/confessional.html&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/http://www.angelfire.com/zine/donnamford/confessional.html&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:0in"&gt;&lt;span style=" font-family:&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;mso-bidi-Times New Roman&amp;quot;font-family:&amp;quot;;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Siluk, Dennis. "What is Confessional Poetry? (And Why do we Write It?)." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;A Hint of Poetry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt; 27 Mar 2007 Web.2 Jun 2009. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;http://hintofpoetry.blogspot.com/2007/03/what-is-confessional-poetry-and-why-do.html&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/http://hintofpoetry.blogspot.com/2007/03/what-is-confessional-poetry-and-why-do.html&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4939309586042020847-253778515822267573?l=brittama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/feeds/253778515822267573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/2009/05/confessional-poetry.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default/253778515822267573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default/253778515822267573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/2009/05/confessional-poetry.html' title='Confessional Poetry'/><author><name>Britta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02975585331972798808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4939309586042020847.post-3716968532398453448</id><published>2009-05-20T10:31:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-20T10:42:57.262-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chuan wei gao</title><content type='html'>Ya do Chui Feng eetadakimas.  Zuo ke chuan wei goa satoka, hitomi, peng gua zuo ke.  Gui Hung Luo Bo nui nai...ya do chui feng oyes umeenasei.  Ich will xia tian!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4939309586042020847-3716968532398453448?l=brittama.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/feeds/3716968532398453448/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/2009/05/conf3essional-poetry.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default/3716968532398453448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4939309586042020847/posts/default/3716968532398453448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brittama.blogspot.com/2009/05/conf3essional-poetry.html' title='Chuan wei gao'/><author><name>Britta</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02975585331972798808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
