Effect of Fixtures on Deformation and Warpage

Effect of Fixtures on Deformation and Warpage

The Real Romeo and Juliet

The ‘Real’ Romeo and Juliet Romeo and Juliet is well known throughout the world. However, there are some half truths throughout the story. These include the accurate author who happens to date back before Shakespeare’s birth. Also, some parts of his adaption are mistaken. Romeo and Juliet, the world famous play, isn’t merely a tale; it’s a real life story. Romeo and Juliet were not quite the people that Shakespeare portrayed in the play. Juliet is depicted as a 13 year old girl, while in truth she was 16 years old. Shakespeare made her younger to present her as â€Å"a young girl who is suddenly awakened to love. † (Romeo and Juliet Study Guide) Although some aspects of the true story were changed, others were kept spot on. Romeo and Juliet lived in Verona, Italy. At such an early age, they fell madly in love. However, the family of each lover happened to be sworn rivals. With parents and potions tearing at the love struck teens heart-strings, Romeo and Juliet proved true the moral of the story. Each moment truly made for a very dramatic and irrational ending. Love truly does withstand the tests of time. Shakespeare is very famous for his works of Hamlet, The Tragedy of Macbeth, and of course Romeo and Juliet. However, he did not write all these popular plays himself. The first note of Romeo and Juliet was back in the 1500’s. The main source of Shakespeare’s information was Arthur Brooke’s, The Tragicall Historye of Romeo and Juliet, a multi-thousand word poem. (Brad Lyons) The legend continues with a version written by Pierre Boiastuau. This account was from 1559 (Romeo and Juliet Study Guide) and Pierre used an Italian version by Bandello. The chain finally ceased with Luigi da Porto, who wrote Giulietta e Romeo, in 1530. (Brad Lyons)(Shakespeare for Students) William Shakespeare, the acclaimed author of Romeo and Juliet, was one of the greatest writers of his generation. However, he certainly had some help and inspirational guidance when developing his plays. Make no mistake, he was and always will be remembered for the superb tale of Romeo and Juliet. â€Å"Brad Lyons Romeo and Juliet in Verona†. 3/19/10 . â€Å"Romeo and Juliet Study Guide†. 3/19/10 . 2nd Edition Shakespeare for Students. Farmington Hills, MI: Thomson Gale, 2007.

Island of the Sequined Love Nun Chapter 49~50

49 The Bedside Manner of Cannibals Tuck slept through most of the day, then woke up with a pot of coffee over a spy novel. He looked at the words and his eyes moved down the pages for half an hour, but when he put it down he had no idea what he had read. His mind was torn by the thought of Beth Curtis showing up at his door. Whenever a guard crunched across the gravel compound, Tuck would go to the window to see if it was her. She wouldn't come here during the day, would she? He had promised Kimi that he would check on Sepie and meet him at the drinking circle, but now he was already a day late on the promise. What would happen if Beth Curtis came to his bungalow while he was out? She couldn't tell the doc, could she? What would her excuse be for coming here? Still, Tuck was beginning to think that the doc wasn't really the one running the show. He was merely skilled labor, and so, probably, was Tucker himself. Tuck looked at the pages of the spy novel, watched a little Malaysian television (today they were throwing spears at coconuts on top of a pole while the Asian stock market's tickers scrolled at the bottom of the screen in thin-colored bands), and waited for nightfall. When he could no longer see the guard's face across the compound, he made a great show of yawning and stretching in front of the window, then turned out the lights, built the dummy in his bed, and slipped out through the bottom of the shower. He took his usual path behind the clinic, then inched his way up on the far side and peeked around the front. Not ten feet away a guard stood by the door. He ducked quickly around the corner. There was no way into the clinic tonight. He could wait or even try to intimidate the guard, now that he knew they were afraid to shoot him. Of course, he wasn't sure they knew they were afraid to shoot him. What if Mato was the only one? He slid back down the side of the building and through the coconut grove to the beach. The swim had become like walking to the mailbox, and he was past the minefield in less than five minutes. As he rounded the curve of the beach, he saw a light and figures moving around it. The Shark men had brought a kerosene lamp to the drinking circle. How civilized. Some of the men acknowledged his presence as he moved into the circle, but the old chief only stared into the sand between his feet. There was a stack of magazines at his side. â€Å"What's going on, guys?† A panic made its way around the circle to land on Abo, who looked up and said, â€Å"Your friend is shot by the guards.† Tuck waited, but Abo looked away. Tuck jumped in front of Malink. â€Å"Chief, is he telling the truth? Did they shoot Kimi? Is he dead?† â€Å"Not dead,† Malink said, shaking his head. â€Å"Hurt very bad.† â€Å"Take me to him.† â€Å"He is at Sarapul's house.† â€Å"Right. I'll look it up in the guidebook later. Now take me to him.† Old Malink shook his head. â€Å"He going to die.† â€Å"Where is he shot?† â€Å"In the water by the minefield.† â€Å"No, numbnuts. Where on his body?† Malink held his hand to his side. â€Å"I say, ‘Take him to the Sorcerer,' but Sarapul say, ‘The Sorcerer shoot him.'† Malink then looked Tuck in the eye for the first time. His big brown face was a study in trouble. â€Å"Vincent send you. What do I do?† Tuck could sense a profound embarrassment in the old man. He had just admitted in front of the men in his tribe that he didn't have a clue. The loss of face was gnawing at him like a hungry sand crab. Tuck said, â€Å"Vincent is pleased with your decision, Malink. Now I must see Kimi.† One of the young Vincents stood up. Feeling very brave, he said, â€Å"I will take you.† Tuck grabbed his shoulder. â€Å"You're a good man. Lead on.† The young Vincent seemed to forget to breathe for a moment, as if Tuck had touched him on the shoulders with a sword and welcomed him to a seat at the Round Table, then he came to his senses and took off into the jungle. Tuck followed close behind, nearly clotheslining himself a couple of times on branches that the young Vincent ran right under. The coral gravel on the path tore at Tuck's feet as he ran. When they emerged from the jungle, Tuck could see a light coming out of Sarapul's hut, which Tuck recognized from his day in the cannibal tree. He turned to young Vincent, who was terrified. He had charged the dragon, but had made the mistake of stopping to think about it. â€Å"Kimi's with the cannibal?† Young Vincent nodded rapidly while bouncing from foot to foot, looking like he would wet himself any second. â€Å"Go on,† Tuck said. â€Å"Go tell Malink to come here. And have a drink. You're wigging out.† Vincent nodded and ran off. Tuck approached the door slowly, creeping up until he could see the old man crouched over Kimi, trying to pour something into his mouth from a coconut cup. â€Å"Hey,† Tuck said, â€Å"how's he doing?† Sarapul looked around and gestured for Tuck to enter the house. Tuck had to bend to get through the low door, but once inside the ceiling opened to a fifteen-foot peak. Tuck knelt by Kimi. The navigator's eyes were closed, and even in the orange light of Sarapul's oil lamp, he looked pale. He was uncovered and a bandage was wrapped around his middle. â€Å"Did you do this?† Tuck asked Sarapul. The old cannibal nodded. â€Å"They shoot him in water. I pull him in.† â€Å"How many times?† Sarapu held up a long bent finger. â€Å"Both sides? Did it go through?† Tuck gestured with his fingers on either side of his hip. â€Å"Yes,† Sarapul said. â€Å"Let me see.† The old cannibal nodded and unwrapped Kimi's bandage. Tuck rolled the navigator gently on his side. Kimi groaned, but didn't wake. The bullet had hit him about two inches above the hip and about an inch in. It had passed right though, going in the size of a pencil and exiting the size of a quarter. Tuck was amazed that he hadn't bled to death. The old cannibal had done a good job. â€Å"Don't take him to the Sorcerer,† Sarapul said. â€Å"The Sorcerer will kill him. He is the only navigator.† The old cannibal was pleading while trying to remain fierce. A sob betrayed him. â€Å"He is my friend.† Tuck studied the wound to give the old cannibal a chance to gather himself. He couldn't remember any vital organs being in that area. But the wounds would have to be stiched shut. Tuck wasn't sure he had the stomach for it, but Sarapul was right. He couldn't take Kimi to Curtis. â€Å"Do you guys have anything you use to kill pain?† The cannibal looked at him quizzically. Tuck pinched him and he yelped. â€Å"Pain. Do you have anything to stop pain?† â€Å"Yes. Don't do that anymore.† â€Å"No, for Kimi.† Sarapul nodded and went out into the dark. He returned a few seconds later with a glass jug half-full of milky liquid. He handed it to Tuck. â€Å"Kava,† he said. â€Å"It make you no ouch.† Tuck uncapped the bottle and a smell like cooking cabbage assaulted his nostrils. He held his breath and took a big slug of the stuff, suppressed a gag, and swallowed. His mouth was immediately numb. â€Å"Wow, this ought to do it. I need a needle and some thread and some hot water. And some alcohol or peroxide if you have it.† Sarapul nodded. â€Å"I put Neosporin on him.† â€Å"You know about that? Why am I doing this?† Sarapul shrugged and left the house. Evidently, he didn't keep anything inside but his skinny old ass. Kimi moaned and Tuck rolled him over. The navigator's eyes fluttered open. â€Å"Boss, that dog fucker shot me.† â€Å"Curtis? The older white guy?† â€Å"No. Japanese dog fucker.† Kimi drew his finger across his scalp in a line and Tuck knew exactly who he meant. â€Å"What were you doing, Kimi? I told you that I'd check on Sepie and meet you.† Tuck felt a pleasant numbness moving into his limbs. This kava stuff would definitely do the trick. â€Å"You didn't come. I worry for her.† â€Å"I had to fly.† â€Å"Sarapul say those people very bad. You should come live here, boss.† â€Å"Be quiet. Drink this.† He held the jug to Kimi's lips and tipped it up. The navigator took a sip and Tuck let him rest before administering another dose. â€Å"That stuff nasty,† Kimi said. â€Å"I'm going to stitch you up.† The navigator's eyes went wide. He took the jug from Tuck and gulped from it until Tuck ripped it out of his hands. â€Å"It won't be that bad.† â€Å"Not for you.† Tuck grinned. â€Å"Haven't you heard? I've been sent here by Vincent.† â€Å"That what Sarapul say. He say he don't believe in Vincent until we come, but now he do.† â€Å"Really?† Sarapul came through the door with an armload of supplies. â€Å"I don't say that. This dog fucker lies.† Tuck shook his head. â€Å"You guys were made for each other.† Sarapul set down a sewing kit and a bottle of peroxide, then crouched over the navigator and looked up at Tuck. â€Å"Can you fix him?† Tuck grinned and grabbed the old cannibal by the cheek. â€Å"Yum,† Tuck said. â€Å"Sorry,† Sarapul said. â€Å"I'll fix him,† Tuck said. Silently he asked for help from Vincent. â€Å"I can't feel my arms,† Kimi said. â€Å"My legs, where are my legs? I'm dying.† Sarapul looked at Tuck. â€Å"Good,† he said. â€Å"More kava.† Tuck picked up the jug, now only a quarter full. â€Å"This is great stuff.† â€Å"I'm dying,† Kimi said. Tuck rolled the navigator over on his side. â€Å"Kimi, did I tell you I saw Roberto?† â€Å"See, I didn't eat him,† Sarapul said. â€Å"Where?† Kimi asked. â€Å"He came to my house. He talked to me.† â€Å"You lie. He only speak Filipino.† â€Å"He learned English. Can you feel that?† â€Å"Feel what? I am dying?† â€Å"Good,† Tuck said and he laid his first stitch. â€Å"What Roberto say? He mad at me?† â€Å"No, he said you're dying.† â€Å"I'm dying, I'm dying,† Kimi wailed. â€Å"Just kidding. He didn't say that. He said you're probably dying.† Tuck kept Kimi talking, and before long the navigator was so convinced of his approaching death he didn't notice that Tucker Case, self-taught incompetent, had completely stitched and dressed his wounds. 50 Don Quixote at the Miniature Golf Course He was sleeping, dreaming of flying, but not in a plane. He was soaring over the warm Pacific above a pod of hump-back whales. He swooped in close to the waves and one of the whales breached, winked at him with a football-sized eye, and said, â€Å"You da man.† Then the whale smiled and blew the dream all to hell, for while Tuck knew himself to indeed â€Å"be da man† and while he didn't mind being told so, he also knew that whales couldn't smile and that bit of illogic above all the others broke the dream's back. He woke up. There was music playing in his bungalow. â€Å"Dance with me, Tucker,† she said. â€Å"Dance with me in the moonlight.† The smooth muted horns of â€Å"Moonlight Serenade† filled the room from a portable boom box on his coffee table. Beth Curtis, wearing a sequined evening gown and high-heeled sandals, danced an imaginary partner around the room. â€Å"Oh, dance with me, Tucker. Please.† She glided over to the bed and held her hand out to him. He gave her the coconut man's head, rolled over, and ducked under the sheet. â€Å"Go away. I'm tired and you're insane.† She sat on the bed with a bounce. â€Å"You old stick in the mud.† A pouty voice now. â€Å"You never want to have any romance.† Tuck feigned sleep. Pretty well, he thought. â€Å"I brought champagne and candles. And I made cookies.† This is me sleeping, Tuck thought. This is exactly how I behave when I sleep. â€Å"I twisted up a joint of skunky green bud the size of your dick.† â€Å"I hope you got help carrying it,† he said, still under the covers. â€Å"I rolled it on the inside of my thigh the way the women in Cuba roll cigars.† â€Å"Don't tell me how you licked the paper.† She slapped him on the bottom. â€Å"Come on, dance with me.† He rolled over and pulled the sheet off his face. â€Å"You're not going to go away, are you?† â€Å"Not until you dance with me and have some champagne.† Tuck looked at his watch. â€Å"It's five in the morning.† â€Å"Haven't you ever danced till dawn?† â€Å"Not vertically.† â€Å"Oh, you nasty boy.† Coy now, as if anything short of being caught at genocide could make her blush. The song changed to something slow and oily that Tuck didn't recognize. â€Å"This is such a good song. Let's dance.† She swooned. She actually swooned. Swooning, Tuck noticed, looked very much like an asthma attack wheezed in slow motion. A rooster crowed, and seven thousand six hundred and fifty-two roosters responded in turn. â€Å"Beth, it's morning. Please go home.† â€Å"Then you're not going to dance with me?† â€Å"No.† â€Å"All right, I guess we'll skip the dancing, but I want you to know that I'm very disappointed.† She stood up, pulled the evening gown over her head, and dropped it to the floor. The sequins sizzled against the floor like a dying rattlesnake. She wore only stockings underneath. Tuck said, â€Å"I don't think this is such a good idea,† but there was no conviction in his voice and she pushed him back on the bed. Tuck was staring up at the ceiling, his arm pinned under her neck, silently mouthing his mantra, â€Å"After this, I will not bone the crazy woman. After this, I will not bone the crazy woman. After†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Boy, how many times had he said that? Maybe things were getting better, though. In the past it had always been â€Å"I will not get drunk and bone the crazy woman.† He had been only sleepy this time. He tried to worm his arm out from under her, then used the â€Å"old snuggle method.† He rolled into her for a hug and when she responded with a sleepy moan and tried to kiss him, the space under her neck opened up and he was free. It worked as well on murdering bitch goddesses as it did on Mary Jean ladies. Better even, Beth didn't wear near as much hair spray, which can slow a guy down. God, I'm good. He rolled out of bed and crept into the bathroom. While he peed, he softly chanted, â€Å"Yo, after this, I will not bone the crazy woman.† It had taken on a rap cadence and he was feeling very hip along with the usual self-loathing. His scars made him think of Kimi's wound, and suddenly he was angry. He padded naked back to the bed and jostled the sleeping icon. â€Å"Get up, Beth. Go home.† And someone pounded on the door. â€Å"Mr. Case, tee time in five.† Tuck clamped his hand over Beth's mouth, lifted her by her head in a single sweeping move from the bed to the bathroom, where he released her and shut the door. Fred Astaire, had he been a terrorist, would have been proud of the move. Tuck grabbed his pants off the floor, which is where he kept them, pulled them on, and answered the door. Sebastian Curtis had a driver slung over his shoulder. â€Å"You might want to put on a shirt, Mr. Case. You can get burned, even this early.† â€Å"Right,† Tuck said. He was looking at the caddie. Today Stripe carried the clubs. The guard sneered at him. Tuck smiled back. Stripe, like Mato before him, was doing caddie duty unarmed. Time to play a little round for the navigator, he thought. He winked at Stripe. â€Å"I'll be right there.† Tuck closed the door and went to the bathroom to tell Beth to wait until he'd gone before coming out, but when he opened the door, she was gone. â€Å"Did you know that over ninety percent of all the endangered species are on islands?† the doctor said. â€Å"Nope,† Tuck said. He picked his ball up and put it on the rubberized mat, then turned to Stripe. â€Å"Dopey, give me a five iron.† They were on the fourth hole and had crisscrossed the compound pretending to play golf for an hour. Tuck swung and skidded the ball fifty yards across the gravel. â€Å"Heads up, Bashful,† Tuck said as he threw the club back to Stripe. â€Å"Islands are like evolutionary pressure cookers. New species pop up faster and go extinct more quickly. It works the same way with religions.† â€Å"No kidding, Doc?† They still had fifty yards to get to where Sebastian's first shot lay. Tuck had hit three times. â€Å"The cargo cults have all the same events associated with the great reli-gions: a period of oppression, the rise of a Messiah, a new order, the promise of an endless time of peace and prosperity. But instead of devel-oping over centuries like Christianity or Buddhism, it happens in just a few years. It's fascinating, like being able to see the hands of the clock move right before your eyes and be a part of it.† â€Å"So you must totally get off when daylight savings time comes around.† â€Å"It was just a metaphor, Mr. Case.† â€Å"Call me Tuck.† They had reached Tuck's ball and he placed it on the Astro Turf mat. â€Å"Sneezy, give me the driver.† Sebastian cleared his throat. â€Å"That looks more like a nine iron to me. You've only got fifty yards to the pin.† â€Å"Trust me, Doc. I need a driver for this one.† Stripe snickered and handed him the driver. Tuck examined it, one of the large-headed alloy models that had become so popular in the States – all metal. Tuck grinned at Stripe. â€Å"So, Doc, I guess you shitcanned the Meth-odist thing to watch the clock spin.† Tuck lined up the shot and took a practice swing. The club whooshed through the air. â€Å"Have you ever had faith in anything, Mr. Case?† Tuck took another practice swing. â€Å"Me? Faith? Nope.† â€Å"Not even your own abilities?† â€Å"Nope.† Tuck made a show of lining up the shot again and making sure his hips were loose. â€Å"Then you shouldn't make jokes about it.† â€Å"Right,† Tuck said. He tensed and put his entire weight behind the club, but instead of hitting the ball, he swung it around like a baseball bat, slamming the head into Stripe's cheek, shattering the bone with a sickening thwack. The guard's feet went out from under him and he landed with a crunch in the coral. â€Å"Christ!† Sebastian yelled. He grabbed the club and wrenched it from Tuck's grasp. â€Å"What in the hell are you doing?† Tuck didn't answer. He bent over the guard until he was only inches from his face and whispered, â€Å"Fore, motherfucker.† A second later Tuck heard a mechanical click and the guard who had been tending the pin had an Uzi pressed to his ear. Sebastian Curtis was bent over Stripe, pulling his eyes open to see if his pupils would contract. â€Å"Take Mr. Case to his bungalow and stay with him. Send two men with a stretcher and find Beth. Tell her to – † Curtis suddenly realized that the guard was only getting about a third of what he said. â€Å"Bring my wife.† â€Å"I'll get back to you on that faith thing, Doc,† Tuck said.

Sylvia Plath And Anne Sexton - 1782 Words

Confessional poets in the 1950’s and 1960’s shaped confessional poetry into a type of writing that forever changed American literature. With controversial subjects at the time such as death, trauma, depression and how relationships impacted people, confessional poetry carved a gateway for private subjects and feelings to be expressed through autobiographical writing. The inspiration behind confessional poetry was the therapy it brought to the writer, being able to take personal experiences and thoughts and construct them into beautiful poems helped these writers cope with their personal experiences and feelings in a new, and constructive way. Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton were a major part of the confessional writing movement in the 20th†¦show more content†¦She continued her education at Smith College and Newnham College in Cambridge. This is where she met her husband, Ted Hughes. They married just a few short months after and had 2 children. The marriage to Hu ghes was very depressing for Plath, who had the knowledge of his many affairs. (â€Å"Sylvia Plath†, Poetry Foundation) The symptoms of her severe depression, the poor marriage she had and the events of her childhood, made a significant impact on her multiple suicide attempts which ultimately lead to her placing her head in the oven and killing herself. The idea of death is very apparent in many of Plath’s poems, she constructed her views and opinions of death from her external surroundings and experiences. By taking an external approach to the idea of death, Plath was able to display her poems and stories in a way that was much like a cry for help. For example, in the poem â€Å"Daddy,† Plath writes â€Å"I used to pray to recover you† (Plath,† Daddy†14) This quote demonstrates to the reader that the loss of her father was scary for her, and quite possibly a nightmare that she wished she could wake up from. Another quote in the poem â€Å"Da ddy† that exemplifies her want to die in order to reach her father again is in lines fifty-seven through fifty-nine where she states, â€Å"I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die and get back, back, back to you.† (Plath, â€Å"Daddy† 57-59). These three lines exemplify that she wished she could be dead to be with her fatherShow MoreRelatedSylvia Plath and Anne Sexton1240 Words   |  5 Pages â€Å" Confessional Poets† Sylvia Plath (1932-1963) and Anne Sexton (1928-1974) both explored similar themes such as tone, structure, and symbolism. Many of their poems were cries for help, which resulted into metal illness, depression, and suicide. In 1958, Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath met, and much to their surprise had a few things in common. They both were fascinated with death and suicide. Both Sexton’s and Plath’s poetryRead MoreThe Comparison and Contrast of Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath Essay example1646 Words   |  7 PagesComparison and Contrast of Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath The two poems, â€Å"And One for My Dame† by Anne Sexton and â€Å"Daddy† by Sylvia Plath, both explore similar themes through the use of literary elements such as structure, tone and symbolism. Structures in each poem are alike with length but differ with the actual form. The tone Plath conveys is negative one while Sexton’s is more neutral. The symbolism in â€Å"Daddy† was also negative with symbols of the devil but Sexton used a nursery rhyme as a symbolRead MoreThe Life of Sylvia Plath1006 Words   |  5 PagesThe Life of Sylvia Plath Sylvia Plaths life, like her manic depression, constantly jumped between Heaven and Hell. Her seemingly perfect exterior hid a turbulent and deeply troubled spirit. A closer look at her childhood and personal experiences removes some element of mystery from her writings. One central character to Sylvia Plaths poems is her father, Professor Otto Emile Plath. Otto Plath was diabetic and refused to stay away from foods restricted by his doctor. As a resultRead More Comparing Feminist Poetry by Plath and Sexton Essay1201 Words   |  5 PagesComparing Feminist Poetry by Plath and Sexton Poetry should be a shock to the senses. It should also hurt Anne Sexton believed (Baym 2703), and evidence of this maxims implications echoes loudly through the writing of Sexton as well as through the work of her friend and contemporary Sylvia Plath. Plath and Sextons lifetimes spanned a period of remarkable change in the social role of women in America, and both are obviously feminist poets caught somewhere between the submissive pastsRead MoreAnalysis Of Mary Hughes s Poem Lady Lazarus Plath 1067 Words   |  5 Pagesappear to remind her inner wounds of life. Frequently they seem to terrorize her with their openings; They (Tulips) are opening like the mouth of some great African cat..15. In her poem Lady Lazarus Plath confirms her strong faith in rebirth and resurrection: Out of the ash I rise with my red hair and I eat men like air16. It further makes obvious her repulsion on men. She believes that Suicide, Death and Resurrection may fetch her eternal happiness. That is why, it seems, she loves death. SheRead MoreAnne Sexton Confessional Poetry Analysis1192 Words   |  5 PagesConfessional poetry is the poetry of the personal or I, and it began to emerge in the late 50s and early 60s (A Brief Guide to Confessional Poetry). It is associated with poets like Robert Lowell, Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, W. D. Snodgrass, etc., with Lowell playing teacher for both Plath and Sexton. This poetry movement was all about opening closed doors, allowing the discussion of topics that were once considered forbidden and shameful. Anything once indecent to mention in polite company was usedRead MoreThemes Of Anne Sexton1069 Words   |  5 PagesThemes from Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Gwendolyn Brooks, and Robert Hayden An Evaluation of themes from Mirror, Courage, Explorer, and Douglas During the 1900’s, a series of new poets came into existence. These poets brought about new themes and perspectives that manipulated the minds of humans all across the world. The poets that are in our study are Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Gwendolyn Brooks, and Robert Hayden. These four poets wrote detailed, intricate poems that are packed full of a slew ofRead MoreThe Poetry Of Sylvia Plath1811 Words   |  8 PagesSylvia Plath is often described as a feminist poet who wrote about the difficulties women faced before womens right were a mainstream idea. From reading her poetry, it is quite obvious that Plaths feminism is extremely important to her, but she also wrote about a lot of day to day experiences and made them significant through her use of literary devices such as metaphors and symbols. Plath may also be best known for her autobiographical poetry written in a confessional style that appeared duringRead More##xiety In Courage, Gwendolyn BrooksThe Explorer, And Frederic k Douglass732 Words   |  3 Pagestheme that it focuses on, or does it? In these four poems, there is a strong sense of social anxiety, and then the overcoming of that with courage. In Sylvia Plaths Mirror, Anne Sexton’s Courage, Gwendolyn Brooks’ The Explorer, and Robert Hayden’s Frederick Douglass there is a strongly shared theme. To start off is the theme of social anxiety in Sylvia Plath’s Mirror. This poem is about a mirror that spends most of it’s days reflecting the wall, but occasionally, it is the friend of a man or womanRead More Preparing for Death in Sylvia Plaths Daddy Essay1424 Words   |  6 PagesPreparing for Death in Plath’s Daddy  Ã‚   Throughout the poem Daddy by Sylvia Plath, the author struggles to escape the memory of her father who died when she was only ten years old. She also expresses anger at her husband, Ted Hughes, who abandoned her for another woman. The confessional poem begins with a series of metaphors about Plaths father which progress from godlike to demonic. Near the end, a new metaphor emerges, when the author realizes that her estranged husband is actually the