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67 Cards in this Set
- Front
- Back
Johnson
"Inglan is a Bitch" 1991 |
Inglan is a bitch
dere's no escapin it Inglan is a bitch fi true is whey wi a goh dhu 'bout it? |
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Boland
"Listen. This is the Noise of Myth" 1986 |
And then the woods flooded and buds
blunted from the chestnut and the foxglove put its big leaves out and chaffinches chinked and flirted in the branches of the ash. |
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Boland
"Listen. This is the Noise of Myth" 1986 |
O consolations of the craft.
How we put the old poultices on the old sores, the same mirrors to the old magic. Look. |
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Boland
"Listen. This is the Noise of Myth" 1986 |
legend, self-deception, sin, the sum
of human puproses and its end; remember how our poetry depends on distance, aspect: gravity will bend starlight. |
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Dabydeen
"Coolie Odyssey" 1988 |
Like the blasted land
unconquerable jungle or weed That dragged the might of years from a man. |
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Dabydeen
"Coolie Odyssey" 1988 |
We mark your memories in songs
Fleshed in the emptiness of folk, Poems that scrape the bowl and bone In English basements far from home |
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Dabydeen
"Coolie Odyssey" 1988 |
Or confess the lust of beasts
In rare conceits To congregations of the educated Sipping wine, attentive between courses--- See the applesause fluttering from their fair hands Like so many messy table napkins |
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Walcott
"Ruins of a Great House" 1962 |
That Albion too was once
A colony like ours, "part of the continent, piece of the main," Nook-shotten, rook o'erblown, deranged By foaming channels and the vain expanse Of bitter faction |
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Walcott
"Ruins of a Great House" 1962 |
It seems that the original crops were limes
Grown in the silt that clogs the river's skirt; |
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Walcott
"A Far Cry from Africa" 1962 |
Statistics justify and scholars sieze
The salients of colonial policy. What is that to the white child hacked in bed? To savages expendable as Jews? |
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Walcott
"A Far Cry from Africa" 1962 |
Again brutish necessity wipes its hands
Upon the napkin of a dirty cause, again A waste of our compassion, as with Spain |
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Rushdie
"Is Nothing Sacred?" 1990 |
The reason for ensuring that that privileged arena is preserved is not that writers want the absolute freedom to say and do whatever they please. It is that we, all of us, readers and writers and citizens and generals and godmen, need that little, unimportant-looking room.
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Ng˜ug˜i
"Decolonising the Mind" 1986 |
"Language was not a mere string of words. It had a suggestive power well beyond the immediate and lexical meaning
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Ng˜ug˜i
"Decolonising the Mind" 1986 |
Learning, for a colonial child, became a cerebral activity and not an emotionally felt experience
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Heaney
"Englands of the Mind" 1980 |
I have simply presumed to share in that exploration through the medium which England has, for better or worse, impressed upon us all, the English language itself
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Heaney
"Punishment" 1975 |
who would connive
in civilized outrage yet understand the exact and tribal, intimate revenge |
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Heaney
"Punishment" 1975 |
Under which at first
she was a barked sapling that is dug up oak-bone, brain firkin: |
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Heaney
"Digging" 1966 |
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests. I'll dig with it. |
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Larkin
"Annus Mirabilis" 1967 |
Then all at once the quarrel sank:
Everyone felt the same, And every life became A brilliant breaking of the bank, A quite unlosable game. |
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Larkin
"Church Going" 1954 |
Power of some sort or other will go on
In games, in riddles, seemingly at random; But superstition, like belief, must die |
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Larkin
"Church Going" 1954 |
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round. |
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Beckett
"Krapp's Last Tape" 1958 |
Past midnight. Never knew such silence. The earth might be uninhabited.
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Page
"Ecce Homo" 1946 |
The flesh that covered the bone
seemed bone itself |
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Thomas
"A Refusal To Mourn The Death, By Fire, Of A Child In London" 1946 |
Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower Fathering and all humbling darkness Tells with silence the last light breaking And the still hour Is come of the sea tumbling in harness |
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Thomas
"Fern Hill" 1946 |
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea. |
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W.H. Auden
"In Memory of Yeats" 1939 I |
But in the importance and noise of to-morrow
When the brokers are roaring like beasts on the floor of the Bourse, And the poor have the sufferings to which they are fairly accustomed, And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom, A few thousand will think of this day As one thinks of a day when one did something slightly unusual. |
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W.H. Auden
"In Memory of Yeats" 1939 II |
or poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
In the valley of its making where executives Would never want to tamper, flows on south From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs, Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives, A way of happening, a mouth |
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W.H. Auden
"In Memory of Yeats" 1939 III |
Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face, And the seas of pity lie Locked and frozen in each eye. |
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Virginia Woolf
"To the Lighthouse" 1927 |
who will blame him if he does homage to the beauty of the world?
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Virginia Woolf
"To the Lighthouse" 1927 |
t was not knowledge but unity that she desired, not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge, she had thought
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Virginia Woolf
"To the Lighthouse" 1927 |
It partook . . . of eternity . . . there is a coherence in things, a stability; something, she meant, is immune from change, and shines out
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Virginia Woolf
"Modern Fiction" 1925 |
We do not come to write better; all that we can be said to do is keep moving, now a little in this direction, now in that, but with a circular tendency should the whole course of the track be viewed from a sufficiently lofty pinnacle
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Virginia Woolf
"Modern Fiction" 1925 |
life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end
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Yeats
"The Lake Isle of Innisfree" 1890 |
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. |
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Yeats
"The Lake Isle of Innisfree" 1890 |
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the mourning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings. |
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Yeats
"Easter 1916" 1916 |
That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good will, Her nights in argument |
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Yeats
"Easter 1916" 1916 |
hat is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name, As a mother names her child When sleep at last has come On limbs that had run wild. |
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Yeats
"Leda and the Swan" 1924 |
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed By the dark webs , her nape caught in his bill, He holds her helpless breast upon his breast. |
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Yeats
"Leda and the Swan" 1924 |
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies? |
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Yeats
"Under Ben Bulben" 1939 |
Many times man lives and dies
Between his two eternities, That of race and that of soul, And ancient Ireland knew it all. |
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Yeats
"Under Ben Bulben" 1939 |
Even the wisest man grows tense
With some sort of violence Before he can accomplish fate, Know his work or choose his mate. |
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Yeats
"Under Ben Bulben" 1939 |
That were beaten into clay
Through seven heroic centuries; Cast your mind on other days That we in coming days may be Still the indomitable Irishry. |
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Yeats
"Under Ben Bulben" 1939 |
By the road an ancient cross.
No marble, no conventional phrase; On limestone quarried near the spot By his command these words are cut |
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T.S. Eliot
"The Wasteland" 1922 |
what are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
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T.S. Eliot
"The Wasteland" 1922 |
I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes. Are you alive or not? Is there nothing in your head? |
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T.S. Eliot
"The Wasteland" 1922 |
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain |
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T.S. Eliot
"The Wasteland" 1922 |
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding |
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T.S. Eliot
"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" 1915, 1917 |
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?... |
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Eliot
"Tradition and the Individual Talent" 1919 |
One of the facts that might come to light in this process is our tendency to insist, when we praise a poet, upon those aspects of his work in which he least resembles anyone else
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Eliot
"Tradition and the Individual Talent" 1919 |
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape form emotion
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Pound
"Imagism & Vorticism" 1913, 1916 |
It is better to present one Image in a lifetime than to produce voluminous works...
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Pound
"Imagism & Vorticism" 1913, 1916 |
all poetic language is the language of exploration
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Fussell
"The Great War and Modern Memory" 1975 |
Every war is ironic because every war is worse than expected
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Owen
"Dulce et Decorum Est" 1920 |
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind |
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Owen
"Anthem for Doomed Youth" 1920 |
"What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes |
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Owen
"Strange Meeting" 1920 |
They have challenged Death and dared him face to face
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Hardy
"Channel Firing" 1914 |
And sat upright. While drearisome
Arose the howl of awakened hounds The mouse let fall the altar-crumb, The worms drew back into the mounds |
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Hardy
"The Darkling Thrush" 1901 |
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom |
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Conrad
"Outpost of Progress" 1897 |
The believed their words. Everybody shows a respectful deference to certain sounds that he and his fellows can make
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Conrad
"Outpost of Progress" 1897 |
He knew nothing about him. What was he capable of? There was a surprising flash of violent emotion within him
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Conrad
"Heart of Darkness" 1902 |
The word ‘ivory’ rang in the air, was whispered, was sighed. You would think they were praying to it. A taint of imbecile rapacity blew through it all, like a whiff from some corpse. By Jove! I’ve never seen anything so unreal in my life
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Conrad
"Heart of Darkness" 1902 |
It was unearthly, and the men were—No, they were not inhuman. Well, you know, that was the worst of it—the suspicion of their not being inhuman
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Conrad
"Heart of Darkness" 1902 |
The horror!’ He was a remarkable man
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Kipling
"The White Man's Burden" 1899 |
Fill full the mouth of Famine
And bid the sickness cease; And when your goal is nearest The end for others sought, Watch sloth and heathen Folly Bring all your hopes to nought. |
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Kipling
"England and the English" 1920 |
Since these masters of ours have not yet quite the old untroubled assurance of power and knowledge that made Rome so tolerant
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Kipling
"The Mark of the Beast" 1891 |
His knowledge of the natives was, of course, limited, and he complained of the difficulties with the language
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Kipling
"England and the English" 1920 |
This world of ours, which some us in their zeal to do better than good have helped to create, but which we must all inherit, is not a new world, but the old world grown harder. The wheel has come full circle
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