An analysis of the context, form and structure of Bayonet Charge

Bayonet Charge by Ted Hughes gets its second outing as a GCSE English Literature anthology poem for AQA, having previously been included in the last. Whilst it may not be his best poetic offering, it fits well within the Power and Conflict section and compares easily with other war poems such as The Charge of the Light Brigade as well as those that explore the battle with nature such as Exposure or even Storm on the Island.

Context… Ted Hughes, like Heaney, is a poet who often explores nature in his poems. I don’t think he’s as accessible as Heaney, which is why you find fewer of his poems littering anthologies, although some of his poems are popular in collections. Like Wordsworth and Tennyson, he was also Poet Laureate, which shows in some measure his popularity. Hughes’ father served during World War One and fought at Ypres. This poem is from his first collection, published in 1957, The Hawk in the Rain, which contains a number of poems about the war. The most interesting images in this collection as you might be able to work out from the title are the way he uses animals to explore a number of themes. The Thought Fox, View of a Pig and Pike are three of his poems that focus on animals and use them to explore other themes. The collection itself is noted for its use of rhythm and the way Ted Hughes, not unlike Heaney, also uses the sounds of words for specific effect and to complement the ideas in his poems.

In terms of ideas in the poem, it compares well with Charge of the Light Brigade simply because of those graphic, violent images.

When we start looking at the form of the poem, we see that it’s written in free verse. We see those three stanzas of seven or eight lines – there’s a loose regularity, but nothing you would feel compelled to comment on. The stanzas are as long as they need to be and do not force the poem or box it into corners by requiring it to be more ‘neat’. You’ll notice the stanzas blend into one another, as we consider how the ideas are structured and we see that the first stanza runs into the second, and the second runs into the third. I think that it is more than appropriate to convey the sense of motion in the poem, to echo the way the soldier moves through the poem. The first line of stanza two seems to be very much a part of the first stanza, and then the second line changes subject, as he stops and reflects on the “cold clockwork” – almost like the soldier is frozen in motion as his mind reflects on the events, or like the poet deliberately (almost) stops him in mid-charge to interject this reflection on what it is the soldier is doing here.

Similarly as we move into stanza three, the last line of stanza two seems like it would be better placed in stanza three, but the gap between the stanzas very much emphasises the shot-slashed furrows. I’ll talk more about why he runs an idea into stanza two from stanza one, and why he leaves that little fragment of stanza three hanging back there in stanza two, but the overall effect is one of a disjointed, fragmented and fractured moment.

The poem is not driven or constrained by rhythm and rhyme in the same way that other poems are. One of the focal points we might notice about the form of the poem is that it makes a lot of use of enjambment, with two noticeably enjambed lines in stanza one, the “raw/in raw-seamed hot khaki,” and “hearing/bullets smacking the belly out of the air” where the rest of the line breaks kind of fall where you would expect them to. That begs us to consider why he runs these lines into the next, why he wants to break up these phrases. For me, he leaves that word “raw” hanging at the end of the line, making it more important somehow, especially given the repetition of the word. It really makes us reflect on that rawness. And in the second, there is a gap between “hearing” and what he hears, the “bullets”, which seems to slow them down – a tiny, mini pause on paper that we don’t hear in the reading. That word “hearing” dangles… We’d read it and wonder what it is he hears, it’s like the word “bullets” catches up a microsecond later.

In stanza two, we also have some interesting use of enjambment, focusing us on the words “running” and “runs”. The lines literally run into the next line. When you take that huge sentence, split over four lines, you are obliged to think about why Hughes has written it this way:

                                                                                     He was running
Like a man who has jumped up in the dark and runs
Listening between his footfalls for the reason
Of his still running, and his foot hung like
Statuary in mid-stride.

That 35-word sentence is long. It leaves us breathless to read. That’s its first effect… we are as breathless as he is. I’m reading, desperate for the comma after “still running”, and by the time I get there, I’m breathless. It makes that breath-pause comma-stop even more necessary and when I read it aloud, I find myself stopping there for longer than I would to catch my breath. For me, it emphasises the need to get to the target (the comma) in order to breathe again… I’m conscious of needing to get there, just as the soldier must be to get to the safety of his target – “the green hedge”. I’ll talk more about how he uses enjambment to add meaning to those active verbs in the next post exploring the language and imagery in the poem.

In the third stanza, we also have some noticeable enjambment between “wide/open silent”, splitting the idea over two lines. I think this does a similar thing as it has done in other parts of the poem. The line breaks stop us in mid-phrase, leaving us hanging for a microsecond, as if time has just stopped still at that moment. I don’t know why but it reminds me of when they slow film down and you can see the individual frozen moments that make up a movie. It seems to capture that moment like a photograph and freeze it, like they’re in suspended animation. At the very least, it allows us to process the image, to take it in. But where he splits phrases across lines, those line breaks seem to me to be a chasm of a pause rather than just a line break. The effect for me is that it seems to put the soldier – or the hare – into suspension, stopping them for a brief moment before continuing.

When we consider structure, the poem starts as if the man has awoken from sleep. It drops us right into the action alongside the soldier when it starts with “Suddenly he awoke”. It’s disorienting and confusing. We have no idea what woke him or why he is running, or indeed who “he” is. Like Heaney’s and Owen’s ambiguous “we”, this “he” gives us no idea who “he” is, although the title will, of course, have filled us in on what is happening here. The title gives us a sense of what is going on and why he is running – it’s essential in order to make meaning from the first line that we understand the title. But it gives us a little of the soldier’s confusion and disorientation.

The poem narrates two moments: the soldier running, and then the appearance of the hare. We notice the word “then” at the end of the second stanza which shifts us on to the next moment. It’s a brief incident, but it is described in such detail that it becomes almost slow motion, with each action distinct. The introduction of the hare seems almost surreal, and we’re reminded that in order for the man to pass the hare, the hare’s “threshing circle” must be its death throes. It wouldn’t make sense any other way.

I find the ending the most interesting aspect of the structure: does the soldier get to the hedge or not? We don’t know. It is left unfinished. The fact that the poem is also past tense means that Hughes could have made that clear, had he wanted to, but it finishes with the final moment being the soldier’s wish to get to the hedge, “to get out of that blue crackling air” – and that’s where it finishes. We never know if he survives or if he dies. It’s a bit of a philosophical dilemma – like Schrodinger’s cat. You’ll need to get someone better at explaining complex quantum physics to tell you about Schrodinger’s cat, but essentially the dilemma is this: there is a cat in a box. It’s either alive or dead. Until you open the box, it is BOTH alive AND dead. I have no idea what the comparison is supposed to explore, but the soldier is in that same state. It’s possible he lived, it’s possible he died. Both things are true and not true. The poem finishes with the uncertainty over the man’s life. We don’t know who he is, which war this is, when this is, where this is, and we finish the poem not even knowing if he is alive or dead. In this way, Hughes leaves us with an enormous mystery which leaves us feeling unsettled.

The poem is not just observational – there are moments where we go into the mind of the soldier. By the last four lines of the poem, it has become much more subjective as Hughes takes us into the inner thoughts of the soldier. What had been largely observational and focused on external actions is now focused on telling us that the soldier has forgotten all the nobility, the glory of war and is only now fixed on saving himself. We have a structural shift then from external actions to internal thoughts as we arrive at the final lines. That subjectivity touches us too as a reader: we cannot help but feel like we want him to get to safety, but we are cheated of that knowledge.

In the next post, I’ll look at how Hughes uses language and imagery in Bayonet Charge, exploring the words he chooses and how he uses the sound of language for effect as well as some of the ideas within the poem.

If you are interested in a one-to-one lesson with me to find out more about the AQA GCSE English Literature Anthology, please send me an email via the website or Facebook and get in touch. Skype sessions start from £15 for one hour. You can have as many sessions as you feel like you need.


An analysis of the language and imagery in Seamus Heaney’s Storm on the Island

Last week, I explored the context, form and structure of Storm on the Island by Seamus Heaney, which is in the AQA GCSE English Literature poetry anthology for 2017 onwards. What we’re asked to consider is to what extent Heaney’s own personal and literary context influenced the poem, whether or not it is in keeping with his poems exploring conflict in Northern Ireland, or whether it is more in keeping with other poems exploring nature. I think it’s perfectly possible to read it as a poem that is very much influenced by contextual conflict, or to read it as a poem about conflict in nature. It’s your choice. The ‘squat’ form, the enjambment and caesura lifting ideas up and putting them down on other lines, the use of sound in the poem… they’re all important in what they contribute to the meaning of the poem. Today, I’ll look at how the context, form and structure work with the language and images to demonstrate Heaney’s viewpoint.

Not unlike Exposure, the poem starts with a first-person plural subject pronoun. Usually we use subject pronouns to replace a subject, avoiding repetition. So if I say ‘Charles’ in one sentence, I can say, ‘he’ in the next. Subject pronouns can be ambiguous when you don’t know what they are referring to. It’s a substitute for a noun. It’s also an anaphoric reference (a reference to something that’s come before), but to anaphora (a thing that’s come before) that does not exist in the poem. That’s all the fancy subject terminology that means that “We” is usually used when the audience or reader would know who “we” are. It implies familiarity or inclusiveness.

But here, we don’t know who “we” are.

Heaney and his family? Heaney and his wife? A friend? The villagers on the Aran islands (there are other poems in this collection relating to the Aran Islands, like Lovers on Aran and Synge on Aran – it’s therefore not unreasonable that “the Island” is not “Ireland” but one of the Aran Isles in Galway Bay) Irish people in general? People in general? The effect of that “we” is that it becomes both inclusive – we means “me and you” – and therefore includes us in the poem – and also kind of ‘shared world’ – it implies we know who “we” are. We as a reader are as prepared as Heaney for the storm on the island. He brings us into the poem with that word. He also makes it universal. It can be us and every single other person in the world. It turns the poem from one about two people – perhaps Heaney and his wife or family – into a poem about every person and what we do when faced with conflict. We prepare.

The first three words are finished by a colon. That colon is like a little signpost leading us to expect an explanation. It tells us that what follows embellishes or adds to that statement. It tells us how they prepare, by doing what. It’s a little mark also that marks a pause. A little stopping point as well as a signpost to something to come. We stop and we consider the certainty of that statement, “We are prepared:” – it sounds confident, like we are ready for the onslaught. There’s a certainty and safety to it, as well as determination.

As it turns out, that preparation is centuries old, not just like my storm preparations of shutting the shutters and moving my car into the garage. It is a way of life. They build their “houses squat” – storm-readiness is a way of life for them. It sounds like they are quite literally ‘safe as houses’ with the foundations in the rock itself. That sounds sturdy, doesn’t it? But hang on. If, and it is an if, this island is one of the Aran islands, it’s limestone rock. Limestone is a bit of a rubbish rock, not like the granite of other places. Karst limestone (and I know this because I live in a karst limestone region) is remarkably soluble. I dissolved some in vinegar for a science experiment once. It’s ironic because the sea will indeed have its way eventually. In the long run, this preparedness is meaningless. However, for generations to come, the islands will certainly still be there. It just makes me think how fragile things really are, like the thousands-of-years-old statue of Ozymandias, how everything will return to sand or sea eventually. All this preparedness is nothing. Even setting the foundations in the island’s bedrock, or roofing with slate, the most waterproof of all roofing materials, we get a sense of how dramatic the storms are on this island.

In the meantime, that lovely word “squat” is such a lovely word to comment on. It has that lovely sound to it – the sibilant ‘s’ followed by the hard plosive ‘k’, the whispery fricative ‘w’, the short ‘o’ and then that plosive ‘t’ – it’s such a noisy word for such a short one. All those sounds really put a focus on the word, as does leaving it at the end of the line – it resonates there. Like that colon, like the “We are prepared”, there’s a force and strength about it, like the houses themselves. It gives us the sense that the houses are crouching, braced against the storm, but it has another meaning too – if you “squat” a place, you’re inhabiting it illegally. It has a sense of something that has no right to be there and gives me the feeling that the people have no real right to be there.

You’ve also got three present-tense verbs, suggesting a permanence, this is something that is timeless – it could be now, it could be the time the poem was written. It seems to suggest that it will always be this way. The actions are simple, “build”, “sink”, “roof”, short and squat as the houses themselves. That brings me to another point. Look at all those monosyllabic words there. All of the second line is monosyllabic. It’s simple, clear, clean. For me, the effect is to stress that determination from the first line, but I have no idea why it makes me think they are resolute, stubborn in the face of the storm and determined to build their houses here, in such a windswept place. There’s a tenacity in those words and a simplicity that not only evokes the houses, but the way they are built, the people who build them and life on the island itself. It’s uncluttered and uncomplicated.

As we move into line 3, we learn a little of the island itself. It is not the kind of place where farming would work: the constant erosion leaves little topsoil. Heaney calls it the “wizened earth”, giving us the sense that it is something older than the rest of the earth, something shrivelled and dried up. It also has the sense of being weather-beaten too. Heaney turns this lack of crops into a positive, it has never “troubled” them – it’s another sense of how hard life is on the island, with no ability to put food away or grow crops for the future. The simplicity and basic standard of living means there is nothing to be lost. The constant wind has also made it impossible for trees to grow.

You can see what a hard and barren landscape it is, also one that is stark and self-sufficient, insular.

On line 4, we (as readers) are invited into the poem – not unlike My Last Duchess in a way. “so as you can see” is an embedded clause, an aside, an address. It sounds as if Heaney is explaining to us, almost showing us around. This little clause is expecting that we are already visualising the place. It sounds as if we are on a guided tour with Heaney, that he is introducing us to the island. In a way, that is also like My Last Duchess, since the Duke too is presenting us (in the role of the marriage-broker) to the painting. We have a different power here, the power of the ‘interpreter’. I use that word loosely, because they are not translating, only presenting, but presenters have their own power. A presenter is an intermediary (just like me, here, in fact) or a curator, picking through everything and selecting things to show to you. There is a lot of power in that act, the choice of what to show, like the editor in War Photographer. Power, here, is in what we are shown and how things are explained to us. Heaney is no different, explaining and justifying the way the houses are built, the life on the island. He sounds like an insider, someone keen for us to understand. That too is no different from the Duke in My Last Duchess, as he explains his views on the relationship. Heaney does it again later with “you know what I mean”, which is very interesting. It’s a sign of informality – I’m struggling for the precise term for it – more than a filler (like um, er) but not a hedge (which softens a direct statement) and seems to be there to invite our understanding, check that we have understood. These parenthetical statements are more conversational. We use them all the time, like ‘you know’, and ‘you see what I mean?’ or ‘you see?’, ‘you get me?’ even ‘innit?’. It’s a discourse marker, but it’s checking if we’re still engaged, if we still understand, even if we are not actively participating at that moment in time. It asks for our silent participation. You can see four instances of this use of “you”, where we are invited into the poem. For me, it gives it a sense of being like a guided tour of a sort, explaining to us something that we wouldn’t understand unless we lived on the island.

Into line 7 and we have a shift, the first caesura, marking that word “Blast” out from the rest of the line, injecting a little power and might into it.

For Heaney, the trees would provide a relief in that you could spend your time in the wind or a storm thinking about the trees, watching the wind in them, distracting you from thinking about how it is affecting your own home. The personification of the wind itself, which “pummels” the houses, as well as the leaves and branches which “can raise a chorus in a gale” is also part of how Heaney, like Wordsworth in Stealing the Boat, brings nature to life and gives it a power beyond the natural. The trees, branches and leaves which would be allies in the resistance against the wind, however, do not exist. There are no allies in this battle, nobody to support them.

The ‘But’ on line 11 marks a turning point, a change. He has been distracted from thinking about the storm by imagining the trees, and how we look at trees in storms. Ironic, really, that he is distracted from thinking about the storm because he’s thinking about the wind in the trees. We start to pick up on the semantic field related to the wind that Heaney uses, from ‘storm’ to ‘blows full blast’, ‘gale’. The verb ‘pummels’ is a particularly appropriate word – the present tense making it constant and immediate, reminding us that the storm is an ever-present concern on the island. It is a word which makes it sound like an unrelenting attack, something that doesn’t give in.

Heaney then looks to the sea, which may also be an ally or “company” against the wind, but realises it is not, “But no:” and without trees, with the sea as much an enemy as the wind, we realise how defenceless the islanders are, despite their “squat” houses. I particularly like that “exploding comfortably” – the oxymoron reveals that the sea is “comfortable”, it is at home in the storm, and in fact takes sides against the islanders. What seems “tame” most of the time turns “savage” with the wind.

The way he describes the sea is particularly interesting with the simile, “spits like a tame cat/turned savage” and the sounds, the “flung spray hits” which I explored in the last post to create a sense of the sea that is unstopping and angry with the monosyllables, the plosives and the fricatives bringing the sounds of the sea to life.

All there is to do is sit it out. The phrase “while wind dives/and strafes invisibly’ has echoes of Owen’s battle against the invisible forces at work in nature, made evident only in the snow flakes. “Strafes” is a verb taken directly from a military vocabulary. To strafe means to attack ground troops from the air with machine-gun fire. That’s such a precise use from Heaney here, where the wind takes on the qualities of a fighter plane – it makes a change from the fighter plane manufacturers naming their planes after weather phenomena (like the Hawker Hurricane, a popular fighter plane and the Hawker Typhoon) – as the wind dives in and attacks, just like a fighter plane would. At this point, it is more than the sea, spitting like a cat, this is an assault. When Heaney says “Space is a salvo” he continues this use of military vocabulary, as a salvo is also related to an attack, this time a persistent onslaught or a multi-weapon assault that happens all at the same time, a simultaneous attack if you like. Finally, we have the word “bombarded” that completes the military images, creating a vision of a wind that acts like a fighter plane, a blitz on the island below.

The final sentence acts as a conclusion summarising Heaney’s thoughts, “Strange, it is a huge nothing that we fear” which concludes the poem, a wry statement that points out how silly it seems to be afraid of the wind.

I think what I like most about this poem is the conversational style and the way he portrays this battle with the wind, as the people on the island are completely helpless. It compares well with Exposure, but also with Stealing the Boat in how it presents nature as something primeval and terrifying.

Next week: Bayonet Charge by Ted Hughes

If you are interested in a one-to-one lesson with me to find out more about the AQA GCSE English Literature Anthology, please send me an email via the website or Facebook and get in touch. Skype sessions start from £15 for one hour. You can have as many sessions as you feel like you need.






An analysis of the language and ideas in The Charge of the Light Brigade

In the last two posts, I’ve been exploring the context of The Charge of the Light Brigade by Tennyson as well as the form and structure in AQA’s GCSE English Literature anthology, Power and Conflict. It is a poem that has significant points to be made about historical and literary context, as well as making use of a rather rattling rhythm that probably plays a large part in why the poem has become so memorable. It carries us along through the narrative at a driving pace, making use of the stresses on words, monosyllabic words and syllabic rhythmic patterns to make it particularly memorable. It’s not often I say a poem is memorable, so there you go. 

First, we have the repetition of “Half a league, half a league,/Half a league…” which establishes from the beginning that sense of movement, doubled by the driving, galloping beat to create a real sense of motion and progression. For me, it’s rich with determination and energy, purposeful like they are moving towards a goal. 

The valley of death might be an interesting choice of words, but it is taken from the battle, and not the other way around. This area of the Balaclava was so thick with cannonballs that it had become known as the ‘Valley of Death’

It’s literally a valley. And you could die there. So not very imaginative of the person who gave it that name, who was almost certainly not Tennyson. 

You see, Tennyson’s not just picking up on news reportage, but also the newly invented medium of photography. It helps him truly imagine the place he is writing about in his poem. 

Not only does the person who coined the phrase for this bit of Crimea make use of a particular connection, but also Roger Fenton the photographer and Tennyson himself. The Valley of the Shadow of Death is a well-known line from Psalm 23, “The Lord is My Shepherd” which is probably the most famous psalm of them all – and the one that lots of people have read at their funerals, or in difficult times. Ironically, it’s supposed to be a message of encouragement, that God is with us even – and especially – in the most difficult times of our lives and we should not be afraid. I’m betting that in this God-forsaken hellhole, there were more people afraid than comforted in the belief that God was beside them. I find it a kind of irony too that the psalm is often thought to mean that we shall have eternal life: in this case, it is the poet who has granted the six hundred of the light brigade a kind of immortality. 

The phrase “the six hundred” is also an example of metonymy (as is the Valley of Death, actually), or referring to something by another name that is closely associated with it, like “The Gunners” for Arsenal or “Fleet Street” for the national British newspapers. The six hundred refers to the Light Brigade. It means Tennyson is using “the six hundred” as a substitute for “the Light Brigade.”

It’s up to us, then, to think of the effect of that, to wonder why he might do it. For me, you might think it a technical thing. Do more words rhyme with hundred than brigade? Actually, no. In fact, Tennyson uses ALL the available and useful rhymes for hundred – blundered, sundered, thundered and wondered. Brigade rhymes with a lot more – one of which Tennyson makes use of – dismayed. But there are loads of useful rhymes for “brigade” – crusade, afraid, betrayed, decayed, unswayed and so on. By using “the six hundred”, Tennyson actually handicaps himself and makes it less easy to write. That tells me the “six hundred” is a metonymic switch he wants to make for effect. This kind of substitution is in fact a rhetorical device, but why do it? For me, Tennyson is emphasising the numbers: “the Light Brigade” could mean 11,000 men. “Six hundred” seems a lot fewer. A brigade sounds like a large number. Six hundred men does not. We stop thinking about them as one unit, as well, which is really important. To see them as one unit anonymises them and makes them even more faceless. Although six hundred doesn’t help us to think of them as individuals, it does help us imagine the number a lot more clearly than “the Light Brigade”, so I think Tennyson’s language choice is very purposeful here. Brigade would also emphasise that they are soldiers, rather than just men. Still, they are nameless, like so many of the casualities of war in the other poems of Power and Conflict. Names are quite important in the Power and Conflict section. Do you go naming people like Ozymandias only to show how their names are as likely to fade as their power? Do you go nameless, like the nameless soldier in London? Both have an effect. Here, it’s not important that they are seen as distinct individuals – they will be remembered as a group.

In the second stanza, we have perhaps one of the most famous series of lines in poetry about heroism and war:

Their’s not to make reply,
Their’s not to reason why,
Their’s but to do and die ;

The strong monosyllabic beat, the repetition, the rhyme, the simplicity of the words and the message all make these three lines incredibly memorable indeed. Not often that I say “these words are memorable” (when my head is shouting ‘simple, generalised comment!’) but these really are. So why did Tennyson want these words to be the most memorable words of the whole poem?

For me, it speaks much about loyalty, blind obedience, that unquestioning faith they had in their leaders – even if they had questions about what they were doing – their devotion to service, to their country. This is an act of honour, bravery, courage, faith, integrity… and also sacrifice. A pointless, meaningless sacrifice, throwing themselves before the cannon that surround them. The ultimate offering for their country. A worthless, ineffective, pointless gesture “though the soldier knew/Some one had blundered” which makes it even more sad, even more sorrowful. Their lives wasted for a “blunder”. This to me is the key to the whole poem – and more so because of just how many rhetorical devices Tennyson loads into it. We end stanza 2 picking up the action after Tennyson’s little commentary on the soldiers. The event – and the poem – has become a symbol of valour, patriotism, blind allegiance to the flag. It is seen as the ultimate act of bravery and heroism. Their fearlessness and valiance are seen as noble and courageous beyond measure. This is blind loyalty and allegiance. This is true determination and nobility of spirit. It’s become a symbol of man’s love of his country.

In stanza 3, Tennyson takes us into the heart of the action, bringing the battle to life in very vivid ways with rhyme, vocabulary and rhythm. The refrain about ‘Cannon to the right of them/Cannon to the left of them/Cannon (in front/behind them) is also very quick with a DUM-dee DUM-dee-DUM-dee-DUM/DUM-dee DUM-dee- DUM dee-DUM) rhythm which is quick and exciting. There are lots of very vivid verbs too, like volleyed and thundered and stormed, flashed and sabring. Shattered and sundered have the same effects later on in the poem. They’re strong, powerful words that convey a real sense of the ferocity of the battle. Look at what your mouth does when you say “Volleyed and thundered”. Two fricatives – V and Th – followed by a short vowel – O and U – and then a plosive end to both of them ‘D’. These are really noisy words that convey the cannon shooting through the air. Then you’ve got the sibilant fricatives of the next line, “stormed at with shot and shell” which also conveys the sound of war in ways that Wilfred Owen does too in his own poems, and you can find other poets making use of the sounds of language too, like Heaney and Hughes. This verse is a noisy verse, coupled with all those verbs and you’ve got a verbal equivalent of a battle recreation. Tennyson does his very best to recreate the experience. This is Dolby Surround Sound done by a Victorian poet.

It continues into stanza four with the same fricative-short vowel-plosive pattern. Just make these sounds…

Fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff – aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa – sssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh-duh.

That D brings it to a right old thuddy stop. Still with the repetition and the sound and fury of war. I think that Tennyson really recreates the noise of battle with all of this. Couple that with the driving rhythm and you’ve got a powerful, noisy, active scene, briefly interrupted by the surprisingly calm “while all the world wondered” with all those breathy “wh” sounds, taking us out of the moment and stepping back to look at the battle before “plunged” plunges us right back into the scene again. Still, Tennyson continues with the sibilants of “sabre stroke”, “shattered” and “sundered” which also create the sounds of the battle, which carries us through into the next stanza with the repeated “stormed at with shot and shell”.

In some ways, it’s graphic, describing the battle, but in other ways it’s euphemistic, glossing over the deaths. It just says: ‘not the six hundred’ for how many rode back. “While horse and hero fell” covers what can only have been a bloody and brutal massacre of six hundred men led unnecessarily up a narrow corridor surrounded by the enemy.

For me, I think it is important that this poem is thin on flowery, poetry language and thick on rhetorical devices and ways to help us remember the poem: Tennyson wants it to be simple, he wants it to be clear. It would serve no purpose to be flowery. It relies on repetition, heavy rhythms, a rhyme that ties it all together, monosyllables, lots and lots of sound play with the alliteration. The effect is a poem that recreates some of the noise and fury of battle, Tennyson’s tribute to a large number of men who died in a pointless exercise. This is a great moment to talk about purpose and effect, or intention and effect, since Tennyson’s purpose is clear by the final stanza in the rhetoric of “When can their glory fade?” and the repeated imperative of “Honour the Light Brigade” with the final flourish of “Noble six hundred!” All that rhetoric, all that sound patterning… it creates something that is heroic and noble.

Now, whether you are affected in the ways Tennyson wants you to be is another matter. Yes, you remember the Light Brigade – we all do every time we read this poem. No doubt we honour the war dead – it’s unspeakable not to do so. But do you see them as heroes, or as courageous in the face of what can only have been the most pointless of “blunders”. This is where you need to think about the poem’s effect on you. Is that the same as the effect Tennyson intended?





Despite the ‘blunder’, Tennyson instructs us to ‘honour’ the men and their sacrifice, to remember their bravery and he finishes by calling them ‘noble’. Like Owen who includes an ‘O’, Tennyson includes an ‘O’ as well, but this is an expression of his strong emotion of pride and admiration, as compared to Owen’s ‘O’ of despair and depression. Their reputation and story is everywhere ‘all the world wonder’d’ – unlike the soldier who dies nameless in Futility. Tennyson’s question ‘when can their glory fade?’ is supposed to be answered with ‘never’ – their name and story will be everlasting. To some degree, this is true, though much of their fame is down to films, text and poems such as this one. The charge of the Light Brigade has become a by-word for bravery and heroism in the face of extreme adversity, although perhaps later audiences would think less of the bravery of the soldiers and more of the stupidity of those who sent them to war; we would perhaps think more of the senselessness of these men’s deaths.

What’s important here is that views have changed progressively since the poem was written. Whilst it was seen as a noble, valiant and heroic action, now the generals that allowed this to happen would come under heavy criticism. We see the stupidity and insanity of war; a contemporary audience would have seen something to celebrate and commemorate more than damn. It’s the same kind of heroic spirit that powers 300, the tale of 300 Spartan men who stood up to the invading Persian troops in the graphic novel and film of the same name. It’s seen as supreme sacrifice, dedication, determination, it’s how men fight and die for something that is more important than themselves. If you want another example, it’s Braveheart. Listen to Churchill’s speech following the Battle of Britain – it’s the same kind of heroism and valour we see there. It’s intended as a rousing reminder of the heroism and glory of dying for your country.

But is that what you take from it? 

In the next article, I’ll look at Wilfred Owen’s poem, Exposure. It may be just over sixty years after The Charge of the Light Brigade, but I think you’ll see how very much poetry and our view of conflict changes in those sixty years.

If you are interested in a one-to-one lesson with me to find out more about the AQA GCSE English Literature Anthology, please send me an email via the website or Facebook and get in touch. Skype sessions start from £15 for one hour. You can have as many sessions as you feel like you need.

Pretty contemporary conflict poetry wordle…

If you want to read more about the AQA poetry anthology contemporary poetry, you can find my ebook here. Remember, you don’t need a kindle or e-reader to read it; just download the ‘Kindle for PC’ software. If you want an hour’s lesson with me (or even half an hour!) you can find all my details on my website. One hour via skype is £10.00 only! By the end, I promise you will OWN the poems!!

AQA English Literature GCSE – poetry anthology Contemporary Conflict poetry

I’ve finally finished my second e-book which you can get on Kindle – you can buy it to read on your PC, so you don’t need a Kindle to read it – or any kind of e-reader. If you’re reading this, you can download my book!

Of course, this is because it’s F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C! But I would say that! It’s 30,000 words and 58 pages of analysis of the eight poems in Conflict: Contemporary poetry, including Flag, Mametz Wood, The Yellow Palm, Poppies, The Right Word… and I’ve put a sample GCSE essay in there too. At £1.14 including VAT, that’s cheaper than most exam guides!

Anyway, here is a sample from it – it’s on Belfast Confetti which is one of my top three favourites in the contemporary conflict section – I guess, up there with Mametz Wood and The Yellow Palm (though there’s only one poem that I can’t really get a feeling for – and I love The Right Word about as much as these three…)

The Form of Belfast Confetti

The poem is the most fragmented of all – I wouldn’t go as far as to say that it looks like a bomb has blown it up – but it’s definitely doing something visually that represents the conflict and the fractured land it creates. Not only that, when you read it, that sense of disharmony and chaos is emphasised once again by the line breaks, the use of caesura and the enjambment. Mind you, that’s the whole point of it. He uses language, and punctuation, to help create this fractured image. In fact, the punctuation itself becomes part of the break.

Here, before we really get into it, you have to think about what the whole point of space and punctuation is.

For many, many years, punctuation didn’t really exist. You won’t find hieroglyphs with full stops and commas! In fact, punctuation was invented to help people read when books became more readily available with the printing press. Spaces between words, paragraphs, verses, they just didn’t really exist. Some speakers who wrote their speeches down in order to be able to read them added some to show where a pause would be.

So, if I had the first couple of lines of the poem, it would look like this:


And different people would do different things with it. Like this:

But as time evolved, and as printing presses made things the same, we came up with a system. It’s not always set in stone, and it’s easy to forget that it’s really only existed as we know it for the last four hundred years.

Some people go with the ‘musical beat’ of the four main types:

, ; : .

with a comma being a short pause, the semi-colon being a longer pause, a colon being a longer pause still and then the full stop.

But punctuation does other things too. For instance, a comma can be a pause for emphasis (like the one after ‘instance’) and a semi-colon can mark a balance, like the centre of scales or a see-saw:

Peter has been working hard


Paul has been acting the fool

And a colon can introduce an explanation or example: like this one. It’s kind of like an equal marks to me. So punctuation is not just a marker of a pause, like a comma marking ‘Give Way’ and a full stop marking ‘Stop’, but can tell you what type of thing is coming next.

That’s not all. Some punctuation helps us get emotions across. To be fair, emoticons do a far better job, and a 🙂 or a 😉 or a  :-p can do wonders. But before the wonderful world of emoticons, we had the ? and the !

And they did okay.

We know ? is a question.

We know ! is emotion.

However did we survive?!

This is what Ciaran Carson really plays around with here – the visuals of punctuation, the effects of it. And its entire purpose is to show the city under attack.


shows an explosion

——- becomes a rapid-fire of bullets.
! ! ! become the components of a bomb (maybe?)
. : . :::: . show the rubble and the broken city

This is a fragmented, fractured poem. It’s almost like a typewriter exploded. I say ‘almost like’, because a typewriter or keyboard exploding would be random, and this is very purposeful indeed.

So, in summary, Carson uses punctuation, pauses, breaks and space to show the effect of this conflicted space.

You can read more analysis in my e-book!

If you want to read more about the AQA poetry anthology contemporary poetry, you can find my ebook here. Remember, you don’t need a kindle or e-reader to read it; just download the ‘Kindle for PC’ software. If you want an hour’s lesson with me (or even half an hour!) you can find all my details on my website. One hour via skype is £10.00 only! By the end, I promise you will OWN the poems!!

New Amazon stuff for the AQA GCSE English Literature poetry anthology

I am currently writing about Belfast Confetti, which I absolutely love. It’s amazing. It goes back to what I was saying about shock-and-awe with E. E. Cummings – this does the same. I wouldn’t even think to use punctuation in the innovative way that he has – it’s just genius. I love the way the explosion is represented by the asterisk – the rifle fire by the — – and how he doesn’t just pick out punctuation that visually represents these things, but connects with it in ways that are to do with meaning as well. Genius.

But I’m also working on (21,000 words in!) the ‘contemporary poetry’ e-book to accompany the ‘literary heritage’ poetry. I’ve got a couple of essays to stick in to show you how they might look and I need to finish my analysis of Belfast Confetti before moving on to Poppies and the Simon Armitage extract about 9/11. I keep getting side-tracked by how wonderful these poems are – like really, really wonderful. I loved Mametz Wood and it sent me off in a spiral of information hunting. I loved The Yellow Palm and The Right Word and I can’t for the life of me pick out a favourite, because they’re all masterpieces. I thought I was going to struggle to form my own words on Belfast Confetti because it is fairly complex to write about, and I absolutely cannot distinguish a favourite.

However, this is the new cover of the second book in the series, and I’m mighty impressed. I’m going to do one for the existing e-book on ‘literary heritage’ poems in ‘Conflict’ – the one I did was functional, but not flashy.

Here’s a preview:

And on the subject of Belfast Confetti, search on Google Maps for the streets in the poem – and add ‘photos’ – have a look at the murals around the area. And then listen to this:

I think this poem touched me the most because a couple of my best friends are from Belfast and because I grew up with this conflict so near to me. It was only in 1996 that Manchester was bombed by the IRA; it was only 1993 that Shankill Road was subject to a huge bomb. It might be 20 years ago, but it’s fresh to me. Plus, I grew up with Joan Lingard’s ‘Across the Barricades’ stories of love across the lines. These stories were my Romeo and Juliet.

Because all of this is recent, there’s a lot of excellent footage on youtube of Shankill and the Falls areas, and it’s something that definitely influenced the music I listened to, growing up. Here’s another:

If you want to read more about the AQA poetry anthology contemporary poetry, you can find my ebook here. Remember, you don’t need a kindle or e-reader to read it; just download the ‘Kindle for PC’ software. If you want an hour’s lesson with me (or even half an hour!) you can find all my details on my website. One hour via skype is 20.00 only! By the end, I promise you will OWN the poems!!

Is John Agard’s poem ‘Flag’ set out like a flag?

Errrrr….. no!

This is precisely what I’m fighting against! Is it set out like a flag? I guess you could say so. It’s flat down the left side. Mind you, so are most poems. Are they about flags too? Rubbish!

Maybe it’s set out like a pennant?




Err…. NO! Hardly any countries have a non-rectangular flag. Two have square flags and only Nepal has a pennant flag. And it looks like this:

Most are rectangular, like this:





You might as well say that the poem looks like lava, looks like waves, looks like a weird vase on its side. What IS this preoccupation with saying a poem looks like something else?!

And where did I read this? In a Hodder Education revision guide. Note to kids: don’t believe everything you read. And if you write that this poem looks like a flag, I will cry. This is why I only trust my own word on things 😦

Dear Lord of English teachers, give me strength.

Does it look like a flag fluttering in the breeze? Only as much as most poems do. Did Agard WANT it to look like a flag? Not unless he’s never seen a flag before. Does he write concrete poetry like Herbert and Edwin Morgan. No. Please think before you take statements like this into the exam room, and please read my post on Flag which I hope is based much more on sensible things to say.

If you want to read more about the AQA poetry anthology contemporary poetry, you can find my ebook here. Remember, you don’t need a kindle or e-reader to read it; just download the ‘Kindle for PC’ software. If you want an hour’s lesson with me (or even half an hour!) you can find all my details on my website. One hour via skype is £10.00 only! By the end, I promise you will OWN the poems!!