An analysis of the form and structure of Tissue by Imtiaz Dharker

And so we’re back to poetry for AQA GCSE English Literature. Let’s look at one of the two anthology poems that really leave people scratching their head.

The poem works as an extended metaphor, where paper is a metaphor for humanity. Let’s talk about form first, before moving through structure, context, language, ideas and perspectives.

What do I mean by form?

I mean how it’s set out on the page; line length, syllables, rhythm (metre) rhyme, what words are on what line, number of lines, sonnet, couplets, three lines, quatrains, regularity of the number of lines in a verse/stanza, capitals (or lack of) main punctuation at the end of lines or stanzas (, . , .  / , , , . / ; : ; . )  phrase splits and the way the words fall on each line, which ideas are linked within the line or stanza and which are separate, caesura, enjambment.

Form is what makes it a poem and not prose. Why does it look the way it does? What decisions has the poet made about what he has put on one line and what on another? Why this form?

The poem is set out in fairly neat verses – in terms of ‘neatness’, it’s not that different in appearance from London. We have to ask ourselves why she would choose such a traditional and ordinary form. We’ll talk about that last line after. But for me, when you choose an ordinary form, in a world where you can do anything with form, then that’s meaningful, just as it was for Blake; Why would you want something to be so ordinary? Is that the whole point? It’s about something that looks ordinary but can deliver a powerful message? At the very least, the form reflects the content: how something so simple and every-day can deliver a powerful message. Unlike London, whose ideas are restricted by the very lines, penned in and held down to reflect the very ‘mind-forged manacles’ of the people it describes, Tissue doesn’t have the same constraints.

So what else helps London be so restrictive where this is more loose? First the rhyme. There is only occasional rhyme, or half-rhyme. Perhaps a something in the first stanza, with ‘things’ and ‘touching’, which share an ‘ing’ ending, but that could easily be almost accidental, though there is a poetic softness that the rhyme brings to that echoing ‘ing’ sound. Then we have ‘roads’ and ‘mountainfolds’ which is much less subtle, although it still has a flavour of the accidental. Again, it has a kind of sense of a poetic echoing, drawing attention to those words. It gets stronger towards the end, with a sound-alike ‘this’ and ‘luminous’ (maybe! It’s a stretch, I know!) but then more obvious with the half-rhyme of the dissonant ‘brick/break’ – then the ‘break/make’ which sound alike but don’t look alike. It could be accidental, but there is a kind of purposeful grouping of those rhymes in those seventh anud eighth verses which draws attention to them. So why would Dharker want to draw attention to these lines? Could it be a climax to the poem – the bit where the important stuff is? When we explore the language in the poem in more detail, we’ll look at why Dharker might want to bring attention to these words in particular. The form is perhaps used to emphasise key aspects of the ideas in these lines.

We also have some internal rhyme that goes unnoticed on first reading, ‘Koran’ and ‘hand’, and the more obvious ‘weight’ and ‘date’, ‘drift’ and ‘shift’ which adds something to those words, which we’ll explore when we get to them. The way one of those rhymes comes buried in the line disguises it and makes it more subtle, so you have to consider why that is.

So, we’ve explored those ordinary four-line stanzas and the occasional, incidental rhyme here and there, but not the final line which stands apart.

Why is that final line standing on its own at the end there? Again, it’s to emphasise, but that’s such a simple low-grade response. To emphasise what? The words in it, ‘turned into your skin’ are designed by the poet to stand alone, so why would she want to do that? For me, it emphasises the central idea or metaphor of the poem, that the paper represents humankind. It is the first time the metaphor is revealed, which then forces us into a re-read to make sense of the poem now we have finally been told the central idea. It is the second time we find personal pronouns to do with the second person ‘you’. The first of those comes in the second stanza, and it feels very general there, ‘the kind you find’. It’s hard always for us to understand this ‘general’ you, that doesn’t always exist in other languages. In French, for instance, we’d use ‘on’ to be clear that we don’t mean YOU specifically. We just mean ‘you’ as in ‘all people’. The ‘you’ in the second stanza feels general, like you could replace it with ‘the kind people find’ or ‘the kind we find’, whereas – and I can’t say specifically why I think this, it’s just my opinion – that ‘you’ in the final line feels very much like it addresses the reader directly. I think, had I to explain myself, the first instance just sounds very general, like it just means ‘people’, where as the second sounds like she means ‘the reader in particular’.

Suddenly, then, in that final, single stand-alone line at the end, we are addressed directly. The metaphor is revealed like the revelation in a magician’s trick. Another thing that happens there is that it also stands alone as a conclusion. If we want to make a point very clearly and very deliberately, we can use a single-sentence paragraph to make it very clear. Three of the four words there are monosyllabic too, which also helps make it clear and simple. When we look at it, then, Dharker is using a number of ways to make that simple single-line stanza meaningful, reinforcing its position as the central idea of the poem.

The other thing that I might notice about the form is the use of enjambment. Another ‘crossover’ technique that also impacts structure and language from time to time, enjambment can go one of two ways. Either it can leave distinct clauses in ‘run-on’ lines so that the lines function as breath pauses in natural places, giving the poem a conversational feel, making it easy to read and giving it that ‘flow’ that students like to write so often about without really understanding what it is, or it can make it fragmented and fractured if it splits up noun phrases or clauses unnaturally. Sometimes it leaves words dangling at the end of the line so that you are forced to consider them for what they are, rather than ignoring them if they are buried in the middle of something. The first lines are an example of that:

Paper that lets the light
shine through, this
is what could alter things.

Can you see how Dharker could also have set the words out like this:

Paper that lets the light shine through,
this is what could alter things.

It would obviously mean the stanza needed another line, but the comma and the full stop mark out the clauses and the pauses. The way she’s set it out – does it make it fragmented, splitting up those clauses? Not really. For me, it just leaves those lines ‘light’ and ‘this’ dangling at the end of the line. Whatever comes last and first become more interesting, more noticeable because the break adds a little weight. So we think about that word ‘light’, about that word ‘shine’, and ‘this’ emphasises precisely WHAT could alter things.

Paper that lets the light
shine through, THIS
is what could alter things.

In linguistics, we call this a ‘deictic’ word, a pointing word, a word that refers to other words. For me, it’s a word that points back to ‘Paper that lets the light shine through’. It’s the poet’s way of pointing at it and going ‘THIS IDEA! THIS is what could alter things!’ and normally, we’d pay such an ordinary, average little word no attention at all. For me, that dangling little word and its dangling little position just adds an extra pointy ‘this is important’ emphasis to it.

There are other places too where you find these words dangling, with ‘who’ at the end of the first line of the third stanza, ‘might’ and ‘feel their drift’ in the fourth stanza, ‘luminous’ and ‘script’ in the seventh stanza, ‘brick or block’ which are not only split over a line but also a stanza break, making those words particularly noteworthy, and the same with ‘trace a grand design/with living tissue’ over the final stanzas. Like the rhyme, there is a growing sense of something towards the end – a building up to something perhaps. The combination of those features of form – the rhyme, the enjambment – towards the end suggests a change of some sort. They all contribute to the significance of what comes at the end.

So, if I ask myself how the form contributes to the meaning, it is all to point towards the significance of those final lines, to contribute to a sense of importance as the poem comes to a conclusion. The broken noun phrases or clauses towards the end increase in frequency, as does the incidence of rhyme and internal rhyme. Add those things with the final single-line stanza and there’s a definite shift in the form towards the end which suggests a crescendo or conclusion of a sort.

So let’s now think about structure.

What do I mean by structure?

This explores how the ideas are organised and sequenced, shifts in viewpoint/perspective (third person? First person?) TiP ToP – Time Place Topic Person – shifts? Shift in time? Place? Why are the ideas in this order? External actions (happenings) vs internal thoughts? Circular structure? Beginning, middle, end? How does the title weave through the poem? Does the ending link back or develop from the opening?

Structure is the arrangement and sequence of the ideas, as well as some other aspects. I ask myself why here and not there?

Dharker starts with a statement and a possibility.

Paper that lets the light
shine through, this
is what could alter things.

First we have a description of the type of paper she is talking about, and she says ‘this is what could alter things.’ That ‘could’ is interesting to me: a possibility. We don’t know what type of ‘things’ it ‘could alter’, but she seems hopeful that paper could change ‘things’. It leaves us with questions – why is paper important? How could it alter things? What things could it alter? It’s a kind of unusual statement: we don’t normally think of paper altering things. It leaves us in a position where we need her to explain.

The next two stanzas are an embellishment, a description of the kind of paper she is talking about. It gives us lots of detail about the kind of paper she means. We’ll explore that more when we get to language.

The fourth stanza changes again. We have another speculative, a conditional ‘if’ to start off the fourth stanza, and another conditional statement or thought that needs explanation: ‘if buildings were paper’.

Stanza five is another description of the type of paper she is thinking about, as is stanza six. Stanza seven starts with a third statement of condition or possibility: ‘an architect could use all this’. Seven, eight and nine take this idea about buildings, about architects creating things, and runs with it before the final one-line stanza, ‘turned to your skin’. There is again that sense of a crescendo up to that final statement. It’s a final statement that leaves us having to re-interpret everything we read, as we realise the paper is not paper at all, but a metaphor for humanity. Structurally, we have three conditionals that are followed by detail, embellishment or explanation, and that final linking of paper and skin that forces us to go back and reconsider. It feels very much like she is using the poem as a way to explore a thought or an idea.

Dharker is also using tense in an interesting way, much of the poem being written in the speculative, hypothetical conditional: it ‘could’, it ‘might’. Some is past tense, the receipts, the records, the names. And some is a future conditional: what an architect might create. For me, the overall effect is to show how paper takes us from the past into the present, and how it might be used in a hypothetical future. If paper is a metaphor for humanity, then that shows also how things were in the past and how they could be in the future. It is a poem of possibility and uncertainty. Things are, very literally, not set in stone.

That is an image to finish with. The more astute and perceptive of you will be thinking about that. What are the qualities of paper when compared to stone?

And we’ll explore those in the next post about the context, language and ideas of the poem.

 

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Flag by John Agard

I love this poem. I love the simplicity of this poem. But before you get into it, you have to understand JUST why a flag is so important…

A flag is used as a symbol of pride in nationality. Consider the Dixie Flag, the ‘Confederate’ flag. Millions of homes in the southern states of the USA still have a Confederate flag outside their home. The Confederate army hasn’t existed for over two hundred years, so why do people still use it? Partly it’s pride. It’s a statement. It says you’ve signed up for all the values that the Confederates stood for. It’s a universal V-sign saying ‘Up Yours!’ to the Yankee Northerners with their Stars-and-Stripes flag. So partly it’s pride and partly it’s defiance. Nobody puts a flag outside their house and doesn’t expect some kind of reaction.

When the football is on, England is awash with St George’s flags – the red cross on a white background. People paint it on their faces. They use the flag in bunting. It’s both a symbol of identity: “I’m English and I’m proud of it.” and a symbol of defiance: “We’re going to beat all of you!” – it’s no different with football colours, football scarves. It’s part pride and part antagonism.

The English flag is a great example to talk about, because it’s something we all know can cause arguments and antagonism. Racist or national extremist groups adopt it as a symbol of being racially pure and it engenders discussion about who ‘belongs’ and who doesn’t. It’s sometimes used as a taunt to people. Living in France, if I were to put up a St George’s flag, I’m saying: “I’m English and proud!” but I’m also saying: “I don’t want to be French. I don’t identify with you. I’m different. England is superior to France. This is English territory right in your territory! Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough!” and I’m guaranteed to stir up emotion, mainly from either English people who believe I’m right to be proud of my nationality and to flaunt it in a foreign land that I’ve chosen to live in, or from French people who think ‘well, go back to England or integrate!’

As another example, a house down the road has a Welsh flag outside. Why doesn’t that do the same? Because there aren’t 1000 years of antagonism between the Welsh and the French. That Welsh flag isn’t a threat. It’s someone being proud to be Welsh. It just doesn’t stir up the same emotion.

Go to ‘border’ towns between England and Wales, though, and that flag becomes antagonistic, just like the flag on the Moon was an antagonism to the Russians, just like the Chinese flag is an antagonism in Nepal. Like dogs, it’s fine to piss in your own territory, but when you start pissing on someone else’s territory, they’ll get upset. There will be fights if they don’t want to let you take over their land. A flag brings out the primeval, the animal instinct in all of us.

Firstly, flags were used to make something recognisable – if you’re all in armour or all dressed in army clothes, a flag is a great way to identify yourself and distinguish yourselves. People use flags at big events, so that their friends can find them. It shows who you are, and where you are. After that, they began to take on a life of their own, representing a nation. In some countries, flags are everywhere: on churches, on town halls, on civic buildings. Each tiny village in France has a flag. It’s everywhere. Yet in some countries, like Japan, there aren’t many flags. Here, the flag has become a symbol of war. The Japanese rising sun is not flown in many places. The only place I saw it was at the war museum in Hiroshima. The flag is now more of a symbol of shame because it tells of things that happened in the war – things that should never have happened. National pride is one thing: flaunting it is another. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t see so many flags in Japan.

‘Capture the Flag’ was a popular game, and is the name for a series of games on war games as well as a popular paintball scenario. If you take someone’s flag, they’ve lost. That’s how important a flag is.

Comedian Tim Minchin wrote in The Observer about his arrival into Phoenix, Arizona:

“We drive out of the airport past the compulsory orgy of American flags, which despite their quiet fluttering still manage to scream: YOU’RE IN AMERICA! YOU’RE IN AMERICA! YOU’RE IN AMERICA!

Where am I?

Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

See. Flags mean something to everyone. Even Australian comedians.

Wow. That’s a lot of background to a flag. And a flag means all of these things. It has the potential to spur you on, to bring you to tears, to make you feel patriotic, to mark you. By using it, you’re saying ‘I’m here’ and ‘This is what I am’ and you’re also, potentially, goading anyone who doesn’t feel like you do about whatever the flag represents.

And as you can see, there’s no way on earth a flag is ‘just a piece of cloth’.

You’ll be able to read more about this poem in my ebook on Kindle, which will be up-and-running by the end of the week. In the meantime, feel free to check out my ebook about the Conflict poems from the Literary Heritage

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!!