The Ow" by Edward Thomas, and "A Biacik

Bird Singing'" by R.S. Thomas, paying particular attention to the creation of mood.

Compare and contrast the following poems.

The Owi

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;

Cold, yet had heat within Ine that was proof

Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest

Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.

Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,

Knowing how hungry, cold and tired was I.

All of the night was quite barred out except

An owl's crv, a mnost melancholy cry

Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,

10

No merry note, nor cause of merriment,

But one telling me plain what I escaped

And others could not, that night, as in I went.

And salted was my food, and my repose,

Salted and sobered, too, by the bird's voice

i5

Speaking for all who lay under the stars,

Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.

by Edward Thomas

A Black Bird Singing

It seems wrong that out of this bird,

Black, bold, a suggestion of dark

Places about it, there yet should come

Such rich music, as though the notes

At one touch of that bright bill.

You have heard it ofen, alone at your desk

In a green April, your mind drawn

Away from its work by sweet disturbance

Of the mild evening outside your room.

10

A slow singer, but loading each phrase

With history's overtones, love, joy

And grief learned by his dark iribe

In other orchards and passed on

Instinctively as they are now,

15

But fresh always with new tears.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Analyse the following excerpt from Angel Street by Patrick Hamilton, paying

particular attention to the presentation of wife-husband relationship.

MRS MANNINGHAM. Jack! Jack! What have they done to you?

What have they done?

MR MANNINGHAM. (Struggling at his bonds, half whispering). It's ll

right, Bella. You're clever, my darling. Terribly clever. Now

get something to cut this. I can get out through the dresing

window and make a jump for it. Can you fetch something?

MRS MANNINGHAM. (Hesitating, Crossing to him.) Yes- yes. I

get something. What can I get?

I've just remembered- There's a razor in my

MR MANNINGHAM,
dressing room. Quick! Can you get it. Bella?

MRS MANNINGHAM. (Feverishly). Razor- yes - I'll get it for you.

MR MANNINGHAM. Hurry- yes - in my dresser-- Hurry -- Ouick

and get it.

(She goes into room up right, talking and mumbling and comes back

with the razor and crosses to desk As she takes the razor fřom case, a

scrap of paper falls to the floor; She stoops to pick it up, almost

unconsciously tidy. She glances at it anda happy snile illuminates her face.)

MRS MANNINGHAM. (Joyously). Jack! Here's the grocery bill! (She

comes to him, the grocery bill in one hand, the razor in the other.

She is halfweeping, half laughing) You sce, dear, I didn't

lose it. I told you I didn't!

MR MANNINGHAM. (Uncomfortably). Cut me loose, Bella.

MANNINGHAM. (She stares at him for a moment, then at the grocery

MRS

bill, then back at him.) Jack - how did this get in here?

You said that I - (Her voice trails off, a wild look comnes into

her eyes.)

MR MANNINGHAM. (Trying to placate her with charm). I must have

been mistaken about the bill. Now-Quickly, dear, use the

razor! Quick!

(She stares at him for a moment, then moves a step closer. His look

falls upon the razor. He glances up at her and a momentary hint of

terror comes into his face. He draws back in the chair.)

MRS MANNINGHAM. Razor? What razor? (She holds it up, under his

face.) You are not suggesting that this is a razor I hold in my

hand? Have you gone mad, my husband?

MR MANNINGHAM. Bella, what are you up to?

it I who am mad? (She throws the razor from her) Yes. That's

it. It's I. Of course, it was a razor. Dea: God -l bave lost

it, haven't I? I am always losing things. And I can never find

them. I don't know where I put them.

MR MANNINGHAM. (Desperately). Bella,

++++++++++++++++++++++

MRS MANNINGHAM. I must look for it, mustn't I? Yes - ifI don't

find it you will lock me in my room - you will lock me in

the mad-house for my mischief. (Her voice is compressed with

bitterness and hatred) Where could it be now? (Turns and

looks round to right) Could it be behind the picture? Yes, it

must be there! (She goes to the picture Swiftly and takes it

down.) No, it's not there - how strange! I must put the picture

back. I have taken it down and I must put it back.

There. (She puts it back askew.) Where now shall I iook?

(She is raging like a hunted animal. Turns and sees the desk)

Where shall I look? The desk. Perhaps I put it in the desk.

(Goes to the desk) No- it is not there- how strange! But

here is a letter. Here is a watch. And a bill - See I've found

them at last. (Going to him) You see! But they don't help

you, do they? And I am trying to help you, aren't I?- to

help you escape - But how can a mad woman help her

husband to escape? What a pity -- (Getting louder and

louder) IfI were not mad I could have helped you - If I were

not mad, whatever you had done, I could have pitied and

protected you! But because l am madI have hated you, and

because I am mad I am rejoicing in my heart- without a

go with giory in my heart!

MR MANNINGHAM. (Desperately). Bella!

MRS MANNINGHAM. Inspector! Inspcctor! (Up to door- pounds on

door, then flings it open) Come and take this man away!

Come and talke this man away!

++++++++++++++++++++++++

t Analyse the following extract from Heartache by Antony Chekov showing

how effectively the writer captures lona's sorrOw.

And lona turns round to tell them how his son died, but at that point

the hunchback gives a sigh of relief and announces that, thank God,

they have arrived at last. Having received his twenty kopecks, for a

long while Iona stares after the revelers, who disappear into a dark

entrance. Again he is alone and once more silence envelopes him. The

grief which has been allayed for a brief space comes back again and

wrenches his heart more cruelly than ever. There is a look of anxiety

and tormernt in Iona's eyes as they wander restlessly over the crowds

moving too and fro on both sides of the street. Isn't there someone

10

among those thousands who will listen to him? But the crowds hurry

past, heedless of him and his grief. His grief is immense, boundless. If

his heart were to burst and his grief to pour out, it seems that it would

flood the whole world, and yet no one sees it. It has found a place for

itself in such an insignificant shell that no one can see it in broad

15

daylight.

Iona notices a doorkeeper with a bag and makes up his mind to

speak to him.
What time will it be, friend?" he asks.

Past nine. What have you stopped here for? On your way!"

Lona drives past a few steps away, hunches up and surrenders himself to 20

his grief. He feels it is useless to turn to people. But before five minutes

are over, he draws himself up, shakes his head as though stabbed by a

sharp pain and tugs at the reins... He can bear it no longer.

"Back to the yard!" he thinks. "To the yard!"

And his nag, as though she knew his thoughts, starts out at a trot.

25

An hour and a half later, Iona is sitting beside a large dirty stove. On

the stove, on the floor, on benches are men snoring. The air is stuffy

and foul. Jona looks at the sleeping figures, scratches himself and

regrets that he has come home so early.

I haven't earned enough to pay for the oats," he reflects. That's

30

what's wrong with me. A man that knows his job ... who has enough

to eat and has enough for his horse don't need to fret."

In one of the corners a young driver gets up, hawks sleepily and

reaches for the water bucket.

Thirsty?" Jona asks him.

35

"Guess so."

"H'm, may it do you good, but my son is dead, brother ... did you

hear? This week in the hospital .... What a business!"

Iona looks to see the effect of his words, but he notices none. The

young man has drawn his cover over his head and is already asleep.

40

The old man sighs and scratches himself. Just as the young man was

thirsty for water so he thirsts for talk. It will soon be a week since his
son died and he hasn't talked to anybody about him properly. He

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

ought to be able to talk about it, taking his time, sensibly. He ought to

tell how his son was taken ill, how he suffered, what he said before he

died, how he died ... He ought to describe the funeral, and how he

went to the hospital to fetch his son's clothes. His daughter Anisya is

still in the country ... And he would like to talk about her, too. Yes,

he has plenty to talk about now. And his listener should gasp and

moan and keen... It would be even better to talk to women. Though

they are foolish, two words will make them blubber.

"I must go out and have a look at the horse," Iona thinks. There will

be time enough for sleep. You will have enough sleep, no fear ...

99

He gets dressed and goes into the stable where his horse is standing.

He thinks about oats, hay, the weather. When he is alone, he dares not

think of his son. It is possible to talk about him with someone, but to

think of him when one is alone, to evoke his image is unbearably

painful.

You chewing ?"" Iona asks his mare seeing her shining eyes. "There,

chew away, chew away .... If we haven't earned enough for oats,

we'll eat hay .... Yes .... I've grown toổ old to drive. My son had

ought to be driving, not me .... He vwas a real cabby .... He had

ought to have lived ..."

Iona is silent for a space and then goes on; That's how it is, old girl.

Kuzma lonych is gone .... Departed this life .... He went and

died to no purpose .... Now let's say you had a little colt, and you

were that little colt's own mother. And suddenly, let's say that same

litle colt departed this life ... You'd be sorry, wouldn't you?"

The nag chews, listens and breathes on her master's hands. lona is
carried away and tells her everything.