“Tockytock, tockytockclumped our Alpine, Edwardian cuckoo clock,slung with strangled, wooden game.”
In this quote from Robert Lowell's poem, there is a sense of violence and destruction as the poet describes a cuckoo clock being "clumped" and "strangled." The use of harsh sounds like "tockytock" adds to the chaotic and unsettling imagery. The juxtaposition of the delicate image of a cuckoo clock with the violent actions described creates a sense of tension and unease in the reader. The phrase "wooden game" adds to the confusion and disarray of the scene, leaving the reader with a sense of impending destruction and loss.
In this line from Robert Lowell's poem, "Tockytock, tockytock," he describes an Alpine, Edwardian cuckoo clock as being "slung with strangled, wooden game." This image can be interpreted as a commentary on the passage of time and the burdens that we hang onto throughout our lives. The clock, symbolizing time itself, carries the weight of the "strangled, wooden game," representing our past mistakes and regrets. This can serve as a reminder to let go of the past and not let it weigh us down in the present.
In his poem, Robert Lowell describes the sound of a cuckoo clock in a unique and vivid way: "“Tockytock, tockytock clumped our Alpine, Edwardian cuckoo clock, slung with strangled, wooden game.”
Robert Lowell's imagery in this line evokes a sense of unease and chaos. As you reflect on these words, consider the following questions: - How does the use of onomatopoeia in "tockytock" contribute to the overall mood of the poem? - What do you think the cuckoo clock symbolizes in this line? - How does the description of the clock as "strangled" add to the sense of tension in the poem? - In what ways does this line reflect the theme of time and decay present in Lowell's work?
“Pity the planet, all joy gonefrom this sweet volcanic cone;peace to our children when they fallin small war on the heel of smallwar--until the end of timeto police the earth, a ghostorbiting forever lostin our monotonous sublime”
“No weekends for the gods now. Warsflicker, earth licks its open sores,fresh breakage, fresh promotions, chanceassassinations, no advance.Only man thinning out his own kindsounds through the Sabbath noon, the blindswipe of the pruner and his knifebusy about the tree of life...Pity the planet, all joy gonefrom this sweet volcanic cone;peace to our children when they fallin small war on the heels of smallwar - until the end of timeto police th eearth, a ghostorbiting forever lostin our monotonous sublime.”
“In the end, there is no end.”
“The light at the end of the tunnel is just the light of an oncoming train.”
“Two months after marching through Boston,half the regiment was dead;at the dedication,William James could almost hear the bronze Negroes breathe.Their monument sticks like a fishbonein the city's throat.Its Colonel is as leanas a compass-needle.He has an angry wrenlike vigilance,a greyhound's gently tautness;he seems to wince at pleasure,and suffocate for privacy.He is out of bounds now. He rejoices in man's lovely,peculiar power to choose life and die--when he leads his black soldiers to death,he cannot bend his back.”
“If youth is a defect, it is one that we outgrow too soon.”