Danced in a Green Bay

tone.

tone.

tone.

tone.

I think I'm going to go with gloomy/fearful. The speaker continuously warns us not to "go into that good night", which I think means death. And death is usually a gloomy subject to talk about.. and then the speaker says that "the dark is right". Which implies that we should fight death even when it is our time, because it's scary. So he's fearful.

He gives us the stages that each type of person goes through when facing death.

The old men know it's their time, but they are too afraid.

The good men begin to doubt themselves--were my deeds good enough to get to heaven?

The wild men regret their lifestyle.. if they go into the dark, they won't reach the "light". (you know, heaven)

The serious men.. I don't get the "grave men".

In the last stanza the speaker is begging his father to fight off death.

February. Bumholes.

So this is pretty nasty.

But I'm answering [Question 8]

The tone of this poem is definitely bitter resentment. The speaker is so blunt about everything. Most people try to use euphemisms when they talk. For example, if the speaker could have said "neutered" versus saying "snip off a few testicles".

My uncle Steve reminds me off this person. After his divorce, he just hates love and anything that has to do with it. Especially during February, where all the love in the world seems to blow up in our faces.

I'm not really old enough to get depressed about the love in the air, but I would imagine that at age 50, it is pretty annoying. I'd probably want to just eat food, probably chocolate.

At the end, the tone becomes a little less resentful and a little more "optimistic" about the coming months. "Make it be spring."

Those Winter Sundays

I'm discussing the tone of this poem.

I think it is pretty obvious.. cold, distant, and dark. His father got up in the "blueblack cold". Blueblack isn't even a real word, so you know the speaker uses it to make us feel the intensity of the coldness. The word reminds me of bruises and evil things. So we are feeling really cold, then we instantly feel distance from his father: "No one ever thanked him." It was quick and short, but I felt it.

Even the warmth mentioned in this poem feels cold. "I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he'd call..." Physically, the room was warm, but I'm still feeling cold. It is kind of like a selfish warm, and as I read it, I wanted him to hug someone, particularly his dad.

Cold cold cold cold cold.