The Theme of Identity in Poetry :: Identity Digging Still I Rise The Barn Essays

The Theme of Identity in Poetry These three poems are all to do with the theme identity although I specifically choose three that contrasted with each other. Digging is portraying the identity of the three generations of digging, his father, grandfather and himself. ‘Explain how three poems concerned with developing personality, develop their themes’ For this essay I will be choosing three poems, which will help me compare and contrast how each develop their themes of identity. The three I will be choosing are: 1. Digging Between my finger and my thumb the squat pen rests: snug as a gun. Under my window, a clean rasping sound when the spade sinks into gravely ground: My father, digging. I look down till his straining rump among the flowerbeds Bends low, comes up twenty years away Stooping in rhythm through potato drills where he was digging. The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft against the inside knee was levered firmly. He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep to scatter new potatoes that we picked Loving their cool hardness in our hands. By God the old man could handle a spade. Just like his old man. My grandfather cut more turf in a day than any other man on Toner's bog. Once I carried him milk in a bottle Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up To drink it, then fell to right away Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods Over his shoulder, going down and down For the good turf. Digging. The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge through living roots awaken in my head. But I've no spade to follow men like them. Between my finger and my thumb the squat pen rests. I'll dig with it. 2. Still I rise You may write me down in history with your bitter, twisted lies, you may tread me in the very dirt but still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, with the certainty of tides, just like hopes springing high, still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries. Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Digging' in my own back yard. You may shoot me with your words, you may cut me with your eyes, you may kill me with your hatefulness, but still, like air, I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise that I dance like I've got diamonds