Analysis
In the Imagism movement poets wrote in free verse using vivid and sharp language. Patterns by Amy Lowell is a great example of Imagist poetry because she gives a vivid description on her surroundings and her clothing. In this poem Amy talks about the garden-paths she is walking on and the memory she had when a messenger came and told her about the death of her husband. She constantly referred to her stiff brocade gown that symbolized as an emotional wall that was protecting her from her softer side. The only time she felt that she could let her guard down was with the man she thought she would marry. Using literary devices such as imagery caused the reader to have different tones throughout the poem such as sadness, joy, and happiness. It also made Amy's alter-changing moods stand out from happiness and joy, to feeling trapped and in sorrow. |
Literary Devices
Imagery- "Patterned paths", "daffodils blowing", stiff brocaded gown", and "richly figured gown", are just a few examples of imagery in this poem. Using imagery helped the reader to experience every emotion she felt; From joy and happiness to when she was daydreaming about being with her lover running in the fields, to hurt and sorrow when her hero whom she waited to marry was cruelly taken in the war. Analogy- An example of an analogy would be "He as Colonel" and "I as Lady". With this analogy she was able to show the bond her and her would have been husband shared. This analogy also shows the importance of breaking a pattern of living in restriction and they can live carefree and happy. |
Poem
Patterns BY AMY LOWELL I walk down the garden paths, And all the daffodils Are blowing, and the bright blue squills. I walk down the patterned garden paths In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jewelled fan, I too am a rare Pattern. As I wander down The garden paths. My dress is richly figured, And the train Makes a pink and silver stain On the gravel, and the thrift Of the borders. Just a plate of current fashion, Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes. Not a softness anywhere about me, Only whale-bone and brocade. And I sink on a seat in the shade Of a lime tree. For my passion Wars against the stiff brocade. The daffodils and squills Flutter in the breeze As they please. And I weep; For the lime tree is in blossom And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom. And the splashing of waterdrops In the marble fountain Comes down the garden paths. The dripping never stops. Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin, A basin in the midst of hedges grown So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding, But she guesses he is near, And the sliding of the water Seems the stroking of a dear Hand upon her. What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown! I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground. All the pink and silver crumpled up on the ground. I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths, And he would stumble after, Bewildered by my laughter. I should see the sun flashing from his sword-hilt and the buckles on his shoes. I would choose To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths, A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover, Till he caught me in the shade, And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me, Aching, melting, unafraid. With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops, And the plopping of the waterdrops, All about us in the open afternoon I am very like to swoon With the weight of this brocade, For the sun sifts through the shade. Underneath the fallen blossom In my bosom, Is a letter I have hid. It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke. “Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell Died in action Thursday sen’night.” As I read it in the white, morning sunlight, The letters squirmed like snakes. “Any answer, Madam,” said my footman. “No,” l told him. “See that the messenger takes some refreshment. No, no answer.” And I walked into the garden, Up and down the patterned paths, In my stiff, correct brocade. The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun, Each one. I stood upright too, Held rigid to the pattern By the stiffness of my gown. Up and down I walked, Up and down. In a month he would have been my husband. In a month, here, underneath this lime, We would have broke the pattern; He for me, and I for him, He as Colonel, I as Lady, On this shady seat. He had a whim That sunlight carried blessing. And I answered, “It shall be as you have said.” Now he is dead. In Summer and in Winter I shall walk Up and down The patterned garden paths In my stiff, brocaded gown. The squills and daffodils Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow. I shall go Up and down, In my gown. Gorgeously arrayed, Boned and stayed. And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace By each button, hook, and lace. For the man who should loose me is dead, Fighting with the Duke in Flanders, In a pattern called a war. Christ! What are patterns for? |
Imagism
Imagism was a movement that officially launched in 1912 after an Imagist Ezra Pound signed a poem Imagiste and sent it to the Harriet Monroe at a poetry center. Although this is when the movement was finally noticed ideas from T.E. Hulme was made about this concept from as far back as 1908. Imagism was centered in London and was a reaction against the Georgian Romanticism. Poets include F.S. Flint, D.H. Lawrence, Amy Lowell, and John Gould Fletcher. This movement included poetry that used visual images and clear, sharp language. Even though it ended in 1917 the ideas of free verse carried on.