Kelsey Williams
"You need a certain amount of nerve to be a writer."
 Born
on November 18, 1939 in Ottawa, Ontario.
 Her parents were of Nova Scotian decent.
 She was the daughter of a forest entomologist
[branch of Zoology that deals with insects].
 She
received her bachelor’s degree from
Victoria college [Toronto] in 1961.
 Her mentor, Northrop Frye, recommended she
pursue a graduate degree at Radcliffe College.
While she was there the college joined
Harvard University.
 Her experiences there helped her feminist
views and opposition to the Americanization
of Canadian culture.
 She
married Jim Polk in
1968, but they were
divorced in 1973.
 Later she got together
with Graeme Gibson, a
fellow novelist; in 1976
they had a daughter,
Eleanor Jess Atwood
Gibson.
Her first publication was a book
of poetry, The Circle Game ;it
received the Governor
General's Literary Award for
Poetry.
 As a productive poet, novelist,
feminist and activist, she is a
winner of the Booker Prize and
Arthur C. Clarke Award, and she
was a finalist for the Governor
General’s Award.

 post·mod·ern
adj. Of or relating to art, architecture, or
literature that reacts against earlier modernist
principles, as by reintroducing traditional or
classical elements of style or by carrying
modernist styles or practices to extremes
 Repetition:
a symbol is a word or object that
stands for another word or object. The object or
word can be seen with the eye or not visible.
 Free
Verse: Verse composed of variable, usually
unrhymed lines having no fixed metrical pattern
 Symbolism:
the practice of representing things by
symbols, or of investing things with a symbolic
meaning or character.
You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.
Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.
Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child.
My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you're trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,
and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside you head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.
By Margaret Atwood
Repetition of
the word sad
You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.
“hug”
symbolizes
embracing your
sadness
Shortness of words
makes it more
dramatic-sounding.
“eyeless doll” symbolizes
being unable to see
Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.
Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child
Your sadness is like a
shadow, it always
follows you
My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you're trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,
Darkness, night
time
blood
and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside you head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is; or else we all are.
This is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is irresistible:
the song that forces men
to leap overboard in squadrons
even though they see the beached skulls
the song nobody knows
because anyone who has heard it
is dead, and the others can't remember.
Shall I tell you the secret
and if I do, will you get me
out of this bird suit?
I don't enjoy it here
squatting on this island
looking picturesque and mythical
By Margaret Atwood
with these two feathery maniacs,
I don't enjoy singing
this trio, fatal and valuable.
I will tell the secret to you,
to you, only to you.
Come closer. This song
is a cry for help: Help me!
Only you, only you can,
you are unique
at last. Alas
it is a boring song
but it works every time.
Three-line
stanza
This is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is irresistible:
hypnotizing
the song that forces men
to leap overboard in squadrons
even though they see the beached skulls
the song nobody knows
because anyone who has heard it
is dead, and the others can't remember.
si·ren [sahy-ruh n]
–noun
1. Classical Mythology. one of several sea nymphs, part woman and part bird,
who lure mariners to destruction by their seductive singing.
2.a seductively beautiful or charming woman, esp. one who beguiles men: a
siren of the silver screen.
Shall I tell you the secret
and if I do, will you get me
out of this bird suit?
I don’t enjoy it here
squatting on this island
looking picturesque and mythical
with these two feathery maniacs,
I don't enjoy singing
this trio, fatal and valuable.
I will tell the secret to you,
to you, only to you.
Come closer. This song
With the imagery she
gives us, it leads us to
believe that the speaker is
a bird.
is a cry for help: Help me!
Only you, only you can,
you are unique
at last. Alas
it is a boring song
but it works every time
Repetition of words
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island,
country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag,
proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
By Margaret Atwood
life
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
I feel that this is
referring to the
feeling you get after
you overcoming an
obstacle
The possessive
pronoun “you”
indicates that you
are in an intimate,
and familiar place
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.