在房間內的yellow wallpaper十分影響Gilman的心理狀態，她看見有 “two bulbous eyes stare at her”，跟著她看見wallpaper有兩個pattern，有front pattern and back pattern。Front pattern可以被理解為丈夫所代表的家庭核心結構規範及社會文化的結構規範 (cultural norms)，尤以Jennie作為完美熱心的家庭主婦典範，這個規範對Gilman來說就像一所監獄，而她被囚禁於內。Back pattern 係Gilman看見有一個女人被困在pattern裏，subdued and quiet，再看看卻是一班女人也在shakes and strangles the pattern，當她們逃離之際，pattern 又再勒住她們。Gilman自己也跟著她們一樣在crawl and creep，希望可以脫離現實這個maddening system。Gilman想釋放她們，她嘗試撕開那張wallpaper，將規範拆毁，從此再沒有cultural norms 可以困住她們了。最後Gilman creep over John，代表理性的John暈倒了，Gilman 瘋癲了，得到暫時的自由。

Whene’er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon’s bright ray,
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof!

Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
And fright him as the morning frightens night!

Whene’er the fate of those I hold most dear
Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,
O bright-eyed Hope, my morbidfancy cheer;
Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:
Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!

Should e’er unhappy love my bosom pain,
From cruel parents, or relentless fair;
O let me think it is not quite in vain
To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!

In the long vista of the years to roll,
Let me not see our country’s honour fade:
O let me see our land retain her soul,
Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom’s shade.
From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed—
Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!

Let me not see the patriot’s high bequest,
Great Liberty! how great in plain attire!
With the base purple of a court oppress’d,
Bowing her head, and ready to expire:
But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings
That fill the skies with silver glitterings!

And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;
Brightening the half veil’d face of heaven afar:
So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,
Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed,
Waving thy silver pinions o’er my head!

The poet is full of gloomy thoughts and his life is like a wasteland. He beseeches Hope to anoint his head and light him up, to chase his sorrow and despair away, to cheer him up. He writes poems to keep away from the darkness at night. He wishes his country and the court to retain her soul when oppression and freedom are tensely at odds, that she can fly once again with wings in heaven. Even though things remain gloomy, Hope will protect him from being overcome by darkness.

I like this poem very much because I am in the same condition as the poet. Sadness, sorrow, disappointment, despair, hatred, dark thoughts surround me. Yet, I believe there is still hope which wave its silver pinions over my head and in the long years ahead.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed- and gazed- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

The poem is a beautiful one. It has an ABAB rhyme scheme. I feel like it is spring and summer time with the lake, hills and trees around. The daffodils are giving delight to the nature view like the stars on the sky and the sparkling waves. The poet is happy about what he sees and the nature view imprints in his lonely heart. When in solitude, the poet recalls the daffodils and feel harmonious with the great view.

The poem makes me feel like seeing the sakura in Hookaido, Japan. The sakura was dancing in the wind. The whole Maruyama Park was planted with sakura trees which made visitors and local people there filled with pleasure.

I knew not but the next
Would be my final inch,–
This gave me that precarious gait
Some call experience.

I suppose the speaker is walking along a hanging bridge made up of planks. His movement is very slow and cautious because the way is unsafe and dangerous. The speaker feels like setting out his way across the sea at nighttime when stars are above his head. So he cannot see his way ahead very clearly and he might drown into the sea any time if each of his step is not careful enough. Although the setting seems like threatening, the speaker has his dream which is signified by the starry night above his head. The speaker does not know when will be his final step. But before his final step, the manner of walking dangerously along the planks gives the speaker the valuable experience.

I love you only because it’s you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

I like this poem very much especially the first line because of the paradox of love and hate in relationships. It is just complicated. The poem conveys that when you love someone deeply yet are not returned the same favour, you will hate that person as well. However, the poem goes on to say that love prevails/overrides hate finally because of the passion of love itself.

I like this poem very much because it plays with the sounds of words like “black blackberries”, “to eat blackberries for breakfast”, “the black art of blackberry-making”, “many-lettered, one syllabled lumps”, “squeeze, squinch, splurge”, “black language of blackberry” etc. When I read the poem aloud, I feel the oral and auditory experience of language. The poem compares words to blackberries. So eating the blackberries is like orally tasting language itself. But sometimes language could be quite “prickly” because it is like black magic which is not made for good. And there are peculiar words which you have to taste thoroughly in order to understand its unusual quality.

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds
watching him from the birdhouse.

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.

The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.

The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to floors.

The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it
and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.

I want to be famous to shuffling men
who smile while crossing streets,
sticky children in grocery lines,
famous as the one who smiled back.

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it could do.

This poem conveys that we are famous to others because of what we could/should do. Even though the matter may seem insignificant or routine, it still does matter to a certain extent.

If you tuck the name of a loved one
under your tongue too long
without speaking it
it becomes blood
sigh
the little sucked-in breath of air
hiding everywhere
beneath your words.

No one sees
the fuel that feeds you.

Submitted by R. Joyce Heon

This poems talks about the destruction power of time. A fern under pressure in a span of time would disappear. Your memory of a loved one could be lost if he/she is not remembered/spoken. Something that is hidden away could be lost forever. In Hong Kong context, if Hong Kong history and Hong Kong story is not written, narrated, retold or passed onto our next generation, our collective memory could be lost one day. And, our Hong Kong identity would be lost as well. That is exactly when mainlandization becomes successful in Hong Kong. Therefore, Hong Kong people should keep telling Hong Kong story to keep our Hong Kong identity alive so that our city will not be dying out.

Why should the world be overwise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!

This poem is about the social face that we wear each day when we socialise with each other in the public. We all wear the mask to get along with other people in the society for courtesy or protection. However, our private soul is torn and tortured inside crying out aloud. And, we have a long way to go ahead of us.

Still, I like your spirit.
Anyone who says, “Here’s my address,
write me a poem,” deserves something in reply.
So I’ll tell a secret instead:
poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,
they are sleeping. They are the shadows
drifting across our ceilings the moment
before we wake up. What we have to do
is live in a way that lets us find them.

Once I knew a man who gave his wife
two skunks for a valentine.
He couldn’t understand why she was crying.
“I thought they had such beautiful eyes.”
And he was serious. He was a serious man
who lived in a serious way. Nothing was ugly
just because the world said so. He really
liked those skunks. So, he re-invented them
as valentines and they became beautiful.
At least, to him. And the poems that had been hiding
in the eyes of skunks for centuries
crawled out and curled up at his feet.

Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give us
we find poems. Check your garage, the off sock
in your drawer, the person you almost like, but not quite.
And let me know.

I like this poem very much because it is beautifully written. Art cannot be created on demand. Art can be explored and found in unexpected places where you might feel offensive and disgusting. But the art work would seem beautiful at least to the artist. Artists have to live in a way that enables them to find the subjects of art work.