JACKIE TOOMEY
PART 1
Contrasting the lifestyles of living the “high” life and becoming a “low” life in “The High Cost of Low Living”, the Allman Brothers incorporate instances of paradoxical cliché throughout their song that serve to illuminate the ways in which people who don’t live up to their full potential and value their lives are going to end up paying the ultimate price: ending up buried “six feet in the ground”. The cliché goes that people who live the low life start off being “the life of the party, everybody’s host”, and seem to be having a wonderful time enjoying themselves “until [they] need somewhere [they] can hide”, when they realize that although they are surrounding themselves with many people, and appear to be living the high life, in actuality there is nobody left for them to turn to because they had “used up all [their] real friends”. Those who are in this situation tend to figure out too late that they had “so many here who love[d][them], and still, [they] just [couldn’t] tell”, which is an example of paradoxical cliché because this situation is rather common, and paradoxical because they have people who love them, but can’t tell that those people are there, although people who care about you are usually good at letting you know. Yet another occasion where paradoxical cliché presents itself would be in the title itself, “The High Cost of Low Living”, due to the fact that usually one who lives the low life should not be expected to pay a high price, but can also be interpreted to mean that by living the low life, one is giving up many opportunities in their life, missing out on many different things, and soon they are going to need to “turn [themselves] around.” It is very apparent that throughout their song, the Allman Brothers weave paradoxical cliché into the story line, creating an ominous mood that aids in enhancing the idea that unless one wants to end up paying the ultimate price, they need to turn themselves around and not “look back.”
Part 2
Digging
by Seamus Heaney
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pin rest; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly 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.
The squat pin rest; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly 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.
Jackie Toomey
Poetry of Song G
Digging; Seamus Heaney
Contrasting the narrator’s own personal desires with the aspirations and occupations of their forefathers in “Digging”, Seamus Heaney makes use of hardworking, determined imagery and potent, appreciate symbolism in order to convey a commonplace occurrence in which a person is torn between fulfilling familial goals and chasing after their own dreams. The ways in which Heaney uses imagery to create a hardworking, determined image of the narrator’s predecessors aids in creating a sense of admiration that is radiated from the narrator. By describing the way that “the old man could handle a spade” and how he was “heaving sods over his shoulder” allows the narrator to show their appreciation for the hard work and manual labor provided by the father, while at the same time concluding that working out on a farm or “digging” is not right for them. The narrator uses the same hardworking imagery in order to explain how he has “no spade to follow men like them”, but the pen he holds between his finger and thumb will act as his tool, and he will “dig with it”. Just as the pen he holds is the narrator’s choice of tool, that same pen is used to symbolize the goals and ambitions of the narrator. The spade, which is used to symbolize the aspirations of his forefathers, is quite different than that of his own preferences, which in turn symbolizes the constant struggle between family members and their offspring that can present itself once the difference in interests arises. Although there are differences in the family’s choice of occupations, the narrator expresses acceptance and appreciation for the other family members’ jobs, although it is not what he prefers.
My Mother, if She Had Won Free Dance Lessons; Cornelius Eady
Shifting between questioning the past and “wonder[ing]” about his mother’s future in “My Mother, if She Had Won Free Dance Lessons”, Cornelius Eady uses the narrator of the poem in order to incorporate elements of “sympathetic” characterization and “abandoned” imagery into the metaphorical representation of him and his mother’s relationship through elements of dance. The way in which the narrator describes his mother as “the neighborhood crazy lady” exemplifies the ways that his feelings about his mother are less than desirable, and serve to characterize her as nothing more than a dancer who only knew “one step” He describes how, as a child, his mother “abandoned [him] in a world larger than [his] bad dreams, which paints an image of a lone child, lost in a place they shouldn’t be, much like a dancer who is stuck in an “endless loop” of repetitive moves. He uses diction that characterizes dancers so that he can accurately describe the relationship between him and his mom. The dancers in the metaphor represent the narrator and his mother, while their “crazy” dance serves to represent the way everybody else doesn’t understand their relationship, but they function within it just fine. Although it appears that the narrator has some sort of hidden disdain for his mother, this metaphor also represents the ways that he adores her, and the functionality behind their communications despite the abnormalities.
