Spelling Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCDEF GBHIJ KLAM NAONP QMJ RM STUVWCRXNY A DGZA2R| My daughter plays on the floor | A |
| with plastic letters | B |
| red blue hard yellow | C |
| learning how to spell | D |
| spelling | E |
| how to make spells | F |
| - | |
| I wonder how many women | G |
| denied themselves daughters | B |
| closed themselves in rooms | H |
| drew the curtains | I |
| so they could mainline words | J |
| - | |
| A child is not a poem | K |
| a poem is not a child | L |
| there is no either or | A |
| However | M |
| - | |
| I return to the story | N |
| of the woman caught in the war | A |
| in labour her thighs tied | O |
| together by the enemy | N |
| so she could not give birth | P |
| - | |
| Ancestress the burning witch | Q |
| her mouth covered by leather | M |
| to strangle words | J |
| - | |
| A word after a word | R |
| after a word is power | M |
| - | |
| At the point where language falls away | S |
| from the hot bones at the point | T |
| where the rock breaks open and darkness | U |
| flows out of it like blood at | V |
| the melting point of granite | W |
| when the bones know | C |
| they are hollow the word | R |
| splits doubles speaks | X |
| the truth the body | N |
| itself becomes a mouth | Y |
| - | |
| This is a metaphor | A |
| - | |
| How do you learn to spell | D |
| Blood sky the sun | G |
| your own name first | Z |
| your first naming your first name | A2 |
| your first word | R |
Margaret Atwood
(10)
Poem topics: , Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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About Spelling
Spelling is a poem by Margaret Atwood. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
Write your comment about Spelling poem by Margaret Atwood
Myron: Egads! No, I don't use that expression, but it somehow seemed fitting here. This "poem" reminds me of the Beatnik verbal trash, vomited by reefer addled people in the 60s poetry slams. I wonder how many finger snaps this would get from the Seconal soaked crowd.
Paul of Peachtree City: Words may be autological, but this is the first autological poem I've encountered. This is written two days after the Canadian Postal Service honoured Ms. Atwood with a stamp bearing words from this poem. Never underestimate the power of words, nor the ability of someone with Ms. Atwood's talent to create powerful poems.
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