The Circle Game Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABC DCEFEG HIJK LMNLOP QRS TUCVWXAYZPCIIC DA2 IB2LC2 L D2WE2 F2G2H2B2I2OJ2C2 A2K2O KJ2KL2M2I M2N2 A2 O2 P2K A2 IQ2R2C2 IS2T2 U2KHV2W2 X2IEIX2U Y2Z2T2V2DU F2A3 B3KC3D3E3 X2F3 G3IIIH3C2A3 I3B2F3 J A2Y2J3K3K3Y2LK3L3H2 DK3ELM3N3LK3 O3M2IK3KIK3K3K3IP3K3 K3 LLOOQ3R3S3T3K3EM2 U3K3K3 L V3W3I2 LK3I2K3X3EK3K3K3K3 IK3C2 I3KKKK3 K3Y3IK3K3EK3 SKKK3Z3A4IZ3K J B4B4 B4C4 LK3 K3K3 D4K3E4K3 L K3M3K3JIC2IK3III F4G4JP3 J K3H3E D K3K3E K3K3K3 J GA2KI3 M2JGK3GK3K3H4H3 K3I4A3DK3K3K3 PDK3S JIE2LGW3J4KK KK3A2 K3IS GK3IGK3 JK4KKK3 H3K3IIK3 K3KKG EG| The children on the lawn | A |
| joined hand to hand | B |
| go round and round | C |
| - | |
| each arm going into | D |
| the next arm around | C |
| full circle | E |
| until it comes | F |
| back into each of the single | E |
| bodies again | G |
| - | |
| They are singing but | H |
| not to each other | I |
| their feet move | J |
| almost in time to the singing | K |
| - | |
| We can see | L |
| the concentration on | M |
| their faces their eyes | N |
| fixed on the empty | L |
| moving spaces just in | O |
| front of them | P |
| - | |
| We might mistake this | Q |
| tranced moving for joy | R |
| but there is no joy in it | S |
| - | |
| We can see arm in arm | T |
| as we watch them go | U |
| round and round | C |
| intent almost | V |
| studious the grass | W |
| underfoot ignored the trees | X |
| circling the lawn | A |
| ignored the lake ignored | Y |
| that the whole point | Z |
| for them | P |
| of going round and round | C |
| is faster | I |
| slower | I |
| going round and round | C |
| - | |
| - | |
| ii | - |
| - | |
| Being with you | D |
| here in this room | A2 |
| - | |
| is like groping through a mirror | I |
| whose glass has melted | B2 |
| to the consistency | L |
| of gelatin | C2 |
| - | |
| You refuse to be | L |
| and I | - |
| an exact reflection yet | D2 |
| will not walk from the glass | W |
| be separate | E2 |
| - | |
| Anyway it is right | F2 |
| that they have put | G2 |
| so many mirrors here | H2 |
| chipped hung crooked | B2 |
| in this room with its high transom | I2 |
| and empty wardrobe even | O |
| the back of the door | J2 |
| has one | C2 |
| - | |
| There are people in the next room | A2 |
| arguing opening and closing drawers | K2 |
| the walls are thin | O |
| - | |
| You look past me listening | K |
| to them perhaps or | J2 |
| watching | K |
| your own reflection somewhere | L2 |
| behind my head | M2 |
| over my shoulder | I |
| - | |
| You shift and the bed | M2 |
| sags under us losing its focus | N2 |
| - | |
| there is someone in the next room | A2 |
| - | |
| there is always | O2 |
| - | |
| your face | P2 |
| remote listening | K |
| - | |
| someone in the next room | A2 |
| - | |
| - | |
| iii | - |
| - | |
| However | I |
| in all their games | Q2 |
| there seems | R2 |
| to be some reason | C2 |
| - | |
| however | I |
| abstract they | S2 |
| at first appear | T2 |
| - | |
| When we read them legends | U2 |
| in the evening | K |
| of monstrous battles and secret | H |
| betrayals in the forest | V2 |
| and brutal deaths | W2 |
| - | |
| they scarcely listened | X2 |
| one yawned and fidgeted another | I |
| chewed the wooden handle | E |
| of a hammer | I |
| the youngest one examined | X2 |
| a slight cut on his toe | U |
| - | |
| and we wondered how | Y2 |
| they could remain | Z2 |
| completely without fear | T2 |
| or even interest | V2 |
| as the final sword slid through | D |
| the dying hero | U |
| - | |
| The next night | F2 |
| walking along the beach | A3 |
| - | |
| we found the trenches | B3 |
| they had been making | K |
| fortified with pointed sticks | C3 |
| driven into the sides | D3 |
| of their sand moats | E3 |
| - | |
| and a lake enclosed island | X2 |
| with no bridges | F3 |
| - | |
| a last attempt | G3 |
| however | I |
| eroded by the water | I |
| in an hour | I |
| to make | H3 |
| maybe a refuge human | C2 |
| and secure from the reach | A3 |
| - | |
| of whatever walks along | I3 |
| sword hearted | B2 |
| these night beaches | F3 |
| - | |
| - | |
| iv | J |
| - | |
| Returning to the room | A2 |
| I notice how | Y2 |
| all your word | J3 |
| plays calculated ploys | K3 |
| of the body the witticisms | K3 |
| of touch are now | Y2 |
| attempts to keep me | L |
| at a certain distance | K3 |
| and at length avoid | L3 |
| admitting I am here | H2 |
| - | |
| I watch you | D |
| watching my face | K3 |
| indifferently | E |
| yet with the same taut curiosity | L |
| with which you might regard | M3 |
| a suddenly discovered part | N3 |
| of your own body | L |
| a wart perhaps | K3 |
| - | |
| and I remember that | O3 |
| you said | M2 |
| in childhood you were | I |
| a tracer of maps | K3 |
| not making but moving | K |
| a pen or a forefinger | I |
| over the courses of the rivers | K3 |
| the different colours | K3 |
| that mark the rise of mountains | K3 |
| a memorizer | I |
| of names to hold | P3 |
| these places | K3 |
| in their proper places | K3 |
| - | |
| So now you trace me | L |
| like a country's boundary | L |
| or a strange new wrinkle in | O |
| your own wellknown skin | O |
| and I am fixed stuck | Q3 |
| down on the outspread map | R3 |
| of this room of your mind's continent | S3 |
| here and yet not here like | T3 |
| the wardrobe and the mirrors | K3 |
| the voices through the wall | E |
| your body ignored on the bed | M2 |
| - | |
| transfixed | U3 |
| by your eyes' | K3 |
| cold blue thumbtacks | K3 |
| - | |
| - | |
| v | L |
| - | |
| The children like the block | V3 |
| of grey stone that was once a fort | W3 |
| but now is a museum | I2 |
| - | |
| especially | L |
| they like the guns | K3 |
| and the armour brought from | I2 |
| other times and countries | K3 |
| and when they go home | X3 |
| their drawings will be full | E |
| for some days of swords | K3 |
| archaic sunburst maces | K3 |
| broken spears | K3 |
| and vivid red explosions | K3 |
| - | |
| While they explore | I |
| the cannons | K3 |
| they aren't our children | C2 |
| - | |
| we walk outside along | I3 |
| the earthworks noting | K |
| how they are crumbling | K |
| under the unceasing | K |
| attacks of feet and flower roots | K3 |
| - | |
| The weapons | K3 |
| that were once outside | Y3 |
| sharpening themselves on war | I |
| are now indoors | K3 |
| there in the fortress | K3 |
| fragile | E |
| in glass cases | K3 |
| - | |
| Why is it | S |
| I'm thinking | K |
| of the careful moulding | K |
| round the stonework archways | K3 |
| that in this time such | Z3 |
| elaborate defences keep | A4 |
| things that are no longer | I |
| much | Z3 |
| worth defending | K |
| - | |
| - | |
| vi | J |
| - | |
| And you play the safe game | B4 |
| the orphan game | B4 |
| - | |
| the ragged winter game | B4 |
| that says I am alone | C4 |
| - | |
| hungry I know you want me | L |
| to play it also | K3 |
| - | |
| the game of the waif who stands | K3 |
| at every picture window | K3 |
| - | |
| shivering pinched nose pressed | D4 |
| against the glass the snow | K3 |
| collecting on his neck | E4 |
| watching the happy families | K3 |
| - | |
| a game of envy | L |
| - | |
| Yet he despises them they are so | K3 |
| Victorian Christmas card | M3 |
| the cheap paper shows | K3 |
| under the pigments of | J |
| their cheerful fire | I |
| places and satin | C2 |
| ribboned suburban laughter | I |
| and they have their own forms | K3 |
| of parlour | I |
| games father and mother | I |
| playing father and mother | I |
| - | |
| He's glad | F4 |
| to be left | G4 |
| out by himself | J |
| in the cold | P3 |
| - | |
| hugging himself | J |
| - | |
| When I tell you this | K3 |
| you say with a smile fake | H3 |
| as a tinsel icicle | E |
| - | |
| You do it too | D |
| - | |
| Which in some ways | K3 |
| is a lie but also I suppose | K3 |
| is right as usual | E |
| - | |
| although I tend to pose | K3 |
| in other seasons | K3 |
| outside other windows | K3 |
| - | |
| - | |
| vii | J |
| - | |
| Summer again | G |
| in the mirrors of this room | A2 |
| the children wheel singing | K |
| the same song | I3 |
| - | |
| This casual bed | M2 |
| scruffy as dry turf | J |
| the counterpane | G |
| rumpled with small burrows is | K3 |
| their grassy lawn | G |
| and these scuffed walls | K3 |
| contain their circling trees | K3 |
| that low clogged sink | H4 |
| their lake | H3 |
| - | |
| a wasp comes | K3 |
| drawn by the piece of sandwich | I4 |
| left on the nearby beach | A3 |
| how carefully you do | D |
| such details | K3 |
| one of the children flinches | K3 |
| but won't let go | K3 |
| - | |
| You make them | P |
| turn and turn according to | D |
| the closed rules of your games | K3 |
| but there is no joy in it | S |
| - | |
| and as we lie | J |
| arm in arm neither | I |
| joined nor separate | E2 |
| your observations change me | L |
| to a spineless woman in | G |
| a cage of bones obsolete fort | W3 |
| pulled inside out | J4 |
| our lips moving | K |
| almost in time to their singing | K |
| - | |
| listening to the opening | K |
| and closing of the drawers | K3 |
| in the next room | A2 |
| - | |
| of course there is always | K3 |
| danger but where | I |
| would you locate it | S |
| - | |
| the children spin | G |
| a round cage of glass | K3 |
| from the warm air | I |
| with their thread thin | G |
| insect voices | K3 |
| - | |
| and as we lie | J |
| here caught | K4 |
| in the monotony of wandering | K |
| from room to room shifting | K |
| the place of our defences | K3 |
| - | |
| I want to break | H3 |
| these bones your prisoning rhythms | K3 |
| winter | I |
| summer | I |
| all the glass cases | K3 |
| - | |
| erase all maps | K3 |
| crack the protecting | K |
| eggshell of your turning | K |
| singing children | G |
| - | |
| I want the circle | E |
| broken | G |
Margaret Atwood
(1)
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About The Circle Game
The Circle Game is a poem by Margaret Atwood. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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