Poem Analysis-“Morning in the Burned House” by Margaret Atwood,

Poem Analysis-“Morning in the Burned House” by Margaret Atwood,

Project instructions:
Analysis of a Poem: “Morning in the Burned House” by Margaret Atwood,

Outline:

5 paragraph analysis

Paragraph 1-Introduction. Please introduce the poem for 1 paragraph AND write one clear and concise thesis statement.

NOTE: for the thesis statement, DO NOT write something like “this analysis will…” or “This paper will analyse…” These are announcement, not thesis statement. If

you do not know what is a thesis statement. Google it. Many writers simply ignore this requirement before and ended up on my block list. This is a simple take but need

you to actually DO it.

Paragraph 2-4 analysis.

Paragraph 5, Conclusion.

There is a SAMPLE attached. Please READ it and FOLLOW its format.

The Poem:,

“Morning in the Burned House” by Margaret Atwood, 1939

In the burned house I am eating breakfast.

You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast,

yet here I am.

The spoon which was melted scrapes against

the bowl which was melted also.

No one else is around.

Where have they gone to, brother and sister,

mother and father? Off along the shore,

perhaps. Their clothes are still on the hangers,

their dishes piled beside the sink,

which is beside the woodstove

with its grate and sooty kettle,

every detail clear,

tin cup and rippled mirror.

The day is bright and songless,

the lake is blue, the forest watchful.

In the east a bank of cloud

rises up silently like dark bread.

I can see the swirls in the oilcloth,

I can see the flaws in the glass,

those flares where the sun hits them.

I can?t see my own arms and legs

or know if this is a trap or blessing,

finding myself back here, where everything

in this house has long been over,

kettle and mirror, spoon and bowl,

including my own body,

including the body I had then,

including the body I have now

as I sit at this morning table, alone and happy,

bare child?s feet on the scorched floorboards

(I can almost see)

in my burning clothes, the thin green shorts

and grubby yellow T-shirt

holding my cindery, non-existent,

radiant flesh. Incandescent. ,

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