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High School English Teachers Chatboard

Scapegoat poetry?

by eileen3g

Dec 8, 2012

Could anyone suggest a classic poem about scapegoating? That is, assigning or taking the blame for the sins of others? I am drawing a blank.

Many thanks in advance, Eileen

Novel [link removed]

May be a bit complex, depends on age of students.

There's also a poem by Ted Hughes called SCAPEGOATS and RABIES - also long and complex

Dec 9, 2012

Sara On 12/08/12, eileen3g wrote: > Could anyone suggest a classic poem about scapegoating? > That is, assigning or taking the blame for the sins of > others? I am drawing a blank. > > Many thanks in advance, Eileen

Taking the blame for others is not scapegoating. It's self- sacrifice and "The Second Coming" is a poem about the p...See More

Dec 9, 2012

This one's always creeped me out On 12/08/12, eileen3g wrote: > Could anyone suggest a classic poem about scapegoating? > That is, assigning or taking the blame for the sins of > others? I am drawing a blank. > > Many thanks in advance, Eileen

My Last Duchess By Robert Browning

FERRARA That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she...See MoreOn 12/08/12, eileen3g wrote: > Could anyone suggest a classic poem about scapegoating? > That is, assigning or taking the blame for the sins of > others? I am drawing a blank. > > Many thanks in advance, Eileen

My Last Duchess By Robert Browning

FERRARA That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said “Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so, not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not Her husband’s presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle laps Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat.” Such stuff Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. She had A heart — how shall I say? — too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace—all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush, at least. She thanked men—good! but thanked Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech—which I have not—to make your will Quite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, Or there exceed the mark”—and if she let Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse— E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt, Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet The company below, then. I repeat, The Count your master’s known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretense Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

Dec 30, 2012

Here's another one (wow...scapegoat poetry's depressing!) OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE by Will Carleton, 1897

Over the hill to the poor-house I'm trudgin' my weary way--- I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle gray--- I, who am smart an' chipper, for all the years I've told, As many another woman that's only half as old.

Over the hill to the poor-house---I can't quite make it clear!...See More

Dec 30, 2012

Technically, this one's about scapehorses And it's a song, written about the Anzac horses. During World War I, numerous Australian soldiers loaded their finest horses onto the ships to go overseas and ride into battle. The battle of Anzac (in the country we now know as Turkey) was a huge, bloody defeat for the Australians. When it was over, those soldiers who survived were shipped back hom...See MoreAnd it's a song, written about the Anzac horses. During World War I, numerous Australian soldiers loaded their finest horses onto the ships to go overseas and ride into battle. The battle of Anzac (in the country we now know as Turkey) was a huge, bloody defeat for the Australians. When it was over, those soldiers who survived were shipped back home but, uh oh, their government had sent smaller ships to retrieve them, with no room for their horses, so they were ordered to leave the animals behind. Some of the soldiers opted to shoot their own horses rather than abandon them in such a harsh environment. As the ships pulled away from shore, some of the remaining horses drowned trying to swim after their owners. Very sad stuff...

AS IF HE KNOWS by Eric Bogle

It’s as if he knows. He’s standing close to me, His breath warm on my sleeve, His head hung low. It’s as if he knows What the dawn will bring... The end of everything For my old Banjo. And all along the picket lines beneath the desert sky, The Light Horsemen move amongst their mates to say one last goodbye. And the horses stand so quietly, Row on silent row. It’s as if they know.

Time after time We rode through shot and shell; We rode in and out of Hell On their strong backs. Time after time They brought us safely through By their swift sure hooves And their brave hearts. Tomorrow we will form up ranks and march down to the quay, And sail back to our loved ones in that dear land across the sea While our loyal and true companions, Who asked so little and gave so much, Will lie dead in the dust.

For the orders came: No horses to return. We were to abandon them To be slaves. After all we’d shared And all that we’d been through A Nation’s gratitude Was a dusty grave, For we can’t leave them to the people here; we’d rather see them dead. So each man will take his best mate’s horse with a bullet through the head. For the people here are like their land, Wild and cruel and hard. So Banjo, here’s your reward.

It’s as if he knows. He's standing close to me, His breath warm on my sleeve, his head hung low, As if he knows.

Dec 30, 2012

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