1. "The first essential" says ARISTOTLE the life and soul, so to speak of tragedy is the plot; character comes second. How far can this statement be defended? OR
The tragic pleasure is that of pity and fear and the poet has to produce it by a work of imitation. Discuss.
2. "From almost the highest estimation of learning" says Sidney it "is fallen to be the laughing stock of children, "what were the views of poetry in his time? OR
Does the writing and appreciation of poetry require a non-rational mode of study? Answer with reference to Sidney's An Apology for Poetry.
3. How does Eliot conceptualize tradition and how can it be acquired? OR
How does a classic realist text address the subject?
4. How does Eliot conceive the contribution made by Milton and Dryden to the literary tradition in his essay: The Metaphysical Poets? OR
How does ideology sharp the subject? Can the subject find his-way out of ideology?
5. How is Brechtian drama a rejection of tragedy? OR
Emphasis on evil is a recurrent concern of tragedy. Discuss with reference to Collians' essay Tragedy and Tradition' and Tradition and Tragedy and contemporary ideas'.
6. Give critical appreciation of ONE of the following:
(i) Prospero's Farewell To His Magic
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all "spirits and
Are Meltod into air, into thin air
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud --- capp'd towers the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave, not a rack behind. We are stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
(ii) From: Cult of Indecision
I live in that strange land
Between promises made to myself
And broken with liquid precision
Where days roll into night
Nights collide with days
Like marbles in black and white
With a yin --- yang wisdom
That thrives on indecision
Thoughts have begun to stretch
With an elastic ease
Changing shape and form at will
But I'm where I've always been stuck of earth eyeing
Where there are no answers
Only careless questions
And woes the size of elephants
My specie is ridden with moles
Who recount to the Almighty all my sins
Some real others crafted and imagined.