Attempt FOUR questions. All questions carry equal marks.
1. Imitation is crucial to tragic pleasure. Discuss in the light of Aristotle's Poetics.
2. How does Williams trace the career of Brechtian tragedy?
3. What do you understand by a dialectical text? How is Reader Power criticism well suited to the analysis of such texts?
4. What are the three features that describe a classic realist text?
5. How does 'individual talent' relate with the existing literary 'tradition'?
6. How does 'poesy' construct delight out of what is 'horrible', 'cruel' and 'unnatural'?
7. Critically evaluate any ONE of the following:
(i) Out of the wood of thoughts that grows by night
To be cut down by the sharp axe of light,
Out of the night, two cocks together crow,
Cleaving the darkness with a silver blow;
And bright before my eyes twin trumpeters stand,
Heralds of splendour, one at either hand,
Each facing each as in a coat of arms;
The milkers lace their boots up at the farms.
Heaviness of being. And poetry
Sluggish in doldrums of what happens.
Me waiting until I was nearly fifty
To credit marvels. Like the tree clock of tin cans
The tinkers made. So long for air to brighten,
Time to be dazzled and the heart of lighten.
2. How does Williams trace the career of Brechtian tragedy?
3. What do you understand by a dialectical text? How is Reader Power criticism well suited to the analysis of such texts?
4. What are the three features that describe a classic realist text?
5. How does 'individual talent' relate with the existing literary 'tradition'?
6. How does 'poesy' construct delight out of what is 'horrible', 'cruel' and 'unnatural'?
7. Critically evaluate any ONE of the following:
(i) Out of the wood of thoughts that grows by night
To be cut down by the sharp axe of light,
Out of the night, two cocks together crow,
Cleaving the darkness with a silver blow;
And bright before my eyes twin trumpeters stand,
Heralds of splendour, one at either hand,
Each facing each as in a coat of arms;
The milkers lace their boots up at the farms.
From Cock Crow by Edward Thomas
(ii) My silting hope. My lowlands of the mind.Heaviness of being. And poetry
Sluggish in doldrums of what happens.
Me waiting until I was nearly fifty
To credit marvels. Like the tree clock of tin cans
The tinkers made. So long for air to brighten,
Time to be dazzled and the heart of lighten.
From Fosterling by Seamus Heaney
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