help with poem reps

[Tech2TheLimit]

its called my last duchess an is by robert browning. can someone tell me what the poem is saying line by line or as much as you can understand. im not good with poems at all and would appreciate it. i get some of it but seems to be a hard poem because of the time it takes place

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 pretence
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!

[MMA Superstar 2]

Whoa, I wouldn't do it even if you paid me.

[smalltime]

I require a minimum of 5 rep altering power (5k) per 1 minute of work. That looks like it would take about 30 minutes, so when you can rep me 150,000k let me know.

[limniade]

Okay, it starts out where the author is speaking to someone else about this painting.

Originally Posted by Tech2TheLimit

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.

There is a painting of a Duchess on a wall, very realistically painted.
The artist was Fra Pandolf.

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.

Will you please look at her? Most people see the painting and ask me what she's looking at. Which isn't surprising, since I own it. You're not the first to ask.

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.

Maybe she looks so happy because the artist said something she liked. She was, how shall I put it? The kind of woman who's too easily impressed and who essentially laughed and smiled at everything and everyone, no matter how insignificant OR significant. It didn't matter if it was a serious occasion or not, she reacted the same way at everything.

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.

It was all the same to her. She treated my favor [a small handkerchief people tended to exchange as a sign of intimacy], the sunset, a branch of cherry blossoms some idiot gave to her, the white mule she rode around, all the same. She gave the same response to everyone and everything. As if she considered my gift of a priceless antique to be the same as some piece of crap.

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.

But who would insult her for that? Even if you *could* tell her exactly how she screws up by giving everyone the same reaction (and I don't even know how I'd try to explain it), and even if she listened to you and didn't make excuses for herself, it'd still be a ****ty thing to do, and I choose not to do that.

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.

Oh, she smiled all right, every time I saw her, but then, she smiled at everyone else too. I had her painted and then she died, but there she stands as if she's still alive. Come on, let's go join everyone downstairs.

I repeat,
The Count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretence
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object.

As I've said, the Count is a generous man, and any reasonable request I make for a dowry won't be denied. Although really, I'm more interested in his daughter than in the money. (They're obviously finishing a conversation that was started before they saw the painting.)

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!

No, we'll go down together. But on the way, take a look at the bronze statue I had made, of Neptune taming a seahorse!

[Banana-]

Well done

[limniade]

So, cliffs:

1. Check out this picture of the Duchess.
2. She was kind of an airhead.
3. But you couldn't really dis her for it, since she was so nice that you'd just look like a turd for telling her she was too nice.
4. So I had this painting made of her.
5. Well, let's go downstairs. I know the Count is going to let me hook up with his daughter.
6. By the way, look at the statue of Neptune!

[kay_kakes]

Summary
This poem is loosely based on historical events involving Alfonso, the Duke of Ferrara, who lived in the 16th century. The Duke is the speaker of the poem, and tells us he is entertaining an emissary who has come to negotiate the Duke's marriage (he has recently been widowed) to the daughter of another powerful family. As he shows the visitor through his palace, he stops before a portrait of the late Duchess, apparently a young and lovely girl. The Duke begins reminiscing about the portrait sessions, then about the Duchess herself. His musings give way to a diatribe on her disgraceful behavior: he claims she flirted with everyone and did not appreciate his "gift of a nine-hundred-years- old name." As his monologue continues, the reader realizes with ever-more chilling certainty that the Duke in fact caused the Duchess's early demise: when her behavior escalated, "[he] gave commands; / Then all smiles stopped together." Having made this disclosure, the Duke returns to the business at hand: arranging for another marriage, with another young girl. As the Duke and the emissary walk leave the painting behind, the Duke points out other notable artworks in his collection.


Form
"My Last Duchess" comprises rhyming pentameter lines. The lines do not employ end-stops; rather, they use enjambment--that is, sentences and other grammatical units do not necessarily conclude at the end of lines. Consequently, the rhymes do not create a sense of closure when they come, but rather remain a subtle driving force behind the Duke's compulsive revelations. The Duke is quite a performer: he mimics others' voices, creates hypothetical situations, and uses the force of his personality to make horrifying information seem merely colorful. Indeed, the poem provides a classic example of a dramatic monologue: the speaker is clearly distinct from the poet; an audience is suggested but never appears in the poem; and the revelation of the Duke's character is the poem's primary aim.


Commentary
But Browning has more in mind than simply creating a colorful character and placing him in a picturesque historical scene. Rather, the specific historical setting of the poem harbors much significance: the Italian Renaissance held a particular fascination for Browning and his contemporaries, for it represented the flowering of the aesthetic and the human alongside, or in some cases in the place of, the religious and the moral. Thus the temporal setting allows Browning to again explore sex, violence, and aesthetics as all entangled, complicating and confusing each other: the lushness of the language belies the fact that the Duchess was punished for her natural sexuality. The Duke's ravings suggest that most of the supposed transgressions took place only in his mind. Like some of Browning's fellow Victorians, the Duke sees sin lurking in every ccorner. The reason the speaker here gives for killing the Duchess ostensibly differs from that given by the speaker of "Porphyria's Lover" for murder Porphyria; however, both women are nevertheless victims of a male desire to inscribe and fix female sexuality. The desperate need to do this mirrors the efforts of Victorian society to mold the behavior--sexual and otherwise--of individuals. For people confronted with an increasingly complex and anonymous modern world, this impulse comes naturally: to control would seem to be to conserve and stabilize. The Renaissance was a time when morally dissolute men like the Duke exercised absolute power, and as such it is a fascinating study for the Victorians: works like this imply that, surely, a time that produced magnificent art like the Duchess's portrait couldn't have been entirely evil in its allocation of societal control--even though it put men like the Duke in power.
A poem like "My Last Duchess" calculatedly engages its readers on a psychological level. Because we hear only the Duke's musings, we must piece the story together ourselves. Browning forces his reader to become involved in the poem in order to understand it, and this adds to the fun of reading his work. It also forces the reader to question his or her own response to the subject portrayed and the method of its portrayal. We are forced to consider, Which aspect of the poem dominates: the horror of the Duchess's fate, or the beauty of the language and the powerful dramatic development? Thus by posing this question the poem firstly tests the Victorian reader's response to the modern world--it asks, Has everyday life made you numb yet?--and secondly asks a question that must be asked of all art--it queries, Does art have a moral component, or is it merely an aesthetic exercise? In these latter considerations Browning prefigures writers like Charles Baudelaire and Oscar Wilde.


I got this from: http://www.sparknotes.com/poetry/bro...section3.rhtml

[smalltime]

Wow, I'm not the one who wants the poem analyzed, but reps on recharge to limniade.

[limniade]

This is what being a former English major has allowed me to accomplish.

By which I mean that this is basically all it's good for. *heh*

[smalltime]

Originally Posted by limniade

This is what being a former English major has allowed me to accomplish.

By which I mean that this is basically all it's good for. *heh*

What, that and teaching you how to dress in a manner that is stylish yet above the whole preppy debate? (no crossthread)

[north19701]

Originally Posted by limniade

This is what being a former English major has allowed me to accomplish.

By which I mean that this is basically all it's good for. *heh*

You forgot we, as English majors, can get all the snooty references on "The Simpsons". Now that's priceless.