Admittedly, I am not a fan of modern-day poetry. I like "the old guys" -- William Blake, 1757 to 1900; Sir Thomas Wyatt, 1503 to 1542; and (God help me) Lord George (Gordon) Bryon, 1788 to 1824.
This first poem has such a galloping, pounding cadence, that I don't think you can read it aloud or silently without getting into it.
The Tiger
Tiger, Tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame (i.e. make) thy fearful symmetry?
......... Omitting several verses to get to the punch line
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
If I gave it much thought, I'd think that the writer is questioning God's versatility in creation. How could He make a gentle creature and a wild one... Actually, a good question!
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