Day: July 12, 2025

Introduction: “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt

“The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt first appeared in 1935 in his collection The Titanic and Other Poems poem examines the doomed voyage of the RMS Titanic as a symbol of human ambition, technological arrogance, and tragic vulnerability. The poem explores how the ship, dubbed “the first unsinkable,” represented the climax of industrial pride—“the perfect ship at last,” equipped with “seven decks of steel” and unmatched elegance and power. Pratt’s work combines historical realism with classical tragic structure, contrasting human faith in progress with the indifferent, ancient force of nature—the iceberg. Its popularity as a poetic text lies in its vivid imagery, cinematic scope, and philosophical depth. Pratt’s use of personification and irony—particularly in lines like “No storm could hurt that hull—the papers said so”—exposes the hubris of those who believed in technological invincibility. The poem became widely studied for its masterful fusion of modern history and classical epic, offering both a dramatic retelling of the disaster and a moral reflection on human overconfidence.

Text: “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt

The hammers silent and the derricks still,
    And high-tide in the harbour! Mind and will
    In open test with time and steel had run
    The first lap of a schedule and had won.
    Although a shell of what was yet to be
    Before another year was over, she,
    Poised for the launching signal, had surpassed
    The dreams of builder or of navigator.
    The Primate of the Lines, she had out-classed
    That rival effort to eliminate her
    Beyond the North Sea where the air shots played
    The laggard rhythms of their fusillade
    Upon the rivets of the Imperator.
    The wedges in, the shores removed, a girl’s
    Hand at a sign released a ribbon braid;
    Glass crashed against the plates; a wine cascade,
    Netting the sunlight in a shower of pearls,
    Baptized the bow and gave the ship her name;
    A slight push of the rams as a switch set free
    The triggers in the slots, and her proud claim
    On size – to be the first to reach the sea –
    Was vindicated, for whatever fears
    Stalked with her down the tallow of the slips
    Were smothered under by the harbour cheers,
    By flags strung to halyards of the ships.

    MARCH 3, 1912

    Completed! Waiting for her trial spin –
    Levers and telegraphs and valves within
    Her intercostal spaces ready to start
    The power pulsing through her lungs and heart.
    An ocean lifeboat in herself – so ran
    The architectural comment on her plan.
    No wave could sweep those upper decks – unthinkable!
    No storm could hurt that hull – the papers said so.
    The perfect ship at last – the first unsinkable,
    Proved in advance – had not the folders read so?
    Such was the steel strength of her double floors
    Along the whole length of the keel, and such
    The fine adjustment of the bulkhead doors
    Geared to the rams, responsive to a touch,
    That in collision with iceberg or rock
    Or passing ship she could survive the shock,
    Absorb the double impact, for despite
    The bows stove in, with forward holds aleak,
    Her aft compartments buoyant, watertight,
    Would keep her floating steady for a week.
    And this belief had reached its climax when,
    Through wireless waves as yet unstaled by use,
    The wonder of the ether had begun
    To fold the heavens up and reinduce
    That ancient hubris in the dreams of men,
    Which would have slain the cattle of the sun,
    And filched the lightnings from the fist of Zeus.
    What mattered that her boats were but a third
    Of full provision – caution was absurd:
    Then let the ocean roll and the winds blow
    While the risk at Lloyd’s remained a record low.

    THE ICEBERG

    Calved from a glacier near Godhaven coast,
    It left the fiord for the sea – a host
    Of white flotillas gathering in its wake,
    And joined by fragments from a Behring floe,
    Had circumnavigated it to make
    It centre of an archipelago.
    Its lateral motion on the Davis Strait
    Was casual and indeterminate,
    And each advance to southward was as blind
    As each recession to the north. No smoke
    Of steamships nor the hoist of mainsails broke
    The polar wastes – no sounds except the grind
    Of ice, the cry of curlews and the lore
    Of winds from mesas of eternal snow;
    Until caught by the western undertow,
    It struck the current of the Labrador
    Which swung it to its definite southern stride.
    Pressure and glacial time had stratified
    The berg to the consistency of flint,
    And kept inviolate, through clash of tide
    And gale, facade and columns with their hint
    Of inward altars and of steepled bells
    Ringing the passage of the parallels.
    But when with months of voyaging it came
    To where both streams – the Gulf and Polar – met,
    The sun which left its crystal peaks aflame
    In the sub-arctic noons, began to fret
    The arches, flute the spires and deform
    The features, till the batteries of storm,
    Playing above the slow-eroding base,
    Demolished the last temple touch of grace.
    Another month, and nothing but the brute
    And palaeolithic outline of a face
    Fronted the transatlantic shipping route.
    A sloping spur that tapered to a claw
    And lying twenty feet below had made
    It lurch and shamble like a plantigrade;
    But with an impulse governed by the raw
    Mechanics of its birth, it drifted where
    Ambushed, fog-grey, it stumbled on its lair,
    North forty-one degrees and forty-four,
    Fifty and fourteen west the longitude,
    Waiting a world-memorial hour, its rude
    Corundum form stripped to its Greenland core.

    SOUTHAMPTON, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 10, 1912

    An omen struck the thousands on the shore –
    A double accident! And as the ship
    Swung down the river on her maiden trip,
    Old sailors of the clipper decades, wise
    To the sea’s incantations, muttered fables
    About careening vessels with their cables
    Snapped in their harbours under peaceful skies.
    Was it just suction or fatality
    Which caused the New York at the dock to turn,
    Her seven mooring ropes to break at the stern
    And writhe like anacondas on the quay,
    While tugs and fenders answered the collision
    Signals with such trim margin of precision?
    And was it backwash from the starboard screw
    Which, tearing at the big Teutonic, drew
    Her to the limit of her hawser strain,
    And made the smaller tethered craft behave
    Like frightened harbour ducks? And no one knew
    For many days the reason to explain
    The rise and wash of one inordinate wave,
    When a sunken barge on the Southampton bed
    Was dragged through mire eight hundred yards ahead,
    As the Titanic passed above its grave.
    But many of those sailors wise and old,
    Who pondered on this weird mesmeric power,
    Gathered together, lit their pipes and told
    Of portents hidden in the natal hour,
    Told of the launching of some square-rigged ships,
    When water flowed from the inverted tips
    Of a waning moon, of sun-hounds, of the shrieks
    Of whirling shags around the mizzen peaks.
    And was there not this morning’s augury
    For the big one now heading for the sea?
    So long after she passed from landsmen’s sight,
    They watched her with their Mother Carey eyes
    Through Spithead smoke, through mists of Isle of Wight,
    Through clouds of sea-gulls following with their cries.

    WEDNESDAY EVENING

    Electric elements were glowing down
    In the long galley passages where scores
    Of white-capped cooks stood at the oven doors
    To feed the population of a town.
    Cauldrons of stock, purées and consommés,
    Simmered with peppercorns and marjoram.
    The sea-shore smells from bisque and crab and clam
    Blended with odours from the fricassees.
    Refrigerators, hung with a week’s toll
    Of the stockyards, delivered sides of lamb
    And veal, beef quarters to be roasted whole.
    Hundreds of capons and halibut. A shoal
    Of Blue-Points waited to be served on shell.
    The boards were loaded with pimolas, pails
    Of lobster coral, jars of Béchamel,
    To garnish tiers of rows of chilled timbales
    And aspics. On the shelves were pyramids
    Of truffles, sprigs of thyme and water-cress,
    Bay leaf and parsley, savouries to dress
    Shad roes and sweetbreads broiling on the grids.
    And then in diamond, square, crescent and star,
    Hors d’oeuvres were fashioned from the toasted bread,
    With paste of anchovy and caviar,
    Paprika sprinkled and pimento spread,
    All ready, for the hour was seven!
                              Meanwhile,
    Rivalling the engines with their steady tread,
    Thousands of feet were taking overhead
    The fourth lap round the deck to make the mile.
    Squash racquet, shuffle board and quoits; the cool
    Tang of the plunge in the gymnasium pool,
    The rub, the crisp air of the April night,
    The salt of the breeze made by the liner’s rate,
    Worked with an even keel to stimulate
    Saliva for an ocean appetite;
    And like storm troops before a citadel,
    At the first summons of a bugle, soon
    The army massed the stairs towards the saloon,
    And though twelve courses on the cards might well
    Measure themselves against Falstaffian juices,
    But few were found presenting their excuses,
    When stewards offered on the lacquered trays
    The Savoy chasers and the canapés.

    The dinner gave the sense that all was well:
    That touch of ballast in the tanks; the feel
    Of peace from ramparts unassailable,
    Which, added to her seven decks of steel,
    Had constituted the Titanic less
    A ship than a Gibraltar under heel.
    And night had placed a lazy lusciousness
    Upon a surfeit of security.
    Science responded to a button press.
    The three electric lifts that ran through tiers
    Of decks, the reading lamps, the brilliancy
    Of mirrors from the tungsten chandeliers,
    Had driven out all phantoms which the mind
    Had loosed from ocean closets, and assigned
    To the dry earth the custody of fears.
    The crowds poured through the sumptuous rooms and halls,
    And tapped the tables of the Regency;
    Smirked at the caryatids on the walls;
    Talked Jacobean-wise; canvassed the range
    Of taste within the Louis dynasty.
    Grey-templed Caesars of the world’s Exchange
    Swallowed liqueurs and coffee as they sat
    Under the Georgian carved mahogany,
    Dictating wireless hieroglyphics that
    Would On the opening of the Board Rooms rock
    The pillared dollars of a railroad stock.

    IN THE GYMNASIUM

    A group had gathered round a mat to watch
    The pressure of a Russian hammerlock,
    A Polish scissors and a German crotch,
    Broken by the toe-hold of Frank Gotch;
    Or listened while a young Y.M.C.A.
    Instructor demonstrated the left-hook,
    And that fight upper-cut which Jeffries took
    From Johnson in the polished Reno way.
    By midnight in the spacious dancing hall,
    Hundreds were at the Masqueraders’ Ball,
    The high potential of the liner’s pleasures,
    Where mellow lights from Chinese lanterns glowed
    Upon the scene, and the Blue Danube flowed
    In andantino rhythms through the measures.

    By three the silence that proceeded from
    The night-caps and the soporific hum
    Of the engines was far deeper than a town’s:
    The starlight and the low wash of the sea
    Against the hull bore the serenity
    Of sleep at rural hearths with eiderdowns.

    The quiet on the decks was scarcely less
    Than in the berths: no symptoms of the toil
    Down in the holds; no evidence of stress
    From gears drenched in the lubricating oil.
    She seemed to swim in oil, so smooth the sea.
    And quiet on the bridge: the great machine
    Called for laconic speech, close-fitting, clean,
    And whittled to the ship’s economy.
    Even the judgment stood in little need
    Of reason, for the Watch had but to read
    Levels and lights, meter or card or bell
    To find the pressures, temperatures, or tell
    Magnetic North within a binnacle,
    Or gauge the hour of docking; for the speed
    Was fixed abaft where under the Ensign,
    Like a flashing trolling spoon, the log rotator
    Transmitted through a governor its fine
    Gradations on a dial indicator.

    Morning of Sunday promised cool and clear,
    Flawless horizon, crystal atmosphere;
    Not a cat’s paw on the ocean, not a guy
    Rope murmuring: the steamer’s columned smoke
    Climbed like extensions of her funnels high
    Into the upper zones, then warped and broke
    Through the resistance of her speed – blue sky,
    Blue water rifted only by the wedge
    Of the bow where the double foam line ran
    Diverging from the beam to join the edge
    Of the stern wake like a white unfolding fan.
    Her maiden voyage was being sweetly run,
    Adding a half-knot here, a quarter there,
    Gliding from twenty into twenty-one.
    She seemed so native to her thoroughfare,
    One turned from contemplation of her size,
    Her sixty thousand tons of sheer flotation,
    To wonder at the human enterprise
    That took a gamble on her navigation –
    Joining the mastiff strength with whippet grace
    In this head-strained, world-watched Atlantic race:
    Her less than six days’ passage would combine
    Achievement with the architect’s design.

    9 A.M.

    A message from Caronia: advice
    From ships proceeding west; sighted field ice
    And growlers; forty-two north; forty-nine
    To fifty-one west longitude. S.S.
    ‘Mesaba’ of Atlantic Transport Line
    Reports encountering solid pack: would guess
    The stretch five miles in width from west to east,
    And forty-five to fifty miles at least
    In length.

    1P.M.

              Amerika obliged to slow
    Down: warns all steamships in vicinity
    Presence of bergs, especially of three
    Upon the southern outskirts of the floe.

    1.42 P.M.

    The Baltic warns Titanic: so Touraine;
    Reports of numerous icebergs on the Banks,
    The floe across the southern traffic lane.

    5 P.M.

    The Californian and Baltic again
    Present their compliments to Captain.

    TITANIC

                              Thanks.

    THREE MEN TALKING ON DECK

    ‘That spark’s been busy all the afternoon –
    Warnings! The Hydrographic charts are strewn
    With crosses showing bergs and pack-ice all
    Along the routes, more south than usual
    For this time of year.’
                    ‘She’s hitting a clip
    Instead of letting up while passing through
    This belt. She’s gone beyond the twenty-two.’
    ‘Don’t worry – Smith’s an old dog, knows his ship,
    No finer in the mercantile marine
    Than Smith with thirty years of service, clean
    Record, honoured.with highest of all commands,
    Majestic, then Olympic on his hands,
    Now the Titanic.’
                            ‘Twas a lucky streak
    That at Southampton dock he didn’t lose her,
    And the Olympic had a narrow squeak
    Some months before rammed by the British Cruiser,
    The Hawke.’
                      ‘Straight accident. No one to blame:
    ‘Twas suction – Board absolved them both. The same
    With the Teutonic and New York. No need
    To fear she’s trying to out-reach her speed.
    There isn’t a sign of fog. Besides by now
    The watch is doubled at crow’s nest and bow.’

    ‘People are talking of that apparition,
    When we were leaving Queenstown – that head showing
    Above the funnel rim, and the fires going!
    A stoker’s face – sounds like a superstition.
    But he was there within the stack, all right;
    Climbed up the ladder and grinned. The explanation
    Was given by an engineer last night –
    A dummy funnel built for ventilation.’

    ‘That’s queer enough, but nothing so absurd
    As the latest story two old ladies heard
    At a rubber o’bridge. They nearly died with fright;
    Wanted to tell the captain – of all things!
    The others sneered a bit but just the same
    It did the trick of breaking up the game.
    A mummy from The Valley of the Kings
    Was brought from Thebes to London. Excavators
    Passed out from cholera, black plague or worse.
    Egyptians understood – an ancient curse
    Was visited on all the violators.
    One fellow was run over, one was drowned,
    And one went crazy. When in time it found
    Its way to the Museum, the last man
    In charge – a mothy Aberdonian –
    Exploding the whole legend with a laugh,
    Lost all his humour when the skeleton
    Appeared within the family photograph,
    And leered down from the corner just like one
    Of his uncles.’
            ‘Holy Hades!’
                            ‘The B.M.
    Authorities themselves were scared and sold
    It to New York. That’s how the tale is told.’

    ‘The joke is on the Yanks.’
                          ‘No, not on them,
    Nor on The Valley of the Kings. What’s rummy
    About it is – we’re carrying the mummy.’

    7.30 P.M. AT A TABLE IN THE DINING SALOON

    Green Turtle!
                Potage Romanoff!
                                                        ‘White Star
    Is out this time to press Cunarders close,
    Got them on tonnage – fifty thousand gross.
    Preferred has never paid a dividend.
    The common’s down to five – one hundred par.
    The double ribbon – size and speed – would send
    Them soaring.’
                      ‘Speed is not in her design,
    But comfort and security. The Line
    Had never advertised it – ‘twould be mania
    To smash the record of the Mauretania.’
    Sherry!
            ‘The rumour’s out.’
                                      ‘There’s nothing in it.’
    ‘Bet you she docks on Tuesday night.’
                                                    I’ll take it.’
    ‘She’s hitting twenty-two this very minute.’
    ‘That’s four behind – she hasn’t a chance to make it.’

    Brook Trout!
                    Fried Dover Sole!
                                                ‘Her rate will climb
    From twenty-two to twenty-six in time.
    The Company’s known never to rush their ships
    At first or try to rip the bed-bolts off.
    They run them gently half-a-dozen trips,
    A few work-outs around the track to let
    Them find their breathing, take the boiler cough
    Out of them. She’s not racing for a cup.’
    Claret!
            ‘Steamships like sprinters have to get
    Their second wind before they open up.’

    ‘That group of men around the captain’s table,
    Look at them, count the aggregate – the House
    Of Astor, Guggenheim, and Harris, Straus,
    That’s Frohman, isn’t it? Between them able
    To halve the national debt with a cool billion!
    Sir Hugh is over there, and Hays and Stead.
    That woman third from captain’s right, it’s said
    Those diamonds round her neck – a quarter million!’

    Mignon of Beef!
                    Quail!
                            ‘I heard Phillips say
    He had the finest outfit on the sea;
    The new Marconi valve; the range by day,
    Five hundred miles, by night a thousand. Three
    Sources of power. If some crash below
    Should hit the engines, flood the dynamo,
    He had the batteries: in emergency,
    He could switch through to the auxiliary
    On the boat deck.’
                            Woodcock and Burgundy!
    ‘Say waiter, I said RARE, you understand.’
    Escallope of Veal!
                    Roast Duckling!
                            Snipe! More Rhine!
    ‘Marconi made the sea as safe as land:
    Remember the Republic – White Star Line –
    Rammed off Nantucket by the Florida,
    One thousand saved – the Baltic heard the call.
    Two steamers answered the Slavonia,
    Disabled off the Azores. They got them all,
    And when the Minnehaha ran aground
    Near Bishop’s Rock, they never would have found
    Her – not a chance without the wireless. Same
    Thing happened to that boat – what was her name?
    The one that foundered off the Alaska Coast –
    Her signals brought a steamer in the nick
    Of time. Yes, sir – Marconi turned the trick.’

    The Barcelona salad; no, Beaucaire;
    That Russian dressing;
                                Avocado pear;

    ‘They wound her up at the Southampton dock,
    And then the tugs gave her a push to start
    Her off -as automatic as a clock.’

    Moselle!
            ‘For all the hand work there’s to do
    Aboard this liner up on deck, the crew
    Might just as well have stopped ashore. Apart
    From stokers and engineers, she’s run
    By gadgets from the bridge – a thousand and one
    Of them with a hundred miles of copper wire.
    A filament glows at the first sign of fire,
    A buzzer sounds, a number gives the spot,
    A deck-hand makes a coupling of the hose.
    That’s all there’s to it; not a whistle; not
    A passenger upon the ship that knows
    What’s happened. The whole thing is done without
    So much as calling up the fire brigade.
    They don’t even need the pumps – a gas is sprayed,
    Carbon dioxide – and the blaze is out.’

    A Cherry Flan!
                    Champagne!
                            Chocolate Parfait!

    ‘How about a poker crowd tonight?
    Get Jones, an awful grouch – no good to play,
    But has the coin. Get hold of Larry.’
                                                              ‘Right.’
    ‘You fetch Van Raalte: I’ll bring in MacRae.
    In Cabin D, one hundred seventy-nine.
    In half-an-hour we start playing.’
                                                          ‘Fine.’

    ON DECK

    The sky was moonless but the sea flung back
    With greater brilliance half the zodiac.
    As clear below as clear above, the Lion
    Far on the eastern quarter stalked the Bear:
    Polaris off the starboard beam – and there
    Upon the port the Dog-star trailed Orion.
    Capella was so close, a hand might seize
    The sapphire with the silver Pleiades.
    And further to the south – a finger span,
    Swam Betelgeuse and red Aldebaran.
    Right through from east to west the ocean glassed
    The billions of that snowy caravan
    Ranging the highway which the Milkmaid passed.

    9.05 P.M. CALIFORNIAN  FLASHING

    I say, old man, we’re stuck fast in this place,
    More than an hour. Field ice for miles about.

    TITANIC

    Say, ‘Californian,’ shut up, keep out,
    You’re jamming all my signals with Cape Race.

    10 P.M.

    A group of boys had gathered round a spot
    Upon the rail where a dial registered
    The speed, and waiting each three minutes heard
    The taffrail log bell tallying off a knot.

    11.20 P.M. BEHIND A DECK HOUSE

    First act to fifth act in a tragic plan,
    Stage time, real time – a woman and a man,
    Entering a play within a play, dismiss
    The pageant on the ocean with a kiss.
    Eleven-twenty curtain! Whether true
    Or false the pantomimic vows they make
    Will not be known till at the fifth they take
    Their mutual exit twenty after two.

    11.25 P.M.

    Position half-a-mile from edge of floe,
    Hove-to for many hours, bored with delay,
    The Californian fifteen miles away,
    And fearful of the pack, has now begun
    To turn her engines over under slow
    Bell, and the operator, his task done,
    Unclamps the ‘phones and ends his dullest day.

    The ocean sinuous, half-past eleven;
    A silence broken only by the seven
    Bells and the look-out calls, the log-book showing
    Knots forty-five within two hours – not quite
    The expected best as yet – but she was going
    With all her bulkheads open through the night,
    For not a bridge induction light was glowing.

    Over the stern zenith and nadir met
    In the wash of the reciprocating set.
    The foam in bevelled mirrors multiplied
    And shattered constellations. In between,
    The pitch from the main drive of the turbine
    Emerged like tuna breaches to divide
    Against the rudder, only to unite
    With the converging wake from either side.
    Under the counter, blending with the spill
    Of stars – the white and blue – the yellow light
    Of Jupiter hung like a daffodil.

    D-179

    ‘Ace full! A long time since I had a pot.’
    ‘Good boy, Van Raalte. That’s the juiciest haul
    Tonight. Calls for a round of roodles, what?
    Let’s whoop her up. Double the limit. All
    In.’ (Jones, heard muttering as usual,
    Demurs, but over-ruled.) ‘Jones sore again.’

    Van Raalte (dealer):
            ‘Ten dollars and all in!
                            The sea’s like glass
    Tonight. That fin-keel keeps her steady.’

    Jones:                                          ‘Pass.’
            (Not looking at his hand)
    Larry:                                    ‘Pass.’

    Cripps:                          ‘Open for ten.’

        (Holding a pair of aces.) ‘Say, who won
        The sweep today?’
                          ‘A Minnesota guy
        With olive-coloured spats and a mauve tie.
        Five hundred and eighty miles – beat last day’s run.’

Mac: ‘My ten.’

Harry: (Taking a gamble on his four
        Spades for a flush) ‘I’ll raise the bet ten more.’

Van R.: (Two queens) ‘AND ten.’

Jones:                          (Discovering three kings)
        ‘Raise you to forty’ (face expressing doubt).

Larry: (Looking hard at a pair of nines) ‘I’m out.’

Cripps: (Flirts for a moment with his aces, flings
        His thirty dollars to the pot.)

Mac:                                                (The same.)

Harry: ‘My twenty. Might as well stay with the game.’

Van R.: ‘I’m in. Draw! Jones, how bloody long you wait.’

Jones: (Withholds an eight) ‘One.’ (And then draws an eight.)

Cripps: ‘Three.’ (Gets another pair.)
                                                ‘How many, Mac?’

Mac: ‘Guess I’ll take two, no, three.’ (Gets a third Jack.)

Harry: ‘One.’ (Draws the ace of spades.)

Van R.:                                                        ‘Dealer takes three.’

Cripps (The Opener): (Throws in a dollar chip.)

Mac:                                                (The same.)

Harry:                                                          ‘I’ll raise
        You ten.’

Van R.:          ‘I’ll see you.’

Jones:                                                (Hesitates, surveys
          The chips.) ‘Another ten.’

Cripps:                  ‘I’ll call you.’

Mac:                                                              ‘See.’

Harry: ‘White livers! Here she goes to thirty.’

Van R.:                                                                ‘Just
          The devil’s luck.’ (Throws cards down in disgust.)

Jones: ‘Might as well raise.’ (Counts twenty sluggishly,
          Tosses them to the centre.)
                                        Staying, Cripps?’

Cripps: ‘No, and be damned to it.’

Mac:                              ‘My ten.’ (With groans.)

Harry: (Looks at the pyramid and swears at Jones,
          Then calls, pitching ten dollars on the chips.)

Jones: (Cards down.) ‘A full house tops the flush.’ (He spreads
          His arms around the whites and blues and reds.)

Mac: ‘As the Scotchman once said to the Sphinx,

    I’d just like to know what he thinks,
    I’ll ask him, he cried,
    And the Sphinx – he replied,
    It’s the hell of a time between drinks.’

Cripps (watch in hand):
          ‘Time? Eleven forty-four, to be precise.’

Harry: ‘Jones -that will fatten up your pocket-book.
          My throat’s like charcoal. Ring for soda and ice.’

Van R.: ‘Ice: God! Look – take it through the port-hole – look!’

11.45 P.M.

A signal from the crow’s nest. Three bells pealed:
The look-out telephoned – Something ahead,
Hard to make out, sir; looks like … iceberg dead
On starboard bow!

MURDOCH HOLDING THE BRIDGE-WATCH

                      Starboard your helm: ship heeled
To port. From bridge to engine-room the clang
Of the telegraph. Danger. Stop. A hand sprang
To the throttle; the valves closed, and with the churn
Of the reverse the sea boiled at the stern.
Smith hurried to the bridge and Murdoch closed
The bulkheads of the ship as he supposed,
But could not know that with those riven floors
The electro-magnets failed upon the doors.
No shock! No more than if something alive
Had brushed her as she passed. The bow had missed.
Under the vast momentum of her drive
She went a mile. But why that ominous five
Degrees (within five minutes) of a list?

IN A CABIN

‘What was that, steward?’
                  ‘Seems like she hit a sea, sir.’
‘But there’s no sea; calm as a landlocked bay
It is; lost a propellor blade?’
                      ‘Maybe, sir.’
‘She’s stopped.’
                ‘Just cautious like, feeling her way,
There’s ice about. It’s dark, no moon tonight,
Nothing to fear, I’m sure, sir.’
                                            For so slight
The answer of the helm, it did not break
The sleep of hundreds: some who were awake
Went up on deck, but soon were satisfied
That nothing in the shape of wind or tide
Or rock or ice could harm that huge bulk spread
On the Atlantic, and went back to bed.

CAPTAIN IN WIRELESS ROOM

‘We’ve struck an iceberg – glancing blow: as yet
Don’t know extent; looks serious; so get
Ready to send out general call for aid;
I’ll tell you when – having inspection made.’

REPORT OF SHIP’S CARPENTER AND FOURTH OFFICER

A starboard cut three hundred feet or more
From foremast to amidships. Iceberg tore
Right at the bilge turn through the double skin:
Some boiler rooms and bunkers driven in;
The forward five compartments flooded – mail
Bags floating. Would the engine power avail
To stem the rush?

WIRELESS ROOM, FIRST OFFICER PHILLIPS AT KEY

                                                                  Titanic, C.Q.D.
Collision: iceberg: damaged starboard side:
Distinct list forward. (Had Smith magnified
The danger? Over-anxious certainly.)
The second (joking) – ‘Try new call, maybe
Last chance you’ll have to send it.’
                                            S.O.S.
Then back to older signal of distress.
On the same instant the Carpathia called,
The distance sixty miles – Putting about,
And heading for you; double watch installed
In engine-room, in stokehold and look-out.
Four hours the run, should not the ice retard
The speed; but taking chances: coming hard!

THE BRIDGE

As leaning on her side to ease a pain,
The tilted ship had stopped the captain’s breath:
The inconceivable had stabbed his brain,
This thing unfelt – her visceral wound of death?
Another message – this time to report her
Filling, taxing the pumps beyond their strain.
Had that blow rent her from the bow to quarter?
Or would the aft compartments still intact
Give buoyancy enough to counteract
The open forward holds?
                                  The carpenter’s
Second report had offered little chance,
And panic – heart of God – the passengers,
The fourteen hundred – seven hundred packed
In steerage – seven hundred immigrants!
Smith thought of panic clutching at their throats,
And feared that Balkan scramble for the boats.

No call from bridge, no whistle, no alarm
Was sounded. Have the stewards quietly
Inform the passengers: no vital harm,
Precautions merely for emergency;
Collision? Yes, but nature of the blow
Must not be told: not even the crew must know:
Yet all on deck with lifebelts, and boats ready,
The sailors at the falls, and all hands steady.

WIRELESS ROOM

The lilac spark was crackling at the gap,
Eight ships within the radius of the call
From fifteen to five hundred miles, and all
But one answering the operator’s tap.
Olympic twenty hours away had heard;
The Baltic next and the Virginian third;
Frankfurt and Burma distant one-half day;
Mount Temple nearer, but the ice-field lay
Between the two ships like a wall of stone;
The Californian deaf to signals though
Supreme deliverer an hour ago:
The hope was on Carpathia alone.

ON THE DECKS

So suave the fool-proof sense of life that fear
Had like the unforeseen become a mere
Illusion – vanquished by the towering height
Of funnels pouring smoke through thirty feet
Of bore; the solid deck planks and the light
From a thousand lamps as on a city street;
The feel of numbers; the security
Of wealth; the placid surface of the sea,
Reflecting on the ship the outwardness
Of calm and leisure of the passengers;
Deck-hands obedient to their officers;
Pearl-throated women in their evening dress
And wrapped in sables and minks; the silhouettes
Of men in dinner jackets staging an act
In which delusion passed, deriding fact
Behind the cupped flare of the cigarettes.
Women and children first! Slowly the men
Stepped backward from the rails where number ten,
Its cover off, and lifted from the chocks,
Moved outward as the Welin davits swung.
The new ropes creaking through the unused blocks,
The boat was lowered to B deck and hung
There while her load of sixty stepped inside,
Convinced the order was not justified.

Rockets, one, two, God! Smith – what does he mean?
The sounding of the bilges could not show
This reason for alarm – the sky serene
And not a tipple on the water – no
Collision. What report came from below?
No leak accounts for this – looks like a drill,
A bit of exhibition play – but still
Stopped in mid-ocean! and those rockets – three!
More urgent even than a tapping key
And more immediate as a protocol
To a disaster. There! An arrow of fire,
A fourth sped towards the sky, its bursting spire
Topping the foremast like a parasol
With fringe of fuchsia – more a parody
Upon the tragic summons of the sea
Than the real script of unacknowledged fears
Known to the bridge and to the engineers.

Midnight! The Master of the ship presents
To the Master of the Band his compliments,
Desiring that the Band should play right through;
No intermission.

Conductor:        ‘Bad?’

Officer:                ‘Yes, bad enough,
The half not known yet even to the crew;
For God’s sake, cut the sentimental stuff,
The BLUE BELLS and Kentucky lullabies.
Murdoch will have a barrel of work to do,
Holding the steerage back, once they get wise;
They’re jumpy now under the rockets’ glare;
So put the ginger in the fiddles – Zip
Her up.’

Conductor: ‘Sure, number forty-seven.’ E-Yip
I Addy-I-A, I Ay … I don’t care…

NUMBER TEN GOES OVER THE SIDE

Full noon and midnight by a weird design
Both met and parted at the median line.
Beyond the starboard gunwale was outspread
The jet expanse of water islanded
By fragments of the berg which struck the blow.
And further off towards the horizon lay
The loom of the uncharted parent floe,
Merging the black with an amorphous grey.
On the port gunwale the meridian
Shone from the terraced rows of decks that ran
From gudgeon to the stem nine hundred feet;
And as the boat now tilted by the stern,
Or now resumed her levels with the turn
Of the controlling ropes at block and cleat,
How easy seemed the step and how secure
Back to the comfort and the warmth – the lure
Of sheltered promenade and sun decks starred
By hanging bulbs, amber and rose and blue,
The trellis and palms lining an avenue
With all the vista of a boulevard:
The mirror of the ceilings with festoon
Of pennants, flags and streamers – and now through
The leaded windows of the grand saloon,
Through parted curtains and the open doors
Of vestibules, glint of deserted floors
And tables, and under the sorcery
Of light excelling their facsimile,
The periods returning to relume
The panels of the lounge and smoking-room,
Holding the mind in its abandonment
During those sixty seconds of descent.
Lower away! The boat with its four tons
Of freight went down with jerks and stops and runs
Beyond the glare of the cabins and below
The slanting parallels of port-holes, clear
Of the exhaust from the condenser flow:
But with the uneven falls she canted near
The water line; the stern rose; the bow dipped;
The crew groped for the link-releasing gear;
The lever jammed; a stoker’s jack-knife ripped
The aft ropes through, which on the instant brought her
With rocking keel though safe upon the water.

THE CARPATHIA

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen-three
Full knots beyond her running limit, she
Was feeling out her port and starboard points,
And testing rivets on her boiler joints.
The needle on the gauge beyond the red,
The blow-offs feathered at the funnel head.
The draught-fans roaring at their loudest, now
The quartermaster jams the helm hard-over,
As the revolving searchlight beams uncover
The columns of an iceberg on the bow,
Then compensates this loss by daring gains
Made by her passage through the open lanes.

THE BAND

    East side, West side, all around the town,
    The tots sang ‘Ring-a-Rosie’
    ‘London Bridge is falling down,’
    Boys and girls together ….

The cranks turn and the sixth and seventh swing
Over and down, the ’tiller’ answering
‘Aye, Aye, sir’ to the shouts of officers –
‘Row to the cargo ports for passengers.’
The water line is reached, but the ports fail
To open, and the crews of the boats hail
The decks; receiving no response they pull
Away from the ship’s side, less than half full.
The eighth caught in the tackle foul is stuck
Half-way. With sixty-five capacity,
Yet holding twenty-four, goes number three.

The sharp unnatural deflection, struck
By the sea-level with the under row
Of dipping port-holes at the forward, show
How much she’s going by the head. Behind
The bulkheads, sapping out their steel control,
Is the warp of the bunker press inclined
By many thousand tons of shifting coal.

The smoothest, safest passage to the sea
Is made by number one – the next to go –
Her space is forty – twelve her company:
‘Pull like the devil from her – harder – row!
The minute that she founders, not a boat
Within a mile around that will not follow.
What nearly happened at Southampton? So
Pull, pull, I tell you – not a chip afloat,
God knows how far, her suction will not swallow.’

  Alexander’s rag-time band…
  It’s the best band in the land…

Voices From the Deck:
‘There goes the Special with the toffs. You’ll make
New York tonight rowing like that. You’ll take
Your death o’cold out there with all the fish
And ice around.’
              ‘Make sure your butlers dish
You up your toddies now, and bring hot rolls
For breakfast.’
          ‘Don’t forget the finger bowls.’

The engineering staff of thirty-five
Are at their stations: those off-duty go
Of their free will to join their mates below
In the grim fight for steam, more steam, to drive
The pressure through the pumps and dynamo.
Knee-deep, waist-deep in water they remain,
Not one of them seen on the decks again.
The under braces of the rudder showing,
The wing propeller blades begin to rise,
And with them, through the hawse-holes, water flowing –
The angle could not but assault the eyes.
A fifteen minutes, and the fo’c’sle head
Was under. And five more, the sea had shut
The lower entrance to the stairs that led
From C deck to the boat deck – the short cut
For the crew. Another five, the upward flow
Had covered the wall brackets where the glow
Diffusing from the frosted bulbs turned green
Uncannily through their translucent screen.

ON THE CARPATHIA

White Star – Cunarder, forty miles apart,
Still eighteen knots! From coal to flame to steam –
Decision of a captain to redeem
Errors of brain by hazards of the heart!
Showers of sparks danced through the funnel smoke,
The firemen’s shovels, rakes and slice-bars broke
The clinkers, fed the fires, and ceaselessly
The hoppers dumped the ashes on the sea.

As yet no panic, but none might foretell
The moment when the sight of that oblique
Breath-taking lift of the taffrail and the sleek
And foamless undulation of the swell
Might break in meaning on those diverse races,
And give them common language. As the throng
Came to the upper decks and moved along
The incline, the contagion struck the faces
With every lowering of a boat and backed
Them towards the stern. And twice between the hush
Of fear and utterance the gamut cracked,
When with the call for women and the flare
Of an exploding rocket, a short rush
Was made for the boats – fifteen and two.
‘Twas nearly done – the sudden clutch and tear
Of canvas, a flurry of fists and curses met
By swift decisive action from the crew,
Supported by a quartermaster’s threat
Of three revolver shots fired on the air.

But still the fifteenth went with five inside,
Who, seeking out the shadows, climbed aboard
And, lying prone and still, managed to hide
Under the thwarts long after she was lowered.

    Jingle bells, jingle bells,
    Jingle all the way,
    0 what fun ….

‘Some men in number two, sir!’
                                The boat swung
Back.
      ‘Chuck the fellows out.’
                            Grabbed by the feet,
The lot were pulled over the gunwale and flung
Upon the deck.
                    ‘Hard at that forward cleat!
‘A hand there for that after fall. Lower
Away – port side, the second hatch, and wait.’

With six hands of his watch, the bosun’s mate,
Sent down to open up the gangway door,
Was trapped and lost in a flooded alley way,
And like the seventh, impatient of delay,
The second left with room for twenty more.

The fiddley leading from a boiler room
Lay like a tortuous exit from a tomb.
A stoker climbed it, feeling by the twist
From vertical how steep must be the list.
He reached the main deck where the cold night airs
Enswathed his flesh with steam. Taking the stairs,
He heard the babel by the davits, faced
The forward, noticed how the waters raced
To the break of the fo’c’sle and lapped
The foremast root. He climbed again and saw
The resolute manner in which Murdoch’s rapped
Command put a herd instinct under law;
No life-preserver on, he stealthily
Watched Phillips in his room, bent at the key,
And thinking him alone, he sprang to tear
The jacket off. He leaped too soon. ‘Take that!’
The second stove him with a wrench. ‘Lie there,
Till hell begins to singe your lids – you rat!’

But set against those scenes where order failed,
Was the fine muster at the fourteenth where,
Like a zone of calm along a thoroughfare,
The discipline of sea-worn laws prevailed.
No women answering the repeated calls,
The men filled up the vacant seats: the falls
Were slipping through the sailors’ hands,
When a steerage group of women, having fought
Their way over five flights of stairs, were brought
Bewildered to the rails. Without commands
Barked from the lips of officers; without
A protest registered in voice or face,
The boat was drawn up and the men stepped out
Back to the crowded stations with that free
Barter of life for life done with the grace
And air of a Castilian courtesy.

    I’ve just got here through Paris,
    Front the sunny Southern shore,
    I to Monte Carlo went ….

ISIDOR AND IDA STRAUS

At the sixteenth – a woman wrapped her coat
Around her maid and placed her in the boat;
Was ordered in but seen to hesitate
At the gunwale, and more conscious of her pride
Than of her danger swiftly took her fate
With open hands, and without show of tears
‘Returned unmurmuring to her husband’s side;
‘We’ve been together now for forty years,
Whither you go, I go.’
                    A boy of ten,
Ranking himself within the class of men,
Though given a seat, made up his mind to waive
The privilege of his youth and size, and piled
The inches on his stature as he gave
Place to a Magyar woman and her child.

And men who had in the world’s run of trade,
Or in pursuit of the professions, made
Their reputation, looked upon the scene
Merely as drama in a life’s routine:
Millet was studying eyes as he would draw them
Upon a canvas; Butt, as though he saw them
In the ranks; Astor, social, debonair,
Waved ‘Good-bye’ to his bride – ‘See you tomorrow,’
And tapped a cigarette on a silver case;
Men came to Guggenheim as he stood there
In evening suit, coming this time to borrow
Nothing but courage from his calm, cool face.

And others unobserved, of unknown name
And race, just stood behind, pressing no claim
Upon priority but rendering proof
Of their oblation, quiet and aloof
Within the maelstrom towards the rails. And some
Wavered a moment with the panic urge,
But rallied to attention on the verge
Of flight as if the rattle of a drum
From quarters faint but unmistakable
Had put the stiffening in the blood to check
The impulse of the feet, leaving the will
No choice between the lifeboats and the deck.

The four collapsibles, their lashings ripped,
Half-dragged, half-lifted by the hooks, were slipped
Over the side. The first two luckily
Had but the forward distance to the sea.
Its canvas edges crumpled up, the third
Began to fill with water and transferred
Its cargo to the twelfth, while number four,
Abaft .and higher, nose-dived and swamped its score.

The wireless cabin – Phillips in his place,
Guessing the knots of the Cunarder’s race.
Water was swirling up the slanted floor
Around the chair and sucking at his feet.
Carpathia’s call – the last one heard complete –
Expect to reach position half-past four.
The operators turned – Smith at the door
With drawn incredulous face. ‘Men you have done
Your duty. I release you. Everyone
Now for himself.’ They stayed ten minutes yet,
The power growing fainter with each blue
Crackle of flame. Another stammering jet –
Virginian heard ‘a tattering C.Q.’
Again a try for contact but the code’s
Last jest had died between the electrodes.

Even yet the spell was on the ship: although
The last lifeboat had vanished, there was no
Besieging of the heavens with a crescendo
Of fears passing through terror into riot –
But on all lips the strange narcotic quiet
Of an unruffled ocean’s innuendo.
In spite of her deformity of line,
Emergent like a crag out of the sea,
She had the semblance of stability,
Moment by moment furnishing no sign,
So far as visible, of that decline
Made up of inches crawling into feet.
Then, with the electric circuit still complete,
The miracle of day displacing night
Had worked its fascination to beguile
Direction of the hours and cheat the sight.
Inside the recreation rooms the gold
From Arab lamps shone on the burnished tile.
What hindered the return to shelter while
The ship clothed in that irony of light
Offered her berths and cabins as a fold?

And, was there not the Californian?
Many had seen her smoke just over there,
But two hours past – it seemed a harbour span –
So big, so close, she could be hailed, they said;
She must have heard the signals, seen the flare
Of those white stars and changed at once her course.
There under the Titanic’s foremast head,
A lamp from the look-out cage was flashing Morse.
No ship afloat, unless deaf, blind and dumb
To those three sets of signals but would come.
And when the whiz of a rocket bade men turn
Their faces to each other in concern
At shattering facts upon the deck, they found
Their hearts take reassurance with the sound
Of the violins from the gymnasium, where
The bandsmen in their blithe insouciance
Discharged the sudden tension of the air
With the fox-trot’s sublime irrelevance.

The fo’c’sle had gone under the creep
Of the water. Though without a wind, a lop
Was forming on the wells now fathoms deep.
The seventy feet – the boat deck’s normal drop –
Was down to ten. Rising, falling, and waiting,
Rising again, the swell that edged and curled
Around the second bridge, over the top
Of the air-shafts, backed, resurged and whirled
Into the stokehold through the fiddley grating.
Under the final strain the two wire guys
Of the forward funnel tugged and broke at the eyes:
With buckled plates the stack leaned, fell and smashed
The starboard wing of the flying bridge, went through
The lower, then tilting at the davits crashed
Over, driving a wave aboard that drew
Back to the sea some fifty sailors and
The captain with the last of the bridge command.

Out on the water was the same display
Of fear and self-control as on the deck –
Challenge and hesitation and delay,
The quick return, the will to save, the race
Of snapping oars to put the realm of space
Between the half-filled lifeboats and the wreck.
The swimmers whom the waters did not take
With their instant death-chill struck out for the wake
Of the nearer boats, gained on them, bailed
The steersmen and were saved: the weaker failed
And fagged and sank. A man clutched at the rim
Of a gunwale, and a woman’s jewelled fist
Struck at his face: two others seized his wrist,
As he released his hold, and gathering him
Over the side, they staunched the cut from the ring.
And there were many deeds envisaging
Volitions where self-preservation fought
Its red primordial struggle with the ‘ought,’
In those high moments when the gambler tossed
Upon the chance and uncomplaining lost.

Aboard the ship, whatever hope of dawn
Gleamed from the Carpathia’s riding lights was gone,
For every knot was matched by each degree
Of list. The stern was lifted bodily
When the bow had sunk three hundred feet, and set
Against the horizon stars in silhouette
Were the blade curves of the screws, hump of the rudder.
The downward pull and after buoyancy
Held her a minute poised but for a shudder
That caught her frame as with the upward stroke
Of the sea a boiler or a bulkhead broke.

Climbing the ladders, gripping shroud and stay,
Storm-rail, ringbolt or fairlead, every place
That might befriend the clutch of hand or brace
Of foot, the fourteen hundred made their way
To the heights of the aft decks, crowding the inches
Around the docking bridge and cargo winches.
And now that last salt tonic which had kept
The valour of the heart alive – the bows
Of the immortal seven that had swept
The strings to outplay, outdie their orders, ceased.
Five minutes more, the angle had increased
From eighty on to ninety when the rows
Of deck and port-hole lights went out, flashed back
A brilliant second and again went black.
Another bulkhead crashed, then following
The passage of the engines as they tore
From their foundations, taking everything
Clean through the bows from ‘midships with a roar
Which drowned all cries upon the deck and shook
The watchers in the boats, the liner took
Her thousand fathoms journey to her grave.

. . . . .

And out there in the starlight, with no trace
Upon it of its deed but the last wave
From the Titanic fretting at its base,
Silent, composed, ringed by its icy broods,
The grey shape with the palaeolithic face
Was still the master of the longitudes.

Annotations: “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt

⛓️ Stanza Start	📝 Summary	✨ Literary Devices
The hammers silent and the derricks still,	Describes the Titanic’s completion and proud launch; sets tone of triumph and anticipation.	🔁 Alliteration, 📏 Enjambment, 🎭 Irony, 🛠️ Imagery
MARCH 3, 1912…Completed! Waiting for her trial spin	Details of Titanic’s technical features, hailed as “unsinkable”; human hubris and blind confidence.	⚙️ Technical Diction, 🔁 Alliteration, 🎭 Irony, 📚 Juxtaposition
THE ICEBERG…Calved from a glacier near Godhaven coast	Personifies the iceberg and describes its blind, fateful drift toward Titanic. Natural inevitability builds tension.	❄️ Personification, ⏳ Foreshadowing, 🌍 Imagery, ⚖️ Juxtaposition
SOUTHAMPTON, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 10, 1912	Eerie omens accompany Titanic’s departure. Sailors hint at bad luck; a mood of superstition and anxiety arises.	🔮 Foreshadowing, 🗣️ Dialogue, 🧙‍♂️ Superstition, 🌊 Symbolism
WEDNESDAY EVENING…Electric elements were glowing down	Describes luxury and abundance aboard the ship—meals, amenities, calm ocean—all masking approaching doom.	🕯️ Imagery, 🍽️ Sensory Detail, 💎 Symbolism, 🎭 Dramatic Irony
IN THE GYMNASIUM	Passengers enjoy entertainment and leisure; normalcy contrasted with growing danger outside.	🎶 Irony, 🏋️ Contrast, 🛑 Dramatic Tension
By three the silence…	Calm nighttime description conveys false security and builds suspense before collision.	🌌 Atmosphere, 🔇 Irony, 💤 Diction, 🧩 Symbolism
Morning of Sunday promised cool and clear,	Titanic glides through calm waters; passengers’ confidence remains unshaken despite ice warnings.	📡 Irony, ☀️ Imagery, 🔍 Foreshadowing, ⏱️ Pacing
9 A.M. A message from Caronia…	Multiple iceberg warnings are received and largely dismissed; tension grows.	📢 Irony, 🧾 Epistolary Technique, ⏳ Dramatic Irony
10 P.M….A group of boys…	Curious passengers observe ship’s speed; metaphor for reckless momentum.	🧒 Innocence, 📈 Symbolism, 🚢 Foreshadowing
11:45 P.M. A signal from the crow’s nest…	The iceberg is sighted and collision occurs; confusion and calm eerily mix.	🚨 Foreshadowing, 🧊 Symbolism, 🎭 Irony, 🕳️ Understatement
IN A CABIN…What was that, steward?	Aboard reactions vary from indifference to mild concern. Stillness mistaken for safety.	🗣️ Dialogue, 🧠 Dramatic Irony, 🛏️ Irony
WIRELESS ROOM…Titanic, C.Q.D.	The first emergency signals are sent; tension rises as Carpathia responds.	💬 Real-Time Detail, 📡 Communication Motif, ⏰ Urgency
ON THE DECKS…Women and children first!	Lifeboats begin launching; social roles, class, and gender dynamics exposed.	💔 Tragedy, ⚖️ Social Critique, 🚪 Symbolism (lifeboat access)
ISIDOR AND IDA STRAUS…We’ve been together now for forty years	Notable passengers choose fate over survival; moment of human dignity and love.	💕 Pathos, 💍 Symbolism, 🎭 Heroism
The wireless cabin…You have done your duty	Wireless operators persist in duty till the last moment. Heroism under duress.	🎛️ Realism, ⌛ Noble Sacrifice, ⚡ Tragedy of Technology
The four collapsibles…	Desperate attempts to deploy final lifeboats; some succeed, others fail.	⛵ Chaos, 🎢 Juxtaposition, ⚙️ Technical Precision
Climbing the ladders…	Titanic’s final moments unfold; poetic attention to detail enhances terror.	🕯️ Symbolism, 🎭 High Tragedy, 🔚 Denouement
The Carpathia…	Describes the rescue ship’s heroic speed and actions to reach survivors.	🚨 Heroism, 🧭 Juxtaposition, 🔥 Determination
And out there in the starlight…	Iceberg’s silent presence lingers as symbol of fate and death.	❄️ Symbolism, ⛰️ Natural Power, 🧠 Existential Irony

Literary And Poetic Devices: “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt

🎭 Device	💡 Explanation	📝 Examples from The Titanic
🎵 Alliteration	Repetition of consonant sounds at the beginning of words	1. “steel and steam” 2. “foam and frost” 3. “gripped by glitter”
📢 Apostrophe	Direct address to an abstract idea or absent entity	1. Addressing the iceberg as if sentient 2. “Titanic! Titanic!” rhetorical exclamations
🎭 Aside	A brief comment expressing the narrator’s view	1. Reflections on technology’s failure 2. Ironies pointed out during quiet disaster moments
⚖️ Antithesis	Opposing ideas placed together	1. “Unsinkable—yet now unsought” 2. “power and helplessness”
🔁 Anaphora	Repetition at the beginning of lines or clauses	1. “And out there…” 2. “And she moved…” 3. “And the water…”
🔍 Contrast	Juxtaposition of two opposite images or ideas	1. Rich vs poor passengers 2. Ballrooms vs freezing deck 3. Calm sea vs ship’s panic
👥 Characterization	Revealing characters’ traits through description or action	1. Captain Smith’s calmness 2. Ida Straus’s loyalty 3. Marconi operators’ heroism
🌊 Diction	Word choice shapes tone and imagery	1. “invincible” 2. “monolithic” 3. “elegance” 4. “plunged”
🧊 Dramatic Irony	Audience knows more than the characters	1. Passengers laugh as danger nears 2. “They said she was safe”
🧠 Existential Irony	Nature appears indifferent to human effort	1. Iceberg drifts silently 2. The sea remains calm after the wreck
↩️ Enjambment	Line runs into the next without pause	1. “The water swept / Through ballroom and deck”
🌌 Foreshadowing	Hints at future events	1. “Omen struck the thousands on the shore” 2. Ice warnings from Caronia
🔗 Free Verse	No fixed rhyme or meter	1. Irregular rhythm mimics the ship’s journey and chaos
🌁 Imagery	Descriptive language appealing to the senses	1. “The silence dripped from every rope and spar” 2. “crunch of hull” 3. “stars over ice”
🧾 Historical Allusion	Reference to real events or facts	1. “April 10, 1912” 2. “Caronia’s message” 3. “Isidor and Ida Straus”
❄️ Irony	Contradiction between expectations and reality	1. Called “unsinkable” yet it sank 2. Crew ignoring iceberg warnings
🧊 Metaphor	A direct comparison without “like” or “as”	1. “iceberg was a sculpture of doom” 2. Titanic as “a cathedral of steel”
💬 Monologue	A long speech by a character or narrator	1. Captain’s internal debate 2. Wireless operator’s persistence
⛓️ Narrative Structure	Chronological storytelling from launch to sinking	1. Structured by date and time entries 2. Titanic’s birth, life, and death are plotted narratively
🔮 Omens	Supernatural or symbolic signs	1. Delay at launch 2. Collision with another ship at departure
🔂 Parallelism	Repetition of similar structures	1. “To die, to drown, to drift…” 2. Lifeboat orders repeated
🧊 Personification	Giving human qualities to objects or nature	1. “The iceberg moved without joy or hate” 2. Titanic “dared the Atlantic”
⏳ Pacing	Control of narrative speed	1. Rapid tempo during impact 2. Slow tension as iceberg approaches
🎯 Precision	Detailed use of numbers or technical terms	1. “882½ feet” 2. “Watertight bulkheads” 3. Ship’s compartments and tonnage
⛴️ Realism	Use of real-life detail to build authenticity	1. Mention of specific rooms like gym and dining 2. Marconi room dialogue
📚 Symbolism	Using something concrete to represent an idea	1. Titanic = human pride 2. Iceberg = nature’s power 3. Lifeboats = survival inequality
🌉 Suspense	Building tension	1. Rising sense of dread before impact 2. Ignored iceberg warnings
🎢 Tone Shift	Change in emotional atmosphere	1. Joyful departure → eerie quiet → panic → solemn aftermath
🔔 Tragic Irony	When fate contradicts hope	1. The belief in safety leading to disaster 2. “She was built to last”
🕊️ Universal Theme	Central idea that applies to all humanity	1. Hubris 2. Fragility of life 3. Nature vs human ambition
🛠️ Visual Juxtaposition	Placing images side by side to emphasize contrast	1. Dance floor next to lifeboats 2. Iceberg’s stillness vs chaos on ship

Themes: “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt

🛠️ 1. Human Ambition and Technological Pride: “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt portrays the ship as a monumental symbol of early 20th-century confidence in science and industry. Pratt writes about the ship’s massive structure with awe: “The perfect ship at last, the seven decks of steel”, celebrating the engineering marvel that promised to conquer nature itself. The poem reflects how technological advancement was seen as the pinnacle of human achievement. Yet, this pride is subtly laced with irony, as the Titanic becomes a metaphor for overreaching ambition. By glorifying its invincibility and then narrating its demise, Pratt critiques the blind belief that humanity could control all forces, especially nature.

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❄️ 2. Nature’s Indifference to Human Power: “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt emphasizes that while humans boast of mastery over machines, nature remains impartial and supreme. The iceberg, which causes the ship’s fatal end, is described with chilling indifference: “It moved with neither joy nor hate.” Unlike human beings who celebrate, hope, and suffer, the iceberg merely exists, emotionless and powerful. Pratt personifies nature not to dramatize it, but to highlight its quiet and unshakable authority. This theme suggests that despite human technological advancements, the natural world follows its own course—one that does not bend to human will.

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⚖️ 3. Class Division and Social Inequality: “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt starkly exposes the class divisions aboard the ship, particularly in moments of crisis. The luxury of “electric chandeliers” and fine dining experienced by first-class passengers contrasts sharply with the “immigrant crowd below decks.” During evacuation, lifeboats were prioritized for the wealthy and well-placed, while many third-class passengers had limited access. Pratt captures these disparities without excessive judgment, allowing the facts to speak: survival, like privilege, was not distributed equally. The poem thus becomes a critique of the rigid social hierarchies of the era.

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🔔 4. Irony and Tragic Fate: “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt is saturated with tragic irony. The ship, declared “unsinkable”, becomes a victim of fate almost immediately after its celebrated launch. Pratt underlines this with lines such as “No storm could hurt that hull—the papers said so”, mocking the media’s certainty and the passengers’ naïve faith. The irony deepens as the iceberg drifts calmly while the ship plunges into chaos. By contrasting human expectation with brutal outcome, the poem transforms from a historical retelling into a philosophical meditation on destiny and downfall.

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🕊️ 5. Heroism and Sacrifice: “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt honors moments of human nobility amid disaster. The poem recounts how some passengers, such as Isidor Straus and his wife Ida, refused lifeboats to stay together, exemplifying love and courage. Likewise, the Marconi radio operators stayed at their post, sending C.Q.D. signals till the last moment. Pratt writes, “You have done your duty”, capturing the dignity of those who put others before themselves. These acts of heroism humanize the catastrophe, reminding readers that even in the darkest moments, individuals can rise with grace and resolve.

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🌌 6. The Limits of Human Control and the Power of Fate: “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt ultimately delivers a message about the fragile illusion of control. The ship, a marvel of design and foresight, is destroyed not by war or fire but by silent ice. Pratt’s portrayal of the iceberg as ancient, inevitable, and unstoppable (“calved from a glacier… waiting”) elevates it to a symbol of fate. No amount of planning or metal could divert what was meant to happen. In this way, the poem becomes a meditation on how fate operates silently beside progress, waiting for its moment to intervene.

Literary Theories and “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt

📚 Literary Theory	🔍 Description	📜 Quotation / Reference from the Poem	💡 How It Applies to The Titanic
⚙️ Marxist Criticism	Examines class struggle, economic inequality, and power dynamics	“In steerage… the immigrant crowd” vs “chandeliers and music in the ballroom”	Highlights class disparity in lifeboat access, ship design, and social value in a capitalist society.
💀 Tragic (Aristotelian) Theory	Focuses on downfall due to hubris, fate, and moral flaw	“The perfect ship at last” followed by its ruin	Titanic’s pride and belief in invincibility meet nemesis in the form of nature (iceberg).
❄️ Naturalism	Views humans as subject to nature, fate, and uncontrollable external forces	“The iceberg moved with neither joy nor hate”	Nature is indifferent, overpowering human achievement and control.
🧠 Humanist Theory	Emphasizes dignity, ethics, and personal responsibility	“You have done your duty” (to the wireless operator)	Honors individual courage, moral strength, and human resilience during catastrophe.
👁️ Reader-Response Theory	Focuses on how readers interpret and emotionally engage with the text	Scenes of panic, love (Straus couple), or children on deck	Reader reactions vary: some may feel sorrow, admiration, or moral reflection based on personal values.

Critical Questions about “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt

❄️ 1. How does “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt depict nature’s indifference to human progress?

“The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt presents nature as a vast, unfeeling force that dwarfs and ultimately destroys human ambition. The iceberg, described as “moved with neither joy nor hate,” becomes the embodiment of impersonal natural power. While humans celebrate their achievements and cruise confidently in a “perfect ship,” nature quietly moves toward collision, unaffected by their pride. Pratt’s portrayal of the iceberg as calm and emotionless highlights the futility of man’s belief in control. Nature, in this narrative, is not hostile—but it is unconcerned. This theme drives home the poem’s central tension: technological mastery is no match for elemental forces.

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⚙️ 2. In what ways does “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt critique social and class inequality?

“The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt starkly reveals the tragic consequences of social hierarchy aboard the ship. Passengers in first class enjoy “music and chandeliers”, while steerage holds “the immigrant crowd”, already physically separated and later excluded from escape. Lifeboats are launched with preference for the wealthy, and many lower-class passengers are left behind. Without overt moralizing, Pratt lets these disparities speak for themselves, weaving them into the fabric of the tragedy. The poem becomes an indictment of a society that values privilege over people, even in moments of shared disaster. Class becomes fate aboard the Titanic.

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🌌 3. What role does irony play in shaping the tragedy of “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt?

“The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt is deeply layered with irony—especially tragic irony. The ship is lauded as “unsinkable,” a feat of modern engineering, only to be undone by an iceberg. Pratt’s line, “No storm could hurt that hull—the papers said so,” drips with ironic detachment, reminding readers that public confidence often masks real vulnerability. The contrast between the passengers’ luxury and the impending doom builds suspense and deepens the emotional blow. The poem’s tragic force lies in this irony: not only did the ship sink, but it did so after humanity declared it invincible.

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🔔 4. How are heroism and self-sacrifice represented in “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt?

“The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt highlights moral courage and love in the face of death. In one poignant moment, Isidor Straus’s wife refuses a lifeboat, “wrapped her coat about her husband’s shoulders / And refused to go,” choosing unity over survival. Similarly, the Marconi operators who send out the final C.Q.D. message are praised: “You have done your duty.” These scenes are quiet but powerful, revealing that heroism often emerges not from strength, but from love, duty, and selflessness. Amid the chaos and injustice, these human acts of sacrifice give the poem its soul.

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🧊 5. How does “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt explore the theme of hubris and the limits of human control?

“The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt critiques human arrogance through the ship’s confident launch and disastrous end. Described as “the perfect ship at last,” Titanic embodies mankind’s faith in technology and dominance over nature. But as the ship plunges into the sea, all that faith is shattered. The iceberg—ancient, silent, and unstoppable—represents nature’s quiet power and the fallibility of human planning. Warnings were ignored, precautions inadequate, and belief in safety tragically misplaced. Pratt uses the ship’s fate as a warning: no invention or intellect can eliminate risk, and human pride often leads to ruin.

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Literary Works Similar to “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt

  🧊 “The Convergence of the Twain” by Thomas Hardy
This poem also reflects on the Titanic disaster, emphasizing fate, tragic irony, and nature’s indifference to human ambition.

  ⚓ “Casabianca” by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
It explores themes of unwavering duty, youthful sacrifice, and heroism in disaster, much like Pratt’s portrayal of noble actions aboard the Titanic.

  🕯️ “Dover Beach” by Matthew Arnold
This poem shares a tone of spiritual uncertainty and reflects on the fragile foundations of modern life, resonating with Pratt’s treatment of lost control.

  💔 “Ozymandias” by Percy Bysshe Shelley
It critiques human arrogance and the illusion of permanence—mirroring how The Titanic shows the fall of human pride in the face of time and nature.

  🌊 “Sea Fever” by John Masefield
While more lyrical and romantic, it similarly respects the sea as a powerful, mysterious force, echoing Pratt’s grand portrayal of the Atlantic.

Representative Quotations of “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt

🔖 Quotation	📌 Contextual Explanation	🔎 Theoretical Perspective
⚙️ “The perfect ship at last”	Declares the Titanic as a technological triumph, echoing human pride before the fall.	Tragic / Humanist
❄️ “It moved with neither joy nor hate”	Describes the iceberg’s emotionless drift, highlighting nature’s indifference to human drama.	Naturalist
🔔 “No storm could hurt that hull—the papers said so”	Captures the false confidence and irony of public belief in invincibility.	Tragic Irony / Reader-Response
⚖️ “In steerage… the immigrant crowd”	References third-class passengers, foregrounding class and spatial inequality aboard the ship.	Marxist
🛠️ “Seven decks of steel”	Emphasizes the engineered might of the ship, aligning with industrial pride and human ambition.	Modernist / Marxist
❤️ “A woman wrapped her coat about her husband’s shoulders”	Describes Ida Straus choosing to die with her husband—an image of selfless love.	Humanist / Moral-Philosophical
📡 “You have done your duty”	A tribute to the wireless operators who stayed until the end, evoking duty and sacrifice.	Existential / Humanist
🌊 “The Atlantic had returned to its peace”	The sea resumes its calm after disaster—symbolizing nature’s indifference and continuity.	Naturalist / Symbolist
🚪 “The collapsibles were gone. The last boat gone.”	A moment of irreversible finality, underscoring hopelessness and fate.	Tragic / Reader-Response
🎭 “And so she passed into the legendry of steel”	Titanic becomes mythologized—her story transcends history into symbolic memory.	Myth Criticism / Structuralist

Suggested Readings: “The Titanic” by E.J. Pratt

1. Wells, Henry W. “Canada’s Best-Known Poet: E. J. Pratt.” College English, vol. 7, no. 8, 1946, pp. 452–56. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/370461. Accessed 10 July 2025.
2. Wells, Henry W. “Canada’s Best-Known Poet: E. J. Pratt.” College English, vol. 7, no. 8, 1946, pp. 452–56. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/370461. Accessed 10 July 2025.
3. Davey, Frank. “EJ Pratt: Rationalist Technician.” Canadian Literature 61 (1974): 65-78.

Introduction: “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson

“The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson first appeared in The Bulletin magazine in 1890 and was later published in his collection The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses in 1895. The poem captures the spirit of Australian bush life and celebrates courage, endurance, and horsemanship in the rugged terrain of the Snowy Mountains. Its narrative centers on a seemingly underqualified young rider—”a stripling on a small and weedy beast”—who defies expectations by successfully pursuing and recapturing a runaway colt amidst a band of wild bush horses. Through vivid imagery and rhythmic verse, Paterson portrays the awe-inspiring landscape (“where the pine-clad ridges raise / Their torn and rugged battlements on high”) and the resilience of bushmen (“He was hard and tough and wiry — just the sort that won’t say die”). The climax sees the young man, hailing from Snowy River, descending a perilous mountain slope while other seasoned riders hesitate, showcasing his unmatched bravery and skill. The poem’s popularity endures due to its thrilling action, iconic characters like Clancy of the Overflow, and its embodiment of national pride in Australian identity and outback heritage. As the poem concludes, the man from Snowy River becomes legend—“a household word today”—among the stockmen who continue to tell the tale of his remarkable ride.

Text: “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson

There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from Old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses –  he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up —
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast;
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony — three parts thoroughbred at least —
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry — just the sort that won’t say die —
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, “That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop  – lad, you’d better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you.”
So he waited sad and wistful — only Clancy stood his friend —
“I think we ought to let him come,” he said;
“I warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred.”

“He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse’s hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.”

So he went; they found the horses by the big mimosa clump,
They raced away towards the mountain’s brow,
And the old man gave his orders, “Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills.”

So Clancy rode to wheel them — he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stockhorse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where Mountain Ash and Kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, “We may bid the mob good day,
No man can hold them down the other side.”

When they reached the mountain’s summit, even Clancy took a pull  –
It well might make the boldest hold their breath;
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent the flint-stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timbers in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat —
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the farther hill
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely; he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In the ranges – but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Overflow the reed -beds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word today,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

Annotations: “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson

Stanza (First Line)	Simple English Annotation	Literary Devices
There was movement at the station…	A valuable horse has escaped; expert riders gather to retrieve it.	🌊 Alliteration, 💥 Imagery, 🐴 Symbolism
There was Harrison, who made his pile…	Skilled riders like Harrison and Clancy are introduced.	🧓 Characterization, 🎠 Hyperbole, 🌟 Symbolism
And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast…	A young, underestimated rider shows signs of bravery and toughness.	💪 Metaphor, 🌟 Symbolism, 🔥 Imagery
But still so slight and weedy…	Others doubt the boy, but Clancy believes in his mountain training.	🙅‍♂️ Irony, 🧭 Foreshadowing, 🌄 Setting
He hails from Snowy River…	Clancy praises the toughness and skill of mountain riders.	📍 Allusion, 🌄 Setting, 🌟 Symbolism
So he went; they found the horses…	The riders find the horses and start the chase into rough country.	🏇 Action Imagery, 💥 Imperative Tone, 🔔 Onomatopoeia
So Clancy rode to wheel them…	Clancy takes action, driving the horses into the mountains.	🚴 Motion Imagery, 🔔 Onomatopoeia, ⚡ Tension
Then fast the horsemen followed…	The chase intensifies through cliffs and gorges.	🌪️ Imagery, 🗻 Personification, ⛰️ Alliteration
When they reached the mountain’s summit…	The mountain is extremely dangerous, but the young rider goes on alone.	🎢 Suspense, 🎇 Imagery, 🧭 Foreshadowing
He sent the flint-stones flying…	The boy handles the descent with courage and skill.	🏇 Action Imagery, ⚔️ Heroism, 🚀 Metaphor
He was right among the horses…	He catches up to the horses and continues the chase solo.	🐎 Imagery, 🎭 Dramatic Irony, 🐾 Simile
And he ran them single-handed…	He captures and returns the horses alone, exhausted but undefeated.	🏁 Climax, 💔 Pathos, 🧠 Symbolism
And down by Kosciusko…	The young man becomes a local legend, remembered for his heroic ride.	📖 Legend Motif, ✨ Symbolism, 🌌 Imagery

Literary And Poetic DevicesPoetic Devices: “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson

🎭 Literary Device	🔍 Example from the Poem	📝 Explanation
💬 Alliteration	“stock-horse snuffs the battle”	Repetition of initial consonant sounds to create rhythm and enhance imagery.
📍 Allusion	“He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side”	Reference to real places to evoke national identity and authenticity.
📐 Assonance	“The colt from Old Regret had got away”	Repetition of vowel sounds for musical effect and flow.
🏁 Climax	“And alone and unassisted brought them back.”	The peak moment of action where the rider triumphs on his own.
🧓 Characterization	Descriptions of Harrison and Clancy	Details used to reveal personality, skill, and traits of characters.
🎭 Dramatic Irony	The boy is doubted but becomes the hero	The audience knows more than the characters, enhancing suspense or surprise.
🌌 Imagery	“Where the pine-clad ridges raise / Their torn and rugged battlements”	Descriptive language that appeals to senses and paints vivid pictures.
🙅‍♂️ Irony	“That horse will never do” – yet it does	A contrast between what is said or expected and what actually happens.
🎠 Hyperbole	“He would go wherever horse and man could go.”	Exaggeration used for emphasis or to create a larger-than-life effect.
🗣️ Imperative Mood	“Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills”	Use of commands to express urgency and action.
🎢 Juxtaposition	Old experienced riders vs. young stripling	Placing contrasting ideas or characters side-by-side for emphasis.
🗻 Metaphor	“He raced him down the mountain like a torrent”	A comparison without “like” or “as” to suggest similarity between different things.
📖 Motif	Repetition of horse riding and bush bravery	A recurring element that reinforces a central theme.
🔔 Onomatopoeia	“the stockwhip, as he met them face to face”	A word that imitates the natural sound associated with it.
💔 Pathos	“He could scarcely raise a trot… blood from hip to shoulder…”	Language that evokes emotion, especially pity or compassion.
🧭 Foreshadowing	“I warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end.”	A hint or clue about what will happen later in the story.
🌟 Symbolism	The Snowy River man as a national icon	Using a character or object to represent a broader idea or quality.
⚡ Tension	The dangerous ride down the mountainside	A feeling of suspense or anxiety created by high-stakes situations.
🐾 Simile	“He followed like a bloodhound on their track”	A comparison using “like” or “as” to make imagery more vivid.
📖 Legend Motif	“The man from Snowy River is a household word today”	A repeated theme of turning heroic acts into folklore.

Themes: “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson

🐎 1. Heroism and Endurance: “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson explores the theme of heroism through endurance, emphasizing that true greatness is earned not through status or appearance but through courage, tenacity, and resilience. The young rider, initially dismissed as weak — “a stripling on a small and weedy beast” — ultimately outperforms every seasoned horseman by chasing down the runaway horses alone. His determination is summed up in the line, “just the sort that won’t say die,” highlighting his mental toughness. In the most treacherous moment of the chase, while others falter at the mountain’s summit, the boy boldly descends — “he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed” — proving his extraordinary bravery and skill. His success, unaccompanied and against odds, becomes the defining act of bush heroism, celebrated not only by those present but by generations who remember “the story of his ride.”

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🌄 2. The Australian Landscape as a Test of Character: “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson presents the Australian high country not simply as a physical setting but as a moral arena that tests and reveals character. Paterson’s vivid descriptions — “where the pine-clad ridges raise / Their torn and rugged battlements on high” — show a landscape of both beauty and danger, where only the toughest can survive. The unforgiving terrain, marked by wombat holes, steep descents, and wild scrub, separates pretenders from true bushmen. While even the best riders hesitate at the mountain’s edge, it is the man from Snowy River who charges down it without fear, proving that inner strength and connection to the land are more valuable than reputation. In this way, the landscape becomes a crucible through which true character is tested and revealed.

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🐴 3. National Identity and the Bush Legend: “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson contributes powerfully to the development of Australian national identity through the celebration of bush values such as toughness, modesty, and rural pride. The poem positions the young mountain rider as a figure of national myth — an ordinary man who becomes legendary through courage and action. He comes not from privilege, but from the rugged Snowy River region, “up by Kosciusko’s side,” a place where life demands self-reliance and stamina. His triumph symbolizes the egalitarian belief that greatness can emerge from humble roots. As the poem concludes, he is immortalized: “the man from Snowy River is a household word today,” suggesting his transformation from individual to national icon. In this way, Paterson weaves together the personal and the patriotic, creating a lasting figure in the Australian bush legend tradition.

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🧑‍🤝‍🧑 4. Judgment, Misjudgment, and the Value of Inner Qualities: “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson highlights how snap judgments based on outward appearances often conceal deeper truths about individual capability and character. The young rider and his horse are both initially written off — “That horse will never do” — based on their physical appearance. Yet this misjudgment is overturned by the unfolding events, where the boy not only keeps up but surpasses the elite horsemen. His “bright and fiery eye” and the “lofty carriage of his head” hint at his spirit, but it is his actions that fully prove his worth. Clancy alone sees potential in him, saying, “I warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end,” demonstrating the wisdom of deeper insight. The rider’s eventual solo capture of the horses underscores a moral lesson: character and ability cannot be measured at a glance — they are revealed through hardship, humility, and resolve.

Literary Theories and “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson

📚 Literary Theory	🔍 Description	📖 Example from the Poem
🧠 Formalism	Focuses on the poem’s structure, language, and literary devices such as imagery, rhythm, and alliteration.	The line “There was movement at the station…” uses rhythmic meter and alliteration to create tension and energy.
🇦🇺 Nationalism / Postcolonial Theory	Explores national identity, cultural pride, and the mythologizing of colonial history and landscape.	“He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side” reinforces Australian pride in rural endurance and independence.
🧍‍♂️ Character / Archetypal Theory	Analyzes characters as timeless archetypes like the hero, the mentor, and the underdog.	The boy is the classic “unlikely hero” who overcomes doubt and danger to emerge victorious.
🧑‍🤝‍🧑 Reader-Response Theory	Highlights the reader’s perspective in shaping the meaning of the poem through cultural or personal context.	Contemporary readers may see the bushman as either a national icon or a romanticized colonial figure.

Critical Questions about “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson

❓ 1. How does “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson challenge conventional ideas of heroism?

“The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson redefines heroism by centering it not in grand displays of power or reputation, but in resilience, humility, and unexpected courage. While established riders like Harrison and Clancy are described with admiration—“No better horseman ever held the reins”—the true hero is a “stripling on a small and weedy beast,” someone underestimated and dismissed. The poem challenges traditional expectations by showing that the most heroic individual is not the most famous or strongest, but the one who dares the most when it counts. His fearless descent—“he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed”—becomes the defining moment of bravery. This shift from spectacle to substance elevates bush values of grit and humility, suggesting that true heroism lies in actions, not accolades.

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❓ 2. In what ways does “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson use the Australian landscape as a metaphor for character?

“The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson transforms the harsh Australian landscape into a metaphorical proving ground, where only the resilient and courageous can thrive. The mountains are not just geographic features but narrative tests: “where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,” they symbolize the inner toughness required of the bushman. Riders who balk at the terrain are contrasted with the protagonist, who not only faces the danger but masters it—his horse “never shifted in his seat” despite the perilous descent. The poem suggests that those who are “mountain bred” are naturally toughened by their environment, and the physical demands of the land reflect the moral and psychological demands of bush life. Thus, the landscape is both literal and symbolic—a mirror of endurance, strength, and authentic identity.

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❓ 3. What role does social judgment play in “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson, and how is it ultimately overturned?

“The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson critiques the tendency to judge by appearances, showing how such judgments are often proven wrong in moments of real challenge. The young rider is dismissed early—“That horse will never do / For a long and tiring gallop”—based on both his and his horse’s physical appearance. This misjudgment is echoed by the collective skepticism of the experienced bushmen. However, the poem constructs a redemptive arc, as the boy’s inner strength and unmatched courage allow him to complete the task no one else could: capturing the wild horses and returning alone. “And alone and unassisted brought them back” becomes the moment where judgment is reversed, and merit—rather than appearance or status—is validated. The poem advocates for a deeper, character-based understanding of ability, championing insight over superficial evaluation.

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❓ 4. How does “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson contribute to the construction of Australian national identity?

“The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson plays a significant role in shaping Australian national identity by celebrating values like humility, toughness, and a deep connection to the land. The protagonist, who rises from obscurity to legend, embodies the Australian myth of the self-made bushman—strong, silent, and fearless. His origin “up by Kosciusko’s side” situates him in the rugged Snowy Mountains, a region symbolic of isolation, hardship, and integrity. The poem’s conclusion—“The man from Snowy River is a household word today”—cements him as more than a character: he becomes an icon, a symbol of the nation’s ideals. In doing so, Paterson weaves folklore and poetry into a collective cultural narrative, reinforcing a sense of pride in the unique identity of the Australian outback and its people.

Literary Works Similar to “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson

• 🐎 “Clancy of the Overflow” by Banjo Paterson
  Like The Man from Snowy River, this poem romanticizes the Australian bush and its people, presenting Clancy as an idealized rural figure who lives freely, in contrast to urban drudgery.
• 🌄 “The Bush Girl” by Henry Lawson
  Shares a vivid depiction of the harsh Australian landscape, though with a more realistic and often somber tone, contrasting Paterson’s idealism with Lawson’s grounded bush experience.
• ⚔️ “The Man from Ironbark” by Banjo Paterson
  This humorous bush ballad also deals with identity, rural pride, and the clash between country and city values, echoing the nationalistic tones of The Man from Snowy River.
• 🌟 “Bell-Birds” by Henry Kendall
  Although more lyrical and focused on the musical beauty of the landscape, Kendall’s poem shares a reverence for nature and Australian scenery, akin to Paterson’s majestic mountain settings.

Representative Quotations of “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson

🔖 Quotation	📘 Contextual Interpretation	📚 Theoretical Lens	📝 Explanation
“There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around”	Introduces the story with dramatic urgency and sets a fast-paced tone.	🧠 Formalism	Highlights the use of meter and rhythm to immediately capture attention.
“The colt from Old Regret had got away”	Presents the central conflict that propels the narrative.	🧍‍♂️ Archetypal Theory	Represents the traditional quest trigger that sets the hero’s journey in motion.
“All the cracks had gathered to the fray”	Shows that the best riders have assembled, creating suspense and hierarchy.	🎭 Reader-Response Theory	Shapes reader expectations of who the hero will be, later subverted by the story.
“And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast”	Introduces the underdog protagonist, underestimated by others.	🇦🇺 Postcolonial Theory	Reflects the celebration of rural identity and the challenge to social elitism.
“He was hard and tough and wiry — just the sort that won’t say die”	Highlights the boy’s internal strength and resilience.	🧠 Formalism	Compact phrasing and repetition emphasize the character’s toughness.
“He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side”	Ties the rider to a distinct and rugged landscape.	🇦🇺 Nationalism	Connects landscape with character to build national and regional identity.
“No man can hold them down the other side”	Describes the danger of the mountains and the limits of most riders.	🎢 Structuralism	Marks a narrative turning point where the protagonist will prove himself.
“He raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed”	Depicts the most daring moment of the poem, full of motion and risk.	🗻 Symbolism	Elevates the rider to a force of nature, symbolizing unstoppable determination.
“And alone and unassisted brought them back”	Underscores the protagonist’s heroic success without any support.	🧍‍♂️ Archetypal Theory	Completes the hero’s arc with solitary triumph—a classic heroic trait.
“The man from Snowy River is a household word today”	Concludes the poem by showing the rider’s transformation into legend.	📖 Reader-Response Theory	Highlights how legends are shaped by readers and cultural memory over time.

Suggested Readings: “The Man from Snowy River” by Banjo Paterson

1. Lee, Christopher. “An Uncultured Rhymer and His Cultural Critics: Henry Lawson, Class Politics, and Colonial Literature.” Victorian Poetry, vol. 40, no. 1, 2002, pp. 87–104. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/40002692. Accessed 11 July 2025.
2. Paterson, A. B. The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses. Angus & Robertson, 1895.
3. Semmler, Clement. “Kipling and A. B. Paterson: Men of Empire and Action.” The Australian Quarterly, vol. 39, no. 2, 1967, pp. 71–78. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/20634130. Accessed 11 July 2025.
4. Brooks, David. “Cracks in the Fray: Re-Reading ‘The Man from Snowy River.’” Animal Dreams, Sydney University Press, 2021, pp. 13–28. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv1j55hcw.6. Accessed 11 July 2025.