Rhetorical Analysis Poetry

Topics:“Quinceañera” by Judith Ortiz Cofer (is like a sweet sixteen)

A. Answer all of the following questions in your analysis:
1. What type of poetry is it (Lyric, Ballad, Narrative, etc.)?
2. What is the Tone of the poem?
3. What is the theme of this poem/poetry?
4. How does the author express this theme in the poem/poetry?
5. Why kind of symbolism is in the poem poetry? (ex, the doll, the high hills, etc)
6. What does this symbolism mean?

B. Similar to the critical analysis of literature, a rhetorical analysis is to write a paper thatexplains how a work demonstrates its themes. Think about what a piece of literaturemeans and find a way to express what it says to you,

C. Explain how the individual lines of the poem, demonstrate themes, symbolism, tone, orideas. Give specific examples from the poem.

D. Include the entire poem in the paper. Print or copy or type, inside the paper, after thecover sheet.

E. Minimum of 4 pages

General tips
1. Make sure you have thoroughly read over the poem.

2. Review any literary terms onpoetry in your textbook. Use those terms throughout your paper.
(Persona, Irony, Diction, Allusion, Dialect, Denotation, Connotation, suggestion, Alliteration, Assonance, Cacophony, Euphony, Onomatopoeia, Rime, Stress, Rhythm, Scansion, Prosody, Form, Theme, Epic, Symbol, Allegory, Ballad, Sonnet) No need to use them all, but use some of them.

3. Use MLA format with In-text Citations,

4, Mention the author, title, tone, symbolism, and themes, and thesis in your introduction,
but don’t use examples in it. However, use lines or verse from the poem to back up your writing in the paper. Using MLA format

“Quinceañera” (Judith OrtízCofer)
Quinceañera

My dolls have been put away like dead
children in a chest I will carry
with me when I marry.
I reach under my skirt to feel
a satin slip bought for this day. It is soft
as the inside of my thighs. My hair
has been nailed back with my mother’s
black hairpins to my skull. Her hands
stretched my eyes open as she twisted
braids into a tight circle at the nape
of my neck. I am to wash my own clothes
and sheets from this day on, as if
the fluids of my body were poison, as if
the little trickle of blood I believe
travels from my heart to the world were
shameful. Is not the blood of saints and
men in battle beautiful? Do Christ’s hands
not bleed into your eyes from His cross?
At night I hear myself growing and wake
to find my hands drifting of their own will
to soothe skin stretched tight
over my bones.
I am wound like the guts of a clock,
waiting for each hour to release me.

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