Robert Browning and the Dramatic Monologue Controlling Purpose: to analyze selected works of Robert Browning. I. Brief overview of Browning A. Greatest Poet B. Family Life II. Brief overview of "My Last Duchess" A. Descriptive adjectives B. Cause for death C. Description of his wife III. Definition of Dramatic Monologue IV. Comments by Glenn Everett A. Point of View B. Tone C. Audience Imagination V. Comments by Terry Bohannon A. No Christianity B. Evil Characters Robert Browning and the
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‘Porphyria’s Lover’ by Robert Browning As A Dramatic Monologue: Dramatic Monologue: The Dramatic Monologue was a popular form of poetry in Robert Browning’s time. It is a form of writing in which the speaker in the poem is a dramatized imaginary character. The monologue is cast in the form of a speech addressed to a silent listener. Its aim is character study or psycho-analysi. In a dramatic monologue‚ the person who speaks is made to reveal himself and the motives that impelled him at some crisis
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Robert Browning was an English poet whose mastery of dramatic verse‚ especially dramatic monologues‚ made him one of the foremost Victorian poets. “My Last Duchess” is one of his best known dramatic monologues in which the speaker reveals his character to a silent listener. This poem is loosely based on historical events involving Alfonso‚ the Duke of Ferrara‚ who lived in the 16th century. The Duke is the speaker of the poem. He tells us he is entertaining a representative who has come to settle
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takes the power away from him by calling him a ’Little man’‚ undermining the power he had over her at the start. How does Duffy use dramatic monologues to create characters in her poetry? How does Duffy use poetic form to create distinct characters or voices? How does Duffy create characters and voices in her poetry? Consider the use of the dramatic monologue favoured by Duffy How do Duffy and Pugh use poetic form to create distinct characters or voices in their poetry? You should refer to at
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requirements for her class. “Monologues will be due Monday morning.” I heard Ms. White say. My nerves could not catch a break. After class‚ I went home and wrote my monologue. I did not want to present my monologue to the class. I was shy and knew no one in my class. I told myself repeatedly that I could do it. Monday morning was here before I knew it. The feeling of dread filled me‚ and I wanted to back out‚ receive my zero with pride. When I arrived at school‚ my monologue clutched firmly in my hand
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saluting enthusiastically to their red-robed leaders under the yellow star; the boat crammed with coughing throats and calloused hands; blood washed away by the rains. She talked about things I had only ever heard about from the kind of tragic monologues that hot-shot actors won Oscars for and only shed real tears for at the podium. But unlike the performers’ melodramatic shouts of magniloquent misdirected emotion and the onion tears I associated with this kind of language‚ she seemed perfectly
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Dramatic Intro Flashing lights were blinding my vision‚ and emergency sirens were screaming in my ears‚ both making it hard to process the situation I was in. I looked around praying to find something familiar that could possibly give me guess as to what was happening‚ but was interrupted by sharp creaking of a metal door‚ which robbed my attention. I looked towards the direction the sound was coming from and was shocked to see the face of a man‚ I tried moving but couldn’t. Confused I asked him
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PROLOGUE PROLOGUE Only fools became starfighter pilots‚ and my mother was one of them. It is dumb to put yourself at so much risk‚ because you may end up as a flaming fireball through space. Like my mother. You would never know if the Sinats would attack‚ or ambush‚ or raid. My point is‚ piloting a starfighter is very‚ very dangerous. And of course‚ my mother happened to be one of them; a flying‚ dangerous maniac. By my fathers definition‚ she was extra stupid‚ but I always thought that flying a
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The vile odour of disinfectant permeates the air around me. My heart is racing and my trembling‚ sweaty hands cling onto my mother’s like a sloth to its branch. Gradually‚ more doctors begin to crowd around me‚ resembling vultures hovering over their prey‚ preparing to strike. The clanging of metal instruments and beeps of various machines distract me momentarily. Looking over to my left‚ I see a stout‚ middle-aged man donned in a green surgical gown. He is wearing a big‚ red foam nose and a multi-coloured
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The glazed tiles reflected on my tired eyes not allowing to be opened. I slowly started blinking‚ harmfully blinking my eyes to see where I am. I scrunched my eyes at the bright shining light of the operation theatre. Imagining what all I had gone through in the past hours‚ I felt relieved. Thanking god to keep me alive‚ and letting me save the lives of those innocent people who have suffered so much. The nurse approached me and inquired about my health. It was more of a routine‚ and I was dragging
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