‘The Prodigal’ by Elizabeth Bishop is the story of a troubled alcoholic man who has imposed a period of exile upon himself. The story follows the life of the Biblical “prodigal son,” focusing on the period in which he lived in a barn with pigs.

Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979) was an American poet who dealt in themes of modernism, religion, and realism. “A Prodigal” was originally published in her anthology A Cold Spring (1955). It is a...

Analysis (ai): "A Prodigal" portrays a disheartening scene of a man's life among pigs, their foul odor and self-righteous gaze a constant affront. The dung-plastered sty and rotten floor reflect the protagonist's degraded existence.

2015年5月2日 · for him to judge. The floor was rotten; the sty. was plastered halfway up with glass-smooth dung. till, sickening, he leaned to scratch her head. the burning puddles seemed to reassure. his exile yet another year or more. But evenings the first star came to warn. The pigs stuck out their little feet and snored. laid on the mud a pacing aureole.

"The Prodigal" is a poem by Elizabeth Bishop that explores the theme of the search for home and belonging. The poem is notable for its use of vivid imagery, complex structure, and exploration of the relationship between memory and identity. Form: The poem is written in free verse, with no consistent rhyme scheme or meter.

“Prodigal” from The Legend of Light. Copyright © 1995. Reprinted by permission of The University of Wisconsin Press. Source: The Legend of Light (University of Wisconsin Press, 1995) You could drive out of this country and attack the world with your ambition, invent wonder plasmas, become an artist of the provocative gesture, the…

Song of the wireless harp of the frangipani. that still makes a tangled music out of silence. against the hot sea that teaches what? Thirst. for the grace that springs in grooves of oblivious dust. A fine haze screens the headland, the drizzle drifts. and not its natural language? Were your life and work. simply a good translation? Would headland,

A Prodigal by Elizabeth Bishop - The brown enormous odor he lived by was too close, with its breathing and thick hair, for him to judge. The floor was

for him to judge. The floor was rotten; the sty. was plastered halfway up with glass-smooth dung. till, sickening, he leaned to scratch her head. the burning puddles seemed to reassure. his exile yet another year or more. But evenings the first star came to warn. The pigs stuck out their little feet and snored. laid on the mud a pacing aureole.

2025年2月20日 · for him to judge. The floor was rotten; the sty. was plastered halfway up with glass-smooth dung. till, sickening, he leaned to scratch her head. the burning puddles seemed to reassure. his exile yet another year or more. But evenings the first star came to warn. The pigs stuck out their little feet and snored. laid on the mud a pacing aureole.