What is the meaning of the groundhog by Richard Eberhart?

What is the meaning of the groundhog by Richard Eberhart?

Traditionally, a groundhog is a symbol of hope, a hope that there is an end to a seemingly endless winter, a hope that spring is just around the corner. In Richard Eberhart’s poem, “The Groundhog,” he explores the journey of a man through a phase in his life in comparison to the death and decay of a groundhog.

What is the theme of the poem the groundhog?

“The Groundhog” is a poem about death. More specifically, its theme may be put best as a question: What does the knowledge of death do to a human being, the only creature blessed and cursed with consciousness? This theme is as ancient as poetry and as persistent as human thought.

Who is the speaker in the groundhog?

The speaker, the “I” of the poem, is never clearly identified but is probably a man of thoughtful, even scholarly, habits. He recounts a series of four encounters with a dead groundhog, ending in the present, three years after his first sight of the lifeless animal.

When was the groundhog by Richard Eberhart written?

1934
Eberhart’s poem “The Groundhog” was published in 1934 in the Listener to praise from literary critics. The poem concerns the thoughts of the narrator as he views the dead body of a groundhog in four different stages of decay over time.

When did Richard Eberhart write the Groundhog?

Richard Eberhart, “The Groundhog” from Collected Poems, 1930-1986. Copyright © 1960, 1976, 1987 by Richard Eberhart. Used by the permission of Oxford University Press, USA.

What did you say to the groundhog in autumn?

In Autumn strict of eye, to see The sap gone out of the groundhog, But the bony sodden hulk remained. But the year had lost its meaning, And in intellectual chains I lost both love and loathing, Mured up in the wall of wisdom. Another summer took the fields again Massive and burning, full of life, But when I chanced upon the spot

Is there no sign of the Groundhog?

There is no sign of the groundhog. I stood there in the whirling summer, My hand capped a withered heart, And thought of China and of Greece, Of Alexander in his tent; Of Montaigne in his tower,

What was the sap gone out of the Groundhog?

The sap gone out of the groundhog, But the bony sodden hulk remained. But the year had lost its meaning, And in intellectual chains I lost both love and loathing,

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