Instructions on Not Giving Up

Fiction | Poem | Adult | Published in 2017

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Summary

Background

Poem Analysis

Themes

Symbols & Motifs

Literary Devices

Form and Meter

“Instructions on Not Giving Up” is a 14-line free-verse poem, meaning that it is without rhyme or defined meter. Most sonnets are 14 lines, but traditional sonnets written in the English, Italian, or French style are written in iambic pentameter. Iambic pentameter means that a single line of verse contains five metrical feet, each foot consisting of an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable. Also, English, Italian, and French sonnets have a defined rhyme scheme of end rhyming, while Limón’s poem does not. There is a form called the American sonnet, which is a free-verse poem of 14 lines, and “Instructions on Not Giving Up” might fit this, but the form as a defined form is hotly debated.

The poem is a lyric poem, meaning that it is driven by emotion rather than narrative. The images lead into each other, but there are no specific characters or outward storyline here. The poet relies on observation and the emotions that this observation conjures, using the personification of nature to enhance her point about resilience. Her poem is driven by precise description, metaphor, theme, and euphony (the use of pleasing sound).

Personification

One way that Limón makes her poems come alive is by giving human characteristics—often emotions or behavior—the items of nature. Poets use personification to convey their ideas in a way that is relatable to the reader, who, obviously, understands common human behavior. Limón employs this by giving the “tree” (Line 13) at the end of the poem human characteristics and speech. This “tree” (Line 13) is “[p]atient” (Line 9) and “plodding” (Line 9), both human attributes. In its determined budding, its “leaf unfurls like a fist to an open palm” (Line 13). Here the “tree” (Line 13) possesses a symbolic hand which it can use to either fight with or offer generosity. The human gesture of reaching out is enhanced by the tree’s speech, its “seem[ing] to say” (Line 13) that it’s “[f]ine, then, I’ll take it” (Lines 12-13). Slightly hesitant, the “tree’s” (Line 13) emotion is understandable. However, it—like the reader—bends. Its statement that “I’ll take it all” (Line 14) shows not only the more resilient stance of the inanimate object but also the “instructions” it gives to the poet and her audience. Without personification, the tree’s message might be less effective.

Consonance

In “Instructions on Not Giving Up,” the emotional turmoil is heightened by Limón’s attention to sound devices, especially consonance—the repetition of similar sounds within neighboring words, phrases, or lines. The sense of agitation conveyed by the poet’s resistance to that the showy “display” (Line 3) of flowering “limbs” (Line 3) after “what the winter did to us” (Line 10) is given a subtle but powerful punch by her use of hard consonants like “c,” “k,” and “g” throughout the poem. At first the “fuchsia funnels” (Line 1) seem lovely and symmetrical as indicated by the alliteration of “f,” and the soft sounds of the “f,” “s,” and “l.” But this prettiness is immediately undermined by the word “breaking” with its hard “k” sound in the middle. Other harsh “k” or hard “c” sounds come up in the “cotton candy-colored blossoms” (Line 4) against “the slate sky” (Line 4). They are also in the description of the blooms as a “shock of white” (Line 6), as “trinkets” (Line 7) and as “confetti” (Line 8). Even the regeneration Limón finds in “the greening of the trees” (Line 6) holds its own agitation their “green skin” (Line 9). The scratching disquiet lingers even as the poet moves toward her final image of resilience: “Fine, then, / I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf, / unfurling like a fist […] I’ll take it all.” This strong use of hard consonance undermines the traditional—and somewhat sentimental—idea that the peacefulness of nature soothes all our sorrows. The acceptance of renewal without diminishing hardship is in the very language of the poem itself.