At six o'clock we were waiting for coffee,
waiting for coffee and the charitable crumb
that was going to be served from a certain balcony
--like kings of old, or like a miracle.
It was still dark. One foot of the sun
steadied itself on a long ripple in the river.
The first ferry of the day had just crossed the river.
It was so cold we hoped that the coffee
would be very hot, seeing that the sun
was not going to warm us; and that the crumb
would be a loaf each, buttered, by a miracle.
At seven a man stepped out on the balcony.
He stood for a minute alone on the balcony
looking over our heads toward the river.
A servant handed him the makings of a miracle,
consisting of one lone cup of coffee
and one roll, which he proceeded to crumb,
his head, so to speak, in the clouds--along with the sun.
Was the man crazy? What under the sun
was he trying to do, up there on his balcony!
Each man received one rather hard crumb,
which some flicked scornfully into the river,
and, in a cup, one drop of the coffee.
Some of us stood around, waiting for the miracle.
I can tell what I saw next; it was not a miracle.
A beautiful villa stood in the sun
and from its doors came the smell of hot coffee.
In front, a baroque white plaster balcony
added by birds, who nest along the river,
--I saw it with one eye close to the crumb--
and galleries and marble chambers. My crumb
my mansion, made for me by a miracle,
through ages, by insects, birds, and the river
working the stone. Every day, in the sun,
at breakfast time I sit on my balcony
with my feet up, and drink gallons of coffee.
We licked up the crumb and swallowed the coffee.
A window across the river caught the sun
as if the miracle were working, on the wrong balcony.
waiting for coffee and the charitable crumb
that was going to be served from a certain balcony
--like kings of old, or like a miracle.
It was still dark. One foot of the sun
steadied itself on a long ripple in the river.
The first ferry of the day had just crossed the river.
It was so cold we hoped that the coffee
would be very hot, seeing that the sun
was not going to warm us; and that the crumb
would be a loaf each, buttered, by a miracle.
At seven a man stepped out on the balcony.
He stood for a minute alone on the balcony
looking over our heads toward the river.
A servant handed him the makings of a miracle,
consisting of one lone cup of coffee
and one roll, which he proceeded to crumb,
his head, so to speak, in the clouds--along with the sun.
Was the man crazy? What under the sun
was he trying to do, up there on his balcony!
Each man received one rather hard crumb,
which some flicked scornfully into the river,
and, in a cup, one drop of the coffee.
Some of us stood around, waiting for the miracle.
I can tell what I saw next; it was not a miracle.
A beautiful villa stood in the sun
and from its doors came the smell of hot coffee.
In front, a baroque white plaster balcony
added by birds, who nest along the river,
--I saw it with one eye close to the crumb--
and galleries and marble chambers. My crumb
my mansion, made for me by a miracle,
through ages, by insects, birds, and the river
working the stone. Every day, in the sun,
at breakfast time I sit on my balcony
with my feet up, and drink gallons of coffee.
We licked up the crumb and swallowed the coffee.
A window across the river caught the sun
as if the miracle were working, on the wrong balcony.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rusGBVvK7TE
Commentary
This poem by Elizabeth Bishop is
about a home or mansion where people would come and gather together and the
morning waiting for a cup of coffee and the piece of bread, whom many of them
are disappointed by the amount received. Much of the poem is a description of a
sequence of scenes of Elizabeth and others. They are observing their
surrounding and examining the happenings around them. With the use of imagery they are able to see
the balcony, the crowd of people, and the solitary man standing above them,
like a king. When speaking of the mansion she would use much higher diction
such as baroque, galleries, and chambers. The speaker’s use of image in the
second stanza, when mentioning the hope that the coffee is hot, allows the
reader to feel the chill of the early morning air and the need for the warmth
that can permeate from a cup of coffee into a person’s hands. The speaker of
the poem does not have the same attitude throughout the poem, somewhat it
shifts and changes as the poem progresses. At first the tone of the poem
appears to be amusingly anxious; they are waiting desperately for the coffee.
In regard to the man on the balcony, the tone shifts to one of aggravated
disappointment and frustration. The
speaker’s tone is happily enthusiastic and optimistic when they are describing
what they see. There are several shifts within the structure of the poem. This shift
includes lines where the author has inner thoughts and observations and then
moves to the movement of other people. A shift I also notice was within stanza
4 and 5 where a change from reality to fantasy is. I think that the theme of
the poem is that the poor are trying to survive in the world. They need food, but they want more and not satisfy
with what they get. I believe it was written to show also an example of how people
where during the Great Depression since, it was written in 1936. The word miracle
in the title is simply enough food for breakfast.
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