Q3.

Read the following passage and answer the questions that follow:

What can be the use of a poetry that has no true subject except the poet's own selfhood? The traditional use of poetry in the Western world has been instruction through delight, where teaching has meant the common truths or common deceptions of societal tradition, and where esthetic pleasure has meant a fulfillment of expectations founded upon past joys of the same design.

But an individual psyche has its own accidents, which it needs to call truths, and its own necessity for self‐recognition, which requires the pleasures of originality, even if those pleasures depend upon a kind of lying against time, and against the achievements of the past. The use of such poetry demands to be seen in a deidealized way, if it is to be seen more truly.

‐ Harold Bloom, “The Use of Poetry”

If ‘selfhood’ of a poet is the subject of poetry, then ‘originality’ shall spring from:

Q4.

Read the following poem and answer the questions that follow:

No worst, there is none.

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,

More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.

Comforter, where, where is your comforting?

Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?

My cries heave, herds‐long; huddle in a main, a chief

Woe, wórld‐sorrow; on an áge‐old anvil wince and sing—

Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No lingering!

Let me be fell: force I must be brief."'

O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall

Frightful, sheer, no‐man‐fathomed. Hold them cheap

May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small

Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep,

Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all

Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.

‐ Gerard Manley Hopkins

Which of the following best describes the meaning of the title of the poem, ‘No worst, there is none.’?

Q5.

Read the following poem and answer the questions that follow:

No worst, there is none.

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,

More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.

Comforter, where, where is your comforting?

Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?

My cries heave, herds‐long; huddle in a main, a chief

Woe, wórld‐sorrow; on an áge‐old anvil wince and sing—

Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No lingering!

Let me be fell: force I must be brief."'

O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall

Frightful, sheer, no‐man‐fathomed. Hold them cheap

May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small

Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep,

Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all

Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.

‐ Gerard Manley Hopkins

Beyond the intensity of known grief, there can be: