can someone tell he what my teacher means by write a epistle poem.
How do i begin.

[www.google.com]

Are you sure the teacher did not say epitaph or epigram?

Ozzy, ‘epistle’ is just an old fashioned word for a letter. So an epistle poem is a poem composed in the form of a letter. If you search the phrase ‘letter to’ plus ‘poem’ as a required word in Google’s Advanced Search, you’ll hit close to a million examples. I’m in no position to tell you which is best! Here are a few from the first 100:

Letter to the City Clerk
by Frederick A. Wright
[holyjoe.org]

A Letter To My Aunt Discussing The Correct Approach To Modern Poetry
by Dylan Thomas
[www.poetryconnection.net]

An Open Letter To John Ashcroft, Attorney General Of The United States
by Claire Braz-Valentine
[www.snopes.com]

Similarly, if you search ‘epistle’ plus ‘poem’, I expect you’ll find a huge number of examples.

Some people regard an ‘epistle’ as a letter of some special or formal kind, as distinct from a casual letter. I suggest you find out whether your teacher is of that view.

I have been trying to find a poem entitled ‘Epistle To Be Left In Earth’ by Archibald MacLeish, to post here, but can’t remember what book of mine it’s in. Maybe someone who knows it can post it.

Ian



Post Edited (11-28-04 01:23)

Archibald MacLeish, "Epistle to Be Left in the Earth":

. . . It is colder now,
there are many stars,
we are drifting
North by the Great Bear,
The leaves are falling,
The water is stone in the scooped rocks,
To southward
Red sun, grey air:
The crows are
Slow on their crooked wings,
the jays have left us:
Long since we passed the flares of Orion.
Each man believes in his heart he will die.
Many have written last thoughts and last letters.
None know if our deaths are now or forever:
None know if this wandering earth will be found.

We lie down and the snow covers our garments.
I pray you,
You (if any open this writing)
Make in your mouths the words that were our names.
I will tell you all we have learned,
I will tell you everything:
The earth is round,
There are springs under the orchards,
The loam cuts with a blunt knife,
Beware of
Elms in thunder,
The lights in the sky are stars--
We think they do not see,
We think also
The trees do not know nor the leaves of the grasses hear us:
The birds too are ignorant.
do not listen.
Do not stand at dark in the open windows.
We before you have heard this:
they are voices:
They are not words at all but the wind rising.
Also none among us has seen God.
(. . . We have thought often
The flaws of sun in the late and driving weather
Pointed to one tree but it was not so.)
As for the nights I warn you the nights are dangerous:
The wind changes at night and the dreams come.

It is very cold,
there are strange stars near Arcturus,
Voices are crying an unknown name in the sky


Better formatting:

[www.marcopolopoet.com]