The DIDLS Method of Determining Tone

The DIDLS Method of Determining Tone

DictionThe connotations and denotations of word choice

ImagesVivid appeals to understanding through the senses

DetailsFacts that are included or omitted

LanguageThe overall use of language (e.g., formal, clinical, jargon)

Sentence How structure affects the reader’s

Structureattitude

From The AP Vertical Guide for English, second edition. Published by THE COLLEGE BOARD

2002.

Hazel Tells Lavern

Last night

im cleanin out my

howard johnsons ladies room

when all of a sudden

up pops this frog

musta come from the sewer

swimming around and trying to

climb up the sida the bowl

so i goes to flushm down

but sohelpmegod he starts talking

bout a golden ball

an how i can be a princess

me a princess

well my mouth drops

all the way to the floor

an he says kiss me just kiss me

once on the nose

well i screams

ya little green pervert

an i hitsm with my mop an has to flush

the toilet down three times

me a princess

(Aal, Kathyrn Machan. “Hazel Tells Laverne” in Robert Wallace: Writing

Poems. Glenview, IL: Scott Foresman, 1987)

“THEY”

The Bishop tells us: “When the boys come back

They will not be the same; for they’ll have fought

In a just cause: they led the last attack

On Anti-Christ; their comrades’ blood has bought

New right to breed an honourable race,

They have challenged Death and dared him face to face.”

“We’re none of us the same!” the boys reply.

“For George lost both his legs; and Bill’s stone blind;

Poor Jim’s shot through the lungs and like to die;

And Bert’s gone syphilitic: you’ll not fine

A chap who’s served that hasn’t found some change.”

And the Bishop said: “The ways of God are strange!”

Siegfried Sassoon

1886-1967

GOLDEN RETRIEVALS

Fetch? Balls and sticks capture my attention

seconds at a time. Catch? I don’t think so,

Bunny, tumbling leaf, a squirrel who’s—oh

joy—actually scared. Sniff the wind, then

I’m off again: muck, pond, ditch, residue

of any thrillingly dead thing. And you?

Either you’re sunk in the past, half our walk,

Thinking of what you can never bring back,

Or else you’re off in some fog concerning

--tomorrow, is that what you call it? My work:

to unsnare time’s warp (and woof!), retrieving,

my haze-headed friend, you. This shining bark,

a Zen master’s bronzy gong, calls you here,

entirely, now: bow-wow, bow-wow, bow-wow.

Mark Doty