The Bright Lights of Sarajevo

1 · Understand it

A city is under siege. There is no electricity and no running water, and getting a day's supplies means queuing, carrying and climbing unlit stairs. Then, at seven in the evening, the people of that city put on their coats and go out to walk in the streets, exactly as they always have. The poem's news is not the shelling. Its news is the promenade — and, at the end, two young strangers who stop at the place where a shell landed so that one of them can make enough light for them to see each other by.

What happens

The first movement is work: fetching water, queuing for bread and fuel, carrying it home up flights of stairs in the dark. The detail is exact — quantities, distances, prices, numbers of stairs.

Among those practical details the poem records that the city's communities use different words for the same loaf. The difference between those words is what the war is about, and the poem places it in a queue rather than in a history lesson.

At a particular hour the material changes completely. The city goes out. People are dressed for it, they are looking at each other, and the poem does not call any of this brave.

The street surface is described as evidence: marks left by shells, distances, sightlines. Nothing is ever narrated exploding, and nobody is described dying.

The poem narrows to one young man and one young woman. They stop where a shell fell. He makes a small light with his hands so that they can see each other's faces, and the poem stops.

Why it was written

To report a war by refusing to report the fighting. This is verse journalism written from inside a besieged city, and its argument is that the crater in the news photograph is not the story: the story is that the young still come out at seven o'clock and that a courtship is being conducted around the holes. The poem measures a siege by what has NOT stopped.

Who it was written for

A newspaper reader a long way away who has seen this city on television. The poem exists to correct that reader's picture of the place — and it does so not by describing atrocity but by describing an evening walk, which is the one thing the coverage will not have shown them.

What kind of text this is

Rhyming couplets, mostly iambic and often loosely handled, running continuously with no stanza breaks. That matters more than it sounds: a couplet is a PAIR, and a poem about a city divided into communities that will not pair is making an argument with its rhyme scheme before it makes one with its sentences.

Who is speaking, and from where

A reporter's voice — third person, present tense, positioned in the street rather than above it. It never uses 'I', which is a striking abstention for first-hand war journalism, and it never enters anybody's thoughts. Every claim in the poem is externally verifiable, which is precisely why a reader trusts it at the end.

The tone, and where it shifts

Level and observational, and deliberately unheightened at the two points where heightening would be easiest — the crater and the ending. It never once tells a reader how to feel about anything it reports.

• the transition into the evening material — from the compelled labour of daylight to the chosen social life of the evening. What shifts it: The SUBJECT changes completely and the register does not. The voice that describes carrying water up stairs is the voice that describes two young people meeting.
• the narrowing to the couple — from a whole promenading crowd to one man and one woman. What shifts it: Again unmarked. There is no change of tone, no stanza break and no signal — the poem simply gets smaller.

What it is about, and what it thinks

• Continuation. — The poem's real news is negative: the walk still happens, the young still meet, people still care what they look like. That is far harder to photograph than a ruin, which is why the poem exists.
• Danger as geometry. — Violence is never shown happening. It is present as evidence and as arithmetic — marks in the pavement, distances, angles — because that is exactly how people who live under it experience it: as a spatial problem they have learned to solve.
• Three words for one loaf. — The most economical possible statement of what the war is about, made through vocabulary rather than through history, and placed among shopping details so that a reader meets the cause of a war as a queuing problem.
• Courage, unnamed. — Nobody in the poem is described as brave. They are described as going out. The refusal to praise is what makes it land — praise would turn survival into a performance for a foreign audience.

How it moves

Beginning: Work before anything else, at length, before any individual appears. It is a structural investment: a reader has to be made tired by the cost of ordinary life before the evening walk can register as something achieved.

Middle: Two funnels closing at once — a whole day narrowing to an evening to a few minutes, and a whole city narrowing to a crowd to two people. Both finish at the same point, which is why the ending feels arrived at rather than chosen.

Ending: A small light and no comment. The last thing that happens is that two people can see each other, and the poem does not say what that means.

The moments that change something

• the first movement — The different words for bread are recorded among the queuing details. Why it matters: It states the cause of the war in one lexical observation and refuses to develop it. A reader meets the reason people are dying as a fact about a shopping trip.
• the transition into the evening — The turn is a TIME OF DAY rather than an event. Why it matters: Nothing causes it. Nobody decides; the city simply does this, as it always has — which is the poem's whole point about how deep the habit goes.
• the account of the street surface — Shelling appears as measurable marks rather than as an incident. Why it matters: The poem treats mortal risk as a spatial problem, which is both accurate and the reason there is no atrocity anywhere in the text for a reader to be moved by instead.
• the transition into the closing movement — The crowd narrows to a pair, with no change of tone. Why it matters: Because the register does not lift, the ending arrives as fact rather than as consolation. This is what stops it being sentimental.
• the final couplet — A hand-made flame, and then nothing. Why it matters: There is no statement of significance. A reader supplies the meaning, and because they supplied it they believe it — that is the whole technical achievement of the ending.

What the reader is meant to feel, and by what means

• the opening movement — Worn down by the arithmetic of ordinary life. How: Exact quantities, distances and flights of stairs, delivered at length before anybody is individuated.
• the bread detail — Winded by how small the cause is. How: A war explained in one observation about pronunciation, placed among practical details and not commented on.
• the evening — Lifted — but not told to be. How: The subject changes and the register does not, so the lift is yours rather than the poem's.
• the account of the pavement — Aware of exactly where it is dangerous to stand. How: Sightlines and marks given as measurements, so the danger is spatial and permanent rather than dramatic and past.
• the flame — Moved, and then, a second later, frightened. How: A visible light in a dark street the poem has just finished measuring for you. It never mentions that a light is a target, because it does not have to.

What people get wrong

People think: Open with the history of the siege and the break-up of Yugoslavia.

Actually: There are no context marks anywhere in 4EA1, and the poem itself contains no history at all — no dates, no causes, no sides. Noting that absence and arguing why it is there is worth marks; supplying the history is not. The one fact you do need is in the poem: the communities use different words for bread.

People think: The ending shows that love and hope survive the horrors of war.

Actually: The poem never says so, and it has just finished explaining the sightlines on that street. A flame in the dark is intimacy and it is exposure, and the poem supplies the information for the second reading without ever making it. Settling the question closes something the poem deliberately leaves open.

People think: The regular rhyming couplets contrast with the chaos of war.

Actually: That template can be applied to any formal poem about any disorder without reading it. Say what a COUPLET does: it asserts that two things belong together, in a poem about a city split into communities that will not pair and about two people who do — and the couplets do not stop for the shelling.

What the examiner expects you to understand

• One 30-mark essay: AO1 12 for an informed personal response with close reference, AO2 18 for how the writer uses linguistic and structural devices.
• The strongest points here are all about restraint: what the poem does not describe, does not name, does not claim to know, and does not tell you to feel.
• AO2 names structural devices explicitly. On this poem the available claims are unusually clean — the couplet as a pair, the sentences running across couplet boundaries, the turn that is a time of day, and the two simultaneous funnels.
• There are no context marks and no AO3 anywhere in Component 2 Section A.
• The poem is printed in the paper.

2 · Grade 9 Notes — the methods

Two technical facts carry most of this poem: the same flat measuring register is used for bread and for artillery, and the sentences habitually run across the couplet boundaries — so a reader is offered a closure the grammar keeps refusing.

Every note walks the same chain: evidence → the method, named → how it operates → what it carries → the effect on the reader → the writer's purpose → the harder reading. The middle steps are the analysis; the shortcut from technique to effect is what a Level 2 answer does.

Word and phrase level

• Domestic quantities and military ones are given with the same degree of precision and in the same flat register, with no change of tone between them. (the first movement — find it in your copy; that is the skill this paper rewards)

  Method: register · technical lexis · semantic field · declarative

  How it works: Two vocabularies — a domestic one of containers, litres, stairs and prices, and a military one of calibres, trajectories and the marks left by ordnance — are delivered with identical precision and identical flatness. The poem does not set a warm human register against a cold technical one; it uses the same reporter's exactness for a can of water and for a shell.

  What it carries: Survival and violence become the same kind of fact: things that can be counted. Nothing in the vocabulary tells a reader which of the two they are supposed to find remarkable.

  On the reader: The reader is denied the emotional signposting that a shift of register would supply, so they must decide for themselves which details matter.

  Why the writer wants that: It is an accurate picture of how a besieged city thinks. In a place like this you count both, and for the same reason.

  The harder reading: Argue the SAMENESS of the two registers rather than a contrast between them. A poem that uses one measuring voice for bread and for artillery has made a claim about a way of thinking, and that is method rather than mood.

• Numbers, quantities and distances appear throughout the poem, applied to domestic supplies, to the height of buildings, to the crowd and to the shelling alike. (the poem as a whole — find it in your copy; that is the skill this paper rewards)

  Method: semantic field · lexical field · concrete noun · statistic

  How it works: The poem's most consistent lexical field is not war and not romance but MEASUREMENT: quantities, distances, times, prices, numbers of stairs, numbers of people, calibres. Almost everything the poem looks at gets counted, and the counting is applied to the domestic and the military with exactly the same precision.

  What it carries: A reporter counts because counting is verifiable. A city under siege also counts, constantly, because counting is how you stay alive there — so the poem's dominant vocabulary is borrowed from its subjects rather than imposed on them.

  On the reader: The reader is placed inside a way of paying attention rather than being shown a scene, which is why the poem does not feel like description.

  Why the writer wants that: It gives the poem a journalistic authority without any claim to authority being made.

  The harder reading: Argue that the COUNTING BELONGS TO THE CITY rather than to the poet. That turns a stylistic observation into a claim about whose consciousness the poem is written from.

• The poem records that the city's communities use different words for the same staple food, and places this among the practical details of queuing rather than in any historical or political passage. (the first movement, among the queuing details — find it in your copy; that is the skill this paper rewards)

  Key moment 3: the Grade 9 move for this evidence, and how to find it →

  Method: concrete noun · lexical field · irony · understatement

  How it works: One object, three names, and the difference between the names is the reason for the war. The observation is lexical rather than political, and it is placed inside a passage about shopping.

  What it carries: Locating the cause of a siege in pronunciation makes it simultaneously enormous and absurd, and the placement does the work — a reader meets it as a fact about queuing rather than as an argument about ethnicity.

  On the reader: The reader supplies the outrage. Nothing in the poem invites it, which is why it is not resisted.

  Why the writer wants that: Stating it as history would have made it arguable. Stating it as a shopping difficulty makes it unanswerable.

  The harder reading: Note that this is the poem's ONLY explanation of the war and that it is a fact about words. A conflict rendered as a lexical difference is the most economical political statement in the anthology.

• The poem's references to the night sky serve the practical function of describing how the unlit city is illuminated, and the same sky is the direction the shelling comes from. (the poem's evening passages — find it in your copy; that is the skill this paper rewards)

  Method: visual imagery · symbolism · concrete noun · irony

  How it works: The moon and the stars are not decoration here; they are the city's lighting, and the poem treats them as infrastructure. The same sky is also where the shells come from, and the poem never says so.

  What it carries: The most conventionally poetic images in the poem are being used for utility, which is a quietly extraordinary reversal. And once both facts about the sky are in a reader's head, every upward glance in the poem carries both.

  On the reader: A reader supplies the double meaning without being prompted, which is far more durable than being told it.

  Why the writer wants that: Functional use of poetic imagery keeps the poem inside its reporting discipline while still allowing it the full resonance.

  The harder reading: Point out that the poem's most 'poetic' images are used FUNCTIONALLY. Moonlight as street lighting is a reversal of expectation that costs one sentence to argue and is very rarely made.

• The poem's final image is a small hand-made flame used so that two people can see each other in an unlit street. (the poem's closing lines — find it in your copy; that is the skill this paper rewards)

  Key moment 8: the Grade 9 move for this evidence, and how to find it →

  Method: symbolism · visual imagery · motif · concrete noun

  How it works: The poem's light imagery has moved steadily downward in scale — sky, street, hand — and this is the smallest and last of it. It illuminates two faces and nothing else.

  What it carries: In a city with no public light, the only light is the light people make for each other, and it is necessarily intimate. It is also, unavoidably, visible from a distance in a street the poem has spent twenty lines measuring.

  On the reader: The image is tender and it is alarming, and a reader arrives at the second reading a second after the first.

  Why the writer wants that: The poem never mentions that a light is a target. It does not have to: it has already supplied the sightlines.

  The harder reading: Hold BOTH readings of the flame at once. Intimacy and exposure, with the poem supplying the information for the second and never making it, is the best AO2 point available on the ending.

• The poem contains no first-person pronoun, and describes the city's inhabitants by their activities rather than by any ethnic or national grouping. (the poem as a whole — find it in your copy; that is the skill this paper rewards)

  Method: pronoun · first-person pronoun · collective noun · noun phrase

  How it works: Two absences. The reporter never appears as 'I', which for first-hand war journalism is a real abstention. And the inhabitants are named by what they are doing — queuing, carrying, walking, meeting — rather than by any collective noun that would sort them into sides.

  What it carries: The poem tells a reader which words the communities use for bread and never tells them which community anybody in the street belongs to. A war fought over categories is reported by a voice that refuses to use any.

  On the reader: A reader cannot take a side, because the poem has not supplied the sides.

  Why the writer wants that: It is the most complete available refusal of the terms of the conflict, and it is achieved entirely by avoiding certain nouns.

  The harder reading: Note the two absences together — no 'I' and no ethnic nouns — and argue that both are refusals rather than omissions. Arguing from what a text declines to name is what separates analysis from description.

Sentence level

• Sentences regularly run across couplet boundaries, so grammatical units and rhyme units are frequently out of phase. (the poem as a whole — find it in your copy; that is the skill this paper rewards)

  Method: enjambment · end-stopping · syntax · long sentence · complex sentence

  How it works: A sense unit begins in the middle of one couplet and finishes in the middle of the next, so the ear hears a closure that the grammar refuses to make. The rhyme keeps arriving at a resting point and the sentence keeps going past it.

  What it carries: A form that constantly offers closure to a voice that constantly declines it. That is the poem's most persistent technical effect and it produces its characteristic feeling of forward pressure.

  On the reader: The reader is never allowed to settle, even though the form keeps promising they can.

  Why the writer wants that: It is the poem's argument about the city in miniature: closure is available and nothing is closed.

  The harder reading: Identify the MISMATCH between rhyme units and sense units, and say what it does to the reading. It is a genuinely technical AO2 point and it is available on almost any part of the poem.

• The poem is written in rhyming couplets throughout, and the rhyming continues without interruption through its most violent material. (the poem as a whole — find it in your copy; that is the skill this paper rewards)

  Key moment 2: the Grade 9 move for this evidence, and how to find it →

  Method: parallelism · repetition · syntax · end-stopping

  How it works: A rhyme joins two lines and asserts that they belong together. The poem's rhymes are frequently ordinary and occasionally strained, so the form is audible rather than elegant, and it never stops.

  What it carries: In a poem about a city divided by a difference in vocabulary, and about people who cannot safely be in the same street, the couplet does continuous quiet work: it keeps pairing things the war has separated.

  On the reader: The reader feels the joining constantly without noticing it, which is why the closing image of two people arrives as a confirmation rather than as a surprise.

  Why the writer wants that: The form makes the poem's argument before any sentence does, and keeps making it in every line, whether or not a reader is listening for the rhyme.

  The harder reading: Say what a COUPLET DOES, not that the poem has them. A rhyme is an assertion that two things go together, and this is a poem about things that have been forced apart.

• The poem contains no exclamation, no direct address to the reader and no closing statement of significance; it ends on an action rather than on a comment. (the poem as a whole, and its final lines — find it in your copy; that is the skill this paper rewards)

  Method: rhetorical question · exclamative · second-person address · declarative · assertion

  How it works: A total abstention from persuasive apparatus. No exclamation, no appeal, no address, no summarising statement of meaning — in a poem written by a well-known public poet, at the height of a war, for a newspaper.

  What it carries: A poem that told a reader what to feel about a besieged city would be doing to that city exactly what the television coverage does. The restraint is the ethical position.

  On the reader: A reader supplies the significance, and because they supplied it they believe it.

  Why the writer wants that: Harrison reports and stops. The abstention is what earns the poem the right to its material.

  The harder reading: LIST the rhetorical moves the poem does not make and say why each absence matters. Abstention is harder to write about than presence, and it is the accurate account of this poem.

• The poem's register does not change at the transition from the daytime survival material to the evening promenade, nor at the narrowing to the young couple. (the two structural transitions — find it in your copy; that is the skill this paper rewards)

  Method: tonal shift · register · declarative · understatement

  How it works: The poem has two clear structural shifts and almost no tonal shift to accompany either. The voice describing water carried up stairs is the voice describing two young people meeting.

  What it carries: Refusing to make the evening lyrical is what stops the ending being sentimental. Nothing in the writing suggests that the promenade is a triumph.

  On the reader: The ending lands as FACT rather than as consolation, which is a much more durable effect.

  Why the writer wants that: Lifting the register would have turned survival into a performance for a foreign audience — precisely what the poem was written to avoid.

  The harder reading: Argue from the ABSENCE of a tonal shift where one is expected. The ending is moving BECAUSE it is not written as if it were moving.

Structure

• the opening movement — opening · exposition · accumulation

  The opening is given entirely to the physical labour of obtaining and carrying water, food and fuel, before any individual or any evening scene appears.

  How it works: A structural investment. The reader is made to spend time on the cost of ordinary life so that the evening walk registers as something achieved rather than as something that simply happens.

  On the reader: By the time the promenade arrives, a reader knows exactly what it costs to be standing in that street at all.

  Why the writer ordered it this way: Without the opening, the ending would be a pleasant image. With it, it is a piece of evidence.

  The harder reading: Argue the opening as an INVESTMENT rather than as scene-setting. The reader has to be made tired before the promenade can mean anything.

• the transition into the evening material — turning point · change in pace · change of setting

  The poem's central transition is marked by a time of day rather than by an event, a decision or any change in tone.

  How it works: Nothing causes the turn. Nobody decides. The city simply does this, as it always has — so the structure's hinge is a habit rather than an incident.

  On the reader: The reader registers the promenade as something continuous with the city's past rather than as a response to the siege.

  Why the writer ordered it this way: A hinge made of habit is a claim about how deep the habit goes, and it makes the poem's argument about continuation structurally rather than by statement.

  The harder reading: Note that NOTHING CAUSES the turn. A structure whose hinge is a habit rather than an event is making a claim that no sentence in the poem has to make.

• the poem's overall progression — narrowing focus · zooming in · development · temporal compression

  The time-frame contracts from a day to an evening to a few minutes, and the number of subjects contracts from a city to a crowd to two people — simultaneously.

  How it works: Two funnels closing at the same point. The poem has been getting smaller in two dimensions at once for its whole length, which is why the ending feels prepared rather than arbitrary.

  On the reader: The reader arrives at the final image having been narrowed towards it twice over without noticing either contraction.

  Why the writer ordered it this way: It lets the poem end on two individuals without the ending looking like a choice of anecdote.

  The harder reading: Name BOTH funnels and note that they close together. A structural argument identifying two simultaneous movements is worth considerably more than one identifying a single contrast.

• the two movements set against each other — structural contrast · development · juxtaposed paragraphs

  The poem separates the activities the siege compels from those the inhabitants undertake by choice, and gives its second movement entirely to the latter.

  How it works: The obvious contrast — grim day, hopeful evening — is available and shallow. The real opposition is necessity against choice, and the second category is what proves the city is still a city.

  On the reader: A reader who reframes it this way can answer the obvious objection: the walk may be psychological survival, but nobody is compelled to look attractive for a stranger.

  Why the writer ordered it this way: It is what makes the evening evidence rather than sentiment.

  The harder reading: REFRAME the contrast from day/night to compelled/chosen. The reframing is available from the poem's own content and it lets a response say something the obvious reading cannot.

• the poem as a whole — chronological structure · withholding information · exposition

  The poem covers a single day in strict sequence and contains no historical explanation, no flashback and no account of how the siege began.

  How it works: Everything a reader learns about the war is learned from its effects on one day. The restriction is a journalistic discipline and it is what stops the poem becoming an essay about the Balkans.

  On the reader: A reader can only judge from what is visible in one evening, which is exactly the position the poem wants them in.

  Why the writer ordered it this way: It is the discipline that makes the ending credible: the poem has never once claimed anything it could not see.

  The harder reading: Use the ABSENCE of history as evidence for the poem's method. It reports what one evening shows, and that restraint is what a reader is trusting when they accept the final image.

• the poem as printed — stanza break · paragraph sequencing · structural repetition

  The poem runs as an unbroken sequence of couplets with no stanza divisions: a constant two-line structure and no larger divisions at all.

  How it works: Highly organised at the smallest scale and completely unorganised at the largest — which is an extremely accurate formal picture of a city where individual lives have order and the whole has none.

  On the reader: A reader feels continuous small-scale patterning inside a text that never gives them a section, a break or a resting point.

  Why the writer ordered it this way: Two scales making opposite claims at once, without either being stated.

  The harder reading: Argue the TWO SCALES against each other: ordered in pairs, unordered as a whole. It is a sophisticated structural claim and it is derivable from the layout alone.

• the closing lines against the poem's body — change in pace · temporal expansion · final-line placement · ending

  The poem covers a whole day in its first two movements and only a few seconds in its closing lines, and stops on an action with no comment.

  How it works: The couplet form imposes a regular pace that the poem barely varies — except here, where the units of action get smaller: a stop, a look, a hand, a flame. It is the only place the form's regularity is used expressively.

  On the reader: The ending feels like a held moment rather than a conclusion, and because no meaning is supplied, the reader constructs it.

  Why the writer ordered it this way: A poem that stops before its own conclusion has transferred the conclusion to the reader, and that transfer is why the ending is remembered.

  The harder reading: MEASURE the ending against the rest — a day, then a few seconds. Deliberate deceleration is a structural claim, and here it is also what makes the reader do the work.

How the text positions its reader

• The reader is made to carry the day's labour before being shown the evening, so the promenade is received as an achievement rather than as a pleasant scene.
• Because the register never lifts, the reader's emotional response is unprompted — which is why it survives the suspicion a lyrical version would attract.
• The poem supplies the sightlines before it supplies the flame, so a reader has the material to frighten themselves and is never told to.
• No 'I' and no ethnic nouns means a reader has neither a guide to trust nor a side to take, and must judge from observable detail alone.
• The final couplet describes an action and offers no meaning, so whatever the reader concludes is theirs — and a conclusion you built is one you do not argue with.

Why one reading beats another

The weaker reading: The poem contrasts the horrors of the siege with the way young people still go out, showing that hope survives.

The stronger reading: The poem is an argument about what war reporting should look at: it withholds every image the reader has already seen and spends its second half on a courtship, so its news is that nothing has stopped.

Why: The first reading identifies a contrast that any reader reaches. The second explains the poem's most conspicuous decision — that no violence is ever narrated — and accounts for why the piece exists at all.

The weaker reading: The ending is hopeful and shows love surviving war.

The stronger reading: The poem places a visible flame in a street whose sightlines it has just finished measuring, and offers no comment on either.

Why: The hopeful reading settles an ambiguity the poem maintains. The stronger one accounts for the poem's own arithmetic and explains why the ending is disturbing as well as moving — which is what the absence of comment makes possible.

The weaker reading: The rhyming couplets contrast with the chaos of war.

The stronger reading: A couplet asserts that two things belong together, in a poem about communities that will not pair and two people who do — and the pairing continues unbroken through the shelling material.

Why: The contrast formula is a template applicable to any formal poem about any disorder. The pairing argument connects the form to this poem's specific subject and can be evidenced from where the couplets do and do not break.

The weaker reading: Harrison uses vivid imagery to describe the beauty of the night sky.

The stronger reading: The celestial imagery is functional: the moon and the stars are the unlit city's lighting, and the same sky is where the shells come from.

Why: The beauty reading treats the images as decoration and cannot explain why a reporting poem contains them. The functional reading explains their presence and adds a double meaning the poem never states.

What this text teaches you about reading any text

• Ask what a text refuses to show. A piece about a war with no fighting in it, or about a disaster with no casualty in it, has made a decision about what its reader has already seen.
• Check whether a writer uses ONE register for material that would normally get two. Identical precision applied to a shopping list and to artillery is a claim about how a world is thought about.
• In any rhymed poem, ask what the rhyme SCHEME asserts. Couplets pair, alternating rhymes separate, and a form's basic operation is usually related to the poem's subject.
• Look for the mismatch between grammatical units and formal units. Sentences that run past the point where a rhyme closes create a pressure a reader feels and rarely locates.
• Notice which nouns a text avoids. A conflict reported without the words that name the sides is refusing the conflict's own terms, and the refusal is provable by absence.
• Ask whether a text supplies its own conclusion. A piece that stops one step short has handed the conclusion to the reader, and a reader who builds a meaning defends it.

The Bright Lights of Sarajevo: the full study notes — the themes, the language, structure and form strands, the interpretations, the context that changes a meaning, and the examiner's pitfalls with the upgrade for each.

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