tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53300839629891376912024-02-20T16:39:03.525-08:00Poetic ConnectionsEnglish Language Poetry class 2011.1English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-24220324004151157652011-06-23T18:48:00.000-07:002011-06-23T18:48:48.121-07:00Langston Hughes<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWAp-Jjaf3AyX5_Xv8VVvhtGy9ScXzUNN1_AuXC4gORuQZIQnf4ymqnnLkJRF-E0KuVpTiY0AnVcVvX6PQNyxh_xSggVCUDMG2x2UAbnHfrmIPUeUHz0pDQn3n6Q4-rSMmfroyNAgpHA0l/s1600/Langston-Hughes1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWAp-Jjaf3AyX5_Xv8VVvhtGy9ScXzUNN1_AuXC4gORuQZIQnf4ymqnnLkJRF-E0KuVpTiY0AnVcVvX6PQNyxh_xSggVCUDMG2x2UAbnHfrmIPUeUHz0pDQn3n6Q4-rSMmfroyNAgpHA0l/s320/Langston-Hughes1.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 5px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 5px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Langston Hughes was a prolific writer. In the forty-odd years between his first book in 1926 and his death in 1967, he devoted his life to writing and lecturing. He wrote sixteen books of poems, two novels, three collections of short stories, four volumes of "editorial" and "documentary" fiction, twenty plays, children's poetry, musicals and operas, three autobiographies, a dozen radio and television scripts and dozens of magazine articles. In addition, he edited seven anthologies.</span></span></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 5px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 5px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Langston Hughes died of cancer on May 22, 1967. His residence at 20 East 127th Street in Harlem, New York has been given landmark status by the New York City Preservation Commission. His block of East 127th Street was renamed "Langston Hughes Place" .</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 5px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 5px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 5px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 5px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of his poems:</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><h1 style="font-weight: bold; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Democracy</span></span></h1><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Democracy will not come<br />
Today, this year<br />
Nor ever<br />
Through compromise and fear.<br />
<br />
I have as much right<br />
As the other fellow has<br />
To stand<br />
On my two feet<br />
And own the land.<br />
<br />
I tire so of hearing people say,<br />
Let things take their course.<br />
Tomorrow is another day.<br />
I do not need my freedom when I'm dead.<br />
I cannot live on tomorrow's bread.<br />
<br />
Freedom<br />
Is a strong seed<br />
Planted<br />
In a great need.<br />
<br />
I live here, too.<br />
I want freedom<br />
Just as you.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Source: <a href="http://www.poemhunter.com/langston-hughes/biography/">http://www.poemhunter.com/langston-hughes/biography/</a></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Posted by Aline Barbosa</span></div>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-91935743486562439992011-06-23T01:50:00.000-07:002011-06-23T01:50:53.857-07:00My first Indriso<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Freestyle Script"; font-size: 20.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT-BR;">Guitar without strings<br />
<br />
A guitar without strings standing, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Freestyle Script"; font-size: 20.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT-BR;">Inert without moaning wails joy or smile,<br />
just as bones that do not cry bitter six feet of earth<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Freestyle Script"; font-size: 20.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT-BR;">without the glare of the spotlight;<br />
the clamor of the crowds echoing in its wake;<br />
no cries echo in the empty stage an infinite void;<br />
<br />
no hands to touch him; just wood useless.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Freestyle Script"; font-size: 20.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT-BR;">as a body without a soul, as a life without purpose.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #888888; font-family: "Freestyle Script"; font-size: 20.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT-BR;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Freestyle Script"; font-size: 20.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT-BR;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Freestyle Script"; font-size: 20.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT-BR;">Written by Antonio Deodato Marques Leão</span></div>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-82753040730270816812011-06-21T15:56:00.000-07:002011-06-21T15:56:55.763-07:00another poem by Elizabeth BishopTomorrow I will travel and, unfortanatelly, I won't go to class and I couldn't to honor my dear collegues. Anyway, I'll leave here another poem of our dear Elizabeth Bishop. <br />
I hope you enjoy it!!!!!<br />
Kisses, Pollianna Modesto.<br />
<br />
A Prodigal<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px;">The brown enormous odor he lived by<br />
was too close, with its breathing and thick hair,<br />
for him to judge. The floor was rotten; the sty<br />
was plastered halfway up with glass-smooth dung.<br />
Light-lashed, self-righteous, above moving snouts,<br />
the pigs' eyes followed him, a cheerful stare--<br />
even to the sow that always ate her young--<br />
till, sickening, he leaned to scratch her head.<br />
But sometimes mornings after drinking bouts<br />
(he hid the pints behind the two-by-fours),<br />
the sunrise glazed the barnyard mud with red<br />
the burning puddles seemed to reassure.<br />
And then he thought he almost might endure<br />
his exile yet another year or more.<br />
<br />
But evenings the first star came to warn.<br />
The farmer whom he worked for came at dark<br />
to shut the cows and horses in the barn<br />
beneath their overhanging clouds of hay,<br />
with pitchforks, faint forked lightnings, catching light,<br />
safe and companionable as in the Ark.<br />
The pigs stuck out their little feet and snored.<br />
The lantern--like the sun, going away--<br />
laid on the mud a pacing aureole.<br />
Carrying a bucket along a slimy board,<br />
he felt the bats' uncertain staggering flight,<br />
his shuddering insights, beyond his control,<br />
touching him. But it took him a long time<br />
finally to make up his mind to go home. <br />
<br />
</span>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-38407214526117348562011-06-20T12:27:00.000-07:002011-06-20T12:27:36.995-07:00Robert Lee Frost<div style="direction: ltr; language: pt-BR; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: .3in; margin-top: 6.0pt; mso-line-break-override: none; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-align: center; text-indent: -.3in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Century Schoolbook'; font-weight: bold;">Fire</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Century Schoolbook'; font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Century Schoolbook'; font-weight: bold;">and</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Century Schoolbook'; font-weight: bold;"> Ice</span></div><div style="direction: ltr; language: pt-BR; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: .3in; margin-top: 6.0pt; mso-line-break-override: none; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-align: center; text-indent: -.3in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><br />
</div><div style="direction: ltr; language: pt-BR; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: .3in; margin-top: 6.0pt; mso-line-break-override: none; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-align: center; text-indent: -.3in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Century Schoolbook';"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Century Schoolbook';">Some say the world will end in fire,<br />
Some say in ice.<br />
From what I've tasted of desire<br />
I hold with those who favor fire<br />
But if it had to perish twice,<br />
I think I know enough of hate<br />
To say that for destruction ice<br />
Is also great<br />
And would suffice</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Century Schoolbook';"> </span></div><div style="direction: ltr; language: pt-BR; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: .3in; margin-top: 6.0pt; mso-line-break-override: none; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-align: center; text-indent: -.3in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Century Schoolbook';"><br />
</span></div><div style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0.3in; margin-top: 6pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.3in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Century Schoolbook';">Posted by Juliana Bastos</span></div><div style="direction: ltr; language: pt-BR; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: .3in; margin-top: 6.0pt; mso-line-break-override: none; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-align: center; text-indent: -.3in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; font-size: 21.0pt; language: pt-BR; mso-ascii-font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: +mn-cs; mso-color-index: 1; mso-fareast-font-family: +mn-ea; mso-font-kerning: 12.0pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="direction: ltr; language: pt-BR; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: .3in; margin-top: 6.0pt; mso-line-break-override: none; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-align: center; text-indent: -.3in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; font-size: 21.0pt; language: pt-BR; mso-ascii-font-family: "Century Schoolbook"; mso-bidi-font-family: +mn-cs; mso-color-index: 1; mso-fareast-font-family: +mn-ea; mso-font-kerning: 12.0pt;"><br />
</span></div>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-7808571881888542522011-06-17T16:31:00.000-07:002011-06-17T16:31:16.564-07:00Wiliiam Blake (1757 - 1827)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1B1ZpztawTq70hai6Yj6SHXQawReP-OA-jEJqyEUuopNnNtYzfvLHddmSHSUCK4tOR1OwyQalqX5pbzk1_Ef1DK8xlmPv0a2eEjiXkt9pX-cAKIS97Srpy6V3WmvlQyUf7h7u-mI5uQOF/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1B1ZpztawTq70hai6Yj6SHXQawReP-OA-jEJqyEUuopNnNtYzfvLHddmSHSUCK4tOR1OwyQalqX5pbzk1_Ef1DK8xlmPv0a2eEjiXkt9pX-cAKIS97Srpy6V3WmvlQyUf7h7u-mI5uQOF/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">REFERENCES:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">LIVERGOOD, Norma D. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">William Blake as mystic</b>. </span>Disponível em: <a href="http://www.hermes-press.com/blake.htm"><span style="color: windowtext;">http://www.hermes-press.com/blake.htm</span></a>. <span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Acesso em 10 jun 2011.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">THE TYGER. Disponível em: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Tyger"><span style="color: windowtext;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki//The_Tyger</span></a>. <span class="MsoHyperlink"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: windowtext; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Acesso em 11 jun 2011.</span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">ANALYSIS AND COMENTARY OF THE TYGER BY WILLIAM BLAKE. </span>Disponível em: <a href="http://mural.uv.es/ewilcan/blake.html"><span style="color: windowtext;">http://mural.uv.es/ewilcan/blake.html</span></a>. <span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Acesso em 10 jun 2011.</span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><br />
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</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Cecilia.</span></span></div>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-64067845670787354882011-06-15T19:13:00.000-07:002011-06-15T19:13:40.085-07:00Emily Dickinson Museum.<div style="text-align: justify;">I will tell the truth: I could never really understand her poems... Some of them are really beautiful, and in a personal perspective they talk to me deeply. But when I try to rationalize it... it is almost impossible. However, even the critics, the people specialized in literature have problems with it, so I'm not that bad, I guess.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsGfgpgjISYoyUlkdR1jzoHAUU1vEfLvvafI0kKntCr0odxXNsGqTwquY9NrzKOKbtTzJoyBEfhzZeVsCjtEPk3f0Ln_0Hq1Fm69vMMXDDsbbLchyphenhyphenyS-7rLqczI-oKEVpVOV0TXieCdcQp/s1600/fascicle84.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsGfgpgjISYoyUlkdR1jzoHAUU1vEfLvvafI0kKntCr0odxXNsGqTwquY9NrzKOKbtTzJoyBEfhzZeVsCjtEPk3f0Ln_0Hq1Fm69vMMXDDsbbLchyphenhyphenyS-7rLqczI-oKEVpVOV0TXieCdcQp/s320/fascicle84.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emily's manuscripts</td></tr>
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Emily Dickinson wrote most of her poems alone in her room, and she did not want much publicity, maybe she was insecure, or maybe it was difficult to be a poet during her lifetime, we don't know... </div><div style="text-align: justify;">She wrote over 1.800 poems (oh my GOD!) and just few, really few of them were published in life.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As this domestic environment was almost 100% of the poets life, the University of Amherst created a museum with part of the Dickinson's family properties: the house where Emily lived and her brother's house.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5iBGx4QcWEs3RX0O2rwhKk_01dmSbAnjSXlrk-EwRFJyqlxoGABLw8lZDaP4aGRLOF1VW-uC3GKTahv-DX635om5TwSiA8EIQ12lpN4uHOpb-ZUqimTXBR597NO9hmpzSS8iuHvCufDgm/s1600/Homestead-1858-lithograph.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5iBGx4QcWEs3RX0O2rwhKk_01dmSbAnjSXlrk-EwRFJyqlxoGABLw8lZDaP4aGRLOF1VW-uC3GKTahv-DX635om5TwSiA8EIQ12lpN4uHOpb-ZUqimTXBR597NO9hmpzSS8iuHvCufDgm/s320/Homestead-1858-lithograph.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #745b2c; font-family: Georgia, Verdana; font-style: italic; line-height: 18px;">The Homestead, 1858 lithograph</span></td></tr>
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<blockquote><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 1.2em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.6em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="drop-cap" style="color: #333333; float: left; font: normal normal normal 390%/normal Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 40px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 4px; margin-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">W</span><span class="lead-in" style="color: #333333; font: normal normal bold 85%/normal Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: uppercase;">ELCOME TO THE EMILY DICKINSON MUSEUM: THE HOMESTEAD AND THE EVERGREENS! </span><br />
The Emily Dickinson Museum comprises two historic houses in the center of Amherst, Massachusetts associated with the poet Emily Dickinson and members of her family during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The Homestead was the birthplace and home of the poet Emily Dickinson. The Evergreens, next door, was home to her brother Austin, his wife Susan, and their three children.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 1.2em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.6em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"></div><table border="0" class="right-aligned-table" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; float: right; font-family: Georgia, 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 25px; margin-left: 15px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; width: 200px;"><tbody style="border-top-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-top-style: solid; border-top-width: 1px;">
<tr><td style="padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 2px; padding-right: 2px; padding-top: 2px;"><img alt="Emily Dickinson Museum logo" height="302" src="http://www.emilydickinsonmuseum.org/ed/files/about_the_museum/EDMlogo.jpg" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(182, 164, 137); border-bottom-style: double; border-bottom-width: 3px; border-color: initial; border-color: initial; border-left-color: rgb(182, 164, 137); border-left-style: double; border-left-width: 3px; border-right-color: rgb(182, 164, 137); border-right-style: double; border-right-width: 3px; border-style: initial; border-top-color: rgb(182, 164, 137); border-top-style: double; border-top-width: 3px; border-width: initial; padding-bottom: 1px; padding-left: 1px; padding-right: 1px; padding-top: 1px;" title="Emily Dickinson Museum logo" width="147" /></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 1.2em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.6em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 1.2em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.6em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">The Museum was created in 2003 when the two houses merged under the ownership of Amherst College. Its mission is to educate diverse audiences about Emily Dickinson’s life, family, creative work, times, and enduring relevance, and to preserve and interpret the Homestead and The Evergreens as historical resources for the benefit of scholars and the general public.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 1.2em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.6em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">In just a few short years the Emily Dickinson Museum has established a vibrant presence and ambitious program for encouraging a broad appreciation for this remarkable poet's unparalleled work. A few of the Museum's most noteworthy accomplishments include:</div><ul style="font-family: Georgia, 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.5em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><li style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: url(http://www.emilydickinsonmuseum.org/sites/all/themes/EmilyDickinson/images/bullet.png); background-origin: initial; background-position: 1px 0.35em; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; list-style-image: none; list-style-type: none; margin-bottom: 0.15em; margin-left: 0.5em; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.15em; padding-bottom: 0.2em; padding-left: 1.5em; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">creating four distinctive tours that present the story of Emily Dickinson from a variety of engaging perspectives.</li>
<li style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: url(http://www.emilydickinsonmuseum.org/sites/all/themes/EmilyDickinson/images/bullet.png); background-origin: initial; background-position: 1px 0.35em; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; list-style-image: none; list-style-type: none; margin-bottom: 0.15em; margin-left: 0.5em; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.15em; padding-bottom: 0.2em; padding-left: 1.5em; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">designing lively programs--from poetry marathons and an annual 19th-century children's circus to rock concerts, lectures and hands-on workshops--to attract a wide and diverse audience.</li>
<li style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: url(http://www.emilydickinsonmuseum.org/sites/all/themes/EmilyDickinson/images/bullet.png); background-origin: initial; background-position: 1px 0.35em; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; list-style-image: none; list-style-type: none; margin-bottom: 0.15em; margin-left: 0.5em; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.15em; padding-bottom: 0.2em; padding-left: 1.5em; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">installing the Museum's first professionally-designed interpretive exhibit, "my Verse is alive," about the early publication of Dickinson's poetry.</li>
<li style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: url(http://www.emilydickinsonmuseum.org/sites/all/themes/EmilyDickinson/images/bullet.png); background-origin: initial; background-position: 1px 0.35em; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; list-style-image: none; list-style-type: none; margin-bottom: 0.15em; margin-left: 0.5em; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.15em; padding-bottom: 0.2em; padding-left: 1.5em; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">establishing a national program of intensive professional development workshops for K-12 teachers.</li>
<li style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: url(http://www.emilydickinsonmuseum.org/sites/all/themes/EmilyDickinson/images/bullet.png); background-origin: initial; background-position: 1px 0.35em; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; list-style-image: none; list-style-type: none; margin-bottom: 0.15em; margin-left: 0.5em; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.15em; padding-bottom: 0.2em; padding-left: 1.5em; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">completing a series of planning documents to guide long-term restoration of both historic houses and the grounds.</li>
<li style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: url(http://www.emilydickinsonmuseum.org/sites/all/themes/EmilyDickinson/images/bullet.png); background-origin: initial; background-position: 1px 0.35em; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; list-style-image: none; list-style-type: none; margin-bottom: 0.15em; margin-left: 0.5em; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.15em; padding-bottom: 0.2em; padding-left: 1.5em; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">restoring the Homestead's exterior to its authentic Dickinson-era color scheme.</li>
<li style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: url(http://www.emilydickinsonmuseum.org/sites/all/themes/EmilyDickinson/images/bullet.png); background-origin: initial; background-position: 1px 0.35em; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; list-style-image: none; list-style-type: none; margin-bottom: 0.15em; margin-left: 0.5em; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.15em; padding-bottom: 0.2em; padding-left: 1.5em; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">enhancing the mechanical systems, fire detection systems, and drainage systems to promote long-term safety and preservation of the historic houses and collections.</li>
</ul></blockquote><br />
For those who want to know more about it, please access <a href="http://www.emilydickinsonmuseum.org/">http://www.emilydickinsonmuseum.org/</a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i>And that's all folks,</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i>Bárbara Prado</i></span>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-91932282779545128092011-06-15T18:50:00.000-07:002011-06-15T18:50:22.561-07:00Sylvia, The movie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLE95Iu491EwR56Fdd4dvUisKpKdQRzCcZoaKWrjuR7f-SUCt_NyzGqekO5hZ5qN-ZFOm2uwnp-ft1ggnxmk72RlEyR-62nfQJoAL2LYTAoeZG4Jo4rhzvPBwjai0emxBOvPBptVLwNJ0Z/s1600/Sylvia+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLE95Iu491EwR56Fdd4dvUisKpKdQRzCcZoaKWrjuR7f-SUCt_NyzGqekO5hZ5qN-ZFOm2uwnp-ft1ggnxmk72RlEyR-62nfQJoAL2LYTAoeZG4Jo4rhzvPBwjai0emxBOvPBptVLwNJ0Z/s400/Sylvia+%25281%2529.jpg" width="268" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As we saw in class, Sylvia Plath was an extremally confessional poet. Her art if full of references to her own life and children... to her husband, to her own carrer. For those who don't know, Sylvia commited suicide in 1963.</div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTn5ves9QcYbgMel78B2mmY6NfIPIUhkitveXeN_jQypz7JTTuFJ7bXpEcRlHrPky59EWk-hs55xKyamj4_6g5UOzQbCvPY8wiBWQR5wptwwXZLoMEQk-zfw2ha8pCqP33jrpRzAOCafZ/s1600/sylvia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTn5ves9QcYbgMel78B2mmY6NfIPIUhkitveXeN_jQypz7JTTuFJ7bXpEcRlHrPky59EWk-hs55xKyamj4_6g5UOzQbCvPY8wiBWQR5wptwwXZLoMEQk-zfw2ha8pCqP33jrpRzAOCafZ/s320/sylvia.jpg" width="314" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sylvia and her kids.</td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">If you are interested in her life, I've been for some time, you can watch the movie<i> Sylvia</i>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Although not a master piece, the movie tells in a simple manner tha complicated life of the poet. Since when she met her future hurband for the first time, during College at Cambridge University, until her suicide, the movie shows her insatisfaction with the press during the first years of her carrer, her deep sadness evoluting to depression, her unhealthy relationship with her husband, Ted Hughes, also a poet, the life with her kids. It is a good point to start knowing her.</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTvl14CiO9hz-sgtam7gTxLgOERhEl9C46YPLgfdlN9IukVMmcYw_e5ruzEIOYQAoB-JpaU75AzbG6_RCcMhXAIE9iC0z-yLQDQqR-kIamypb8CN7M5Z4txli8uHjGjN7rQhYnhXTGaOnx/s1600/plath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTvl14CiO9hz-sgtam7gTxLgOERhEl9C46YPLgfdlN9IukVMmcYw_e5ruzEIOYQAoB-JpaU75AzbG6_RCcMhXAIE9iC0z-yLQDQqR-kIamypb8CN7M5Z4txli8uHjGjN7rQhYnhXTGaOnx/s1600/plath.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Real Sylvia</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgedRXqbC1SlXmbhwDKQx3rAf1HGzfgDUl29_T3Md4NgfNU7KBerpMRIr_cu2v4HLOAGRxSrVSoAzbcCDkWtPs83FRhjjrQoc1WlWFH0fYlG0IlauuLg9C_Acc5Yr_mu14ARiPtGzvFhU3M/s1600/Pathrow+as+Sylvia1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgedRXqbC1SlXmbhwDKQx3rAf1HGzfgDUl29_T3Md4NgfNU7KBerpMRIr_cu2v4HLOAGRxSrVSoAzbcCDkWtPs83FRhjjrQoc1WlWFH0fYlG0IlauuLg9C_Acc5Yr_mu14ARiPtGzvFhU3M/s320/Pathrow+as+Sylvia1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gwyneth as Sylvia<br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">They could have chosen a better actress to interpret her than the lack of talent Gwyneth Paltrow, but we forgive them, rsrsrs. The girl did her best.</div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqy5NhvETLIXxSwk0CC7UDxNADnsMM4rZ1nxOFxh8-LNUSqHHxm7VFZNLL2BQzflo8Ym4yKTo3UQXfMC1bahiBqnBnIK2bW3bRdxi-A-EKeHsNstMvhfaKKZFsPExo3Pu-P2Fpv04P9Um/s1600/plath+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqy5NhvETLIXxSwk0CC7UDxNADnsMM4rZ1nxOFxh8-LNUSqHHxm7VFZNLL2BQzflo8Ym4yKTo3UQXfMC1bahiBqnBnIK2bW3bRdxi-A-EKeHsNstMvhfaKKZFsPExo3Pu-P2Fpv04P9Um/s320/plath+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Real couple: Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUgISA-MDmEqRXlUrzGKmvw59ZMXgcXdkcrNfGKx7qdKR0eJUWohPm47hFZ360_x__35vjMwfqeAPW23NqgltCHOmfAUb4SrhjCq6eaTn9mRP_T3irsgEhTwZQ2BG7O-EsNNilDnq-K4EV/s1600/sylvia_movie_wallpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUgISA-MDmEqRXlUrzGKmvw59ZMXgcXdkcrNfGKx7qdKR0eJUWohPm47hFZ360_x__35vjMwfqeAPW23NqgltCHOmfAUb4SrhjCq6eaTn9mRP_T3irsgEhTwZQ2BG7O-EsNNilDnq-K4EV/s1600/sylvia_movie_wallpaper.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Movie couple: Gwyneth Paltrow and Daniel Craig</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.futuremovies.co.uk/review.asp?ID=142">Here</a> is a good review on the movie. And <a href="http://polifonias.wordpress.com/2010/12/20/p-s-eu-te-amava-ass-sylvia-plath/">here</a>, a wonderful text about her, in portuguese.<br />
<br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">And that's all, folks.</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Bárbara Prado</span></i>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-83038842942393529672011-06-15T16:49:00.000-07:002011-06-15T16:49:10.855-07:00The Ghost Song, by Jim Morrison<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As we have presented in class today, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Ghost Song</i> is a song performed by Jim Morrison (1943 - 1971), with music by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Doors</i>, a band from the 1960’s that is still very well known until nowadays. However, its lyrics was originally conceived by Morrison as a poem, which he wrote and recorded like a recital in a poetry session. It was strongly influenced by an event that occured during his childhood, in which he witnessed an accident that killed many Indians. Here it is:</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="nospacing" style="color: #990000; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;"><span class="apple-style-span"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">Awake.</span></i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Shake dreams from your hair</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">my pretty child, my sweet one.</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Choose the day and choose the sign of your day</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">the day's divinity</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">First thing you see.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="apple-style-span">A vast radiant beach and cooled jeweled moon</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Couples naked race down by it's quiet side</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">And we laugh like soft, mad children</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Smug in the wooly cotton brains of infancy</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">The music and voices are all around us.</span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Choose they croon the Ancient Ones</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">the time has come again</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">choose now, they croon</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">beneath the moon</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">beside an ancient lake<br />
<br />
Enter again the sweet forest</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Enter the hot dream</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Come with us</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">everything is broken up and dances.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Indians scattered,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">On dawn's highway bleeding</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Ghosts crowd the young child's,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Fragile eggshell mind</span><br />
<br />
<span class="apple-style-span">We have assembled inside,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">This ancient and insane theater</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">To propagate our lust for our life,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">And flee the swarming wisdom of the streets.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="apple-style-span">The barns have stormed</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">The windows kept,</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">And only one of all the rest</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">To dance and save us</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">From the divine mockery of words,</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Music inflames temperament.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Ooh great creator of being</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Grant us one more hour,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">To perform our art</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">And perfect our lives.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<br />
<span class="apple-style-span">We need great golden copulations.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="apple-style-span">When the true kings murders</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Are allowed to roam free,</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">A thousand magicians arise in the land.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Where are the feast we are promised?</span><br />
<br />
<span class="apple-style-span">One more thing</span><br />
<br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Thank you oh lord</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">For the white blind light</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Thank you oh lord</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">For the white blind light</span><br />
<br />
<span class="apple-style-span">A city rises from the sea</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">I had a splitting headache</span></span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></i></div><span style="color: #990000;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">From which the future's made.</span></i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><br />
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then, in 1978, seven years after Morrison's death, his mates from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Doors</i> decided to turn it into a song, mixing his voice from the poetry recording session together with a melody. The result can be heard in the video provided in the link below: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=azCon4I7fWA">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=azCon4I7fWA</a> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">Posted by Fernanda Pedrecal and Marcos Costa </span></div>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-90507854923496539452011-06-15T15:13:00.001-07:002011-06-15T15:13:54.582-07:00<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px;">Conversation</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px;">The tumult in the heart <br />
keeps asking questions. <br />
And then it stops and undertakes to answer <br />
in the same tone of voice. <br />
No one could tell the difference. <br />
<br />
Uninnocent, these conversations start, <br />
and then engage the senses, <br />
only half-meaning to. <br />
And then there is no choice, <br />
and then there is no sense; <br />
<br />
until a name <br />
and all its connotation are the same. <br />
<br />
</span>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-33184164224816820542011-06-15T15:12:00.000-07:002011-06-15T15:12:09.538-07:00Elizabeth BishopMy apresentation will be about Elizabeth Bishop, so I brought to you a poem wrote by her to ilustrate it.English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-82355667186392896632011-06-15T10:41:00.000-07:002011-06-15T10:41:34.606-07:00Jackie Kay: Interview<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #414b56; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"></span><br />
<div class="PostContent" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 10px;"><b><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua';"><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua';"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'; font-size: x-small;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxTz9v2F0pWS_7W8tKzndGnYTmjTsL4kUmjPvK3vDQX8LOQZoWMFE6m63zjnKm0U-3DuhX4dYBaUaLcusryGKrJGdC9qVf-3aFoQaUy9B14x7QkZz2nIqcjPP6mzU92FlfPPICQNAmBl4i/s1600/kay05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxTz9v2F0pWS_7W8tKzndGnYTmjTsL4kUmjPvK3vDQX8LOQZoWMFE6m63zjnKm0U-3DuhX4dYBaUaLcusryGKrJGdC9qVf-3aFoQaUy9B14x7QkZz2nIqcjPP6mzU92FlfPPICQNAmBl4i/s320/kay05.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px; text-align: justify;"><em><br />
</em></div></span></span></span></span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #414b56; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua';"><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua';"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'; font-size: x-small;"><div style="display: inline !important; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px; text-align: justify;"><em>Jackie Kay, born in Edinburgh, Scotland in 1961 to a Scottish mother and a Nigerian father, is unabashedly lesbian. Tracing her roots, she eventually met her biological daddy in a hotel room in Abuja. But it was no sweet re-union of father and daughter. Adopted by a white couple at birth and brought up in Glasgow, she studied at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama and Stirling University where she read English, and has over the years garnered a string of awards for her literary exploits, starting with The Adoption Papers (1991), a collection of poetry that deals with an adopted child's search for a cultural identity. Associate Editor, <b>Taiwo Ogundipe</b></em></div></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #414b56; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua';"><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua';"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'; font-size: x-small;"><div style="display: inline !important; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px; text-align: justify;"><em> had a chat with her during her recent visit to Nigeria as a resource person at the writers' workshop organized by Farafina Trust in collaboration with Nigeria’s celebrated writer, Chimamanda Adichie.</em></div></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></div><div class="PostContent" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #414b56; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua';"><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua';"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div align="justify" style="display: inline !important; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><br />
</div></span></span></span></b></span></div><div class="PostContent" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #414b56; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua';"><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua';"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div align="justify" style="display: inline !important; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;">Let’s have some insight into your family background in the interestingly unconventional but stimulating home setting, as an observer once described it.</div></span></span></span></b></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #414b56;"><div class="PostContent" style="line-height: 15px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 10px;"><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I grew up with my mum and dad, a Scottish socialist. My childhood was like a calendar of events. In January we would celebrate Burns’ Day, which is Robert Burns’, the Scottish poet’s birthday. In May, we would do May Day. On New Year Day, we used to sing all kinds of songs. We also used to have political marches. We just had great time. I grew up with a very political understanding of the world and also it was a lot of fun.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Did you grow up to feel any bitterness towards your biological parents for allowing you to be adopted by other parents?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I don’t feel bitterness, because when a woman gives her baby out, it must be a very hard thing to do. I’ve got a baby myself, a 21 year old son. I find it difficult giving him up, I couldn’t have done it.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">During your reading on stage a while ago, you talked about the unusual attitude exhibited by your father, who had long been separated from you, during your meeting in an Abuja hotel room. Tell us more about this.</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I was a bit shocked at first because he spent the whole time trying to persuade me to move to his church rather than just tell me what it was like meeting my mother, tell me a bit about himself, a bit about his family and a bit about his children. I was expecting that kind of personal conversation. However, he started the conversion with everything about God, and trying to get me to join his denomination of the born again Christian church. That was in a way deeply disturbing to me. He was trying to cleanse me, because he saw me as a sinner. It was traumatic for me although I told it on stage during my reading as a kind of funny story because I like to protect people from such trauma. I think one should always be careful with an audience because people are vulnerable. The experience was deeply upsetting and I did come back to Nigeria the last time, questioning the meaning of everything.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">How do you currently feel about the whole thing?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Now I feel a lot better because I have lots of very great Nigerian friends. I have people who have appreciated and welcomed me.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">You were quoted somewhere as saying that your initial ambition was to become an actress. How do you think that would have turned out? Were you passionate about it?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I love acting. And I loved the idea because I’ve got a side to my personality that is very extrovert. The interesting thing about being a writer is that you have to be both of an introvert and an extrovert. It’s a kind of Jekyll and Hyde personality in a way. I used to go for auditions for parts but at one time a woman said to me, I am sorry you are very good at acting but you are just the wrong colour. So, I decided I will write. The first thing I ever wrote were plays about black people who came from different countries where I gave them complex characters to play because I was fed up with black people always having one dimensional roles to play.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Do you feel nostalgic about your acting stint?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yeah, I do, I feel nostalgic about the stage, the red curtain, encore. I did love to be an actress.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The theme of an adopted child searching for cultural identity characterises your first major work, a collection of poetry entitled <i>The Adoption Papers,</i> which seems biographical considering your own life story. Would you say you have found your own identity now and stopped searching?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yeah, I don’t think I ever stopped when I published it years ago. It’s an ongoing story. It never finishes. Even as I speak the scenes are unfolding about my story, things I just learnt yesterday or the day before. It doesn’t ever finish. It doesn’t have any resolution, and it is a mistake to think that the story has ended. What you can do is to embrace it as an ongoing story and see a positive thing in it. And, I say it is quite an exciting thing to be adopted. You have two sets of parents. You have two potential different lives. It’s a writer’s dream in a lot of ways.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">You said you are going to write about your experience up to date.</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yes, it going to come out next year, it is going to be published in May. It is entitled <i>Red Dust Road.</i></span></div><i><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Your first novel, Trumpet is also characterized by a form of identity crisis, which is sexual. It was said to be inspired by the life of a male musician who was discovered to be in fact a woman when he died. What informed this?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I’m fascinated in people who want to shift and take on different identities. And I’m very interested in the fluidity of identity. I am a gay woman myself. I am openly gay and I like being a little bit different, I like being a lesbian. It’s been fun, I found women very attractive. But more than that, I like to imagine myself in the shoes of different people. Being a writer is all about putting yourself in other people’s shoes. That is the first rule of writing. You imagine what are these shoes like? What does it feel like being in them? I find these endlessly fascinating.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A critic once described you as a writer who has moved from being a marginal voice to being a national treasure, do you consider the MBE Award given to you as an affirmation of this?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The MBE is an award from the queen. I had to agonize over it. The award tags one as a member of the British Empire and being Scottish, it is problematic for me politically. But, on the other hand, I know for you to have been put forward for an MBE, there are lots of people in the poetic community that have recommended you and if you refuse it, you will actually be turning down their voice. Actually, you can have a bit more power to do good if you accept such award. So I gave it a lot of thoughts and I decided to accept the award. And I was pleased to get it.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Are you yearning for a similar Nigerian recognition, being your country of paternal origin?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yes, I would like people to see me as a Nigerian. My mother was Scottish. In Scotland, the country recognizes me as Scottish. In Nigeria the country also recognizes me as Nigerian because I am half Nigerian, half Scottish. Yeah, I’m not going to be an African writer in the way that some writers are African writers because what I write about is limited by my experience. If Nigerians will open their arms to me, I will open my arms to them. In fact, I’ve already opened my arms to Nigeria and I will like Nigeria to open its arms to me. Yesterday, I was at the market and I was telling some guys about going to my father’s village and when I mentioned the name of the village, they exclaimed, "you are my sister, you are my sister". And that was so moving and loving for me because after having been made invisible by a father who would not acknowledge you, it was so very nice to get acknowledgement from other people.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">How much of Nigerian writings are you conversant with?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A lot, yeah, one of the poems I have ever read was by Wole Soyinka, <i>Telephone Conversation</i>. It was in school and nobody in the class could understand the meaning of the poem. I understood the poem and people used to ask me in school, "Are you both of the same colour. It was weird but people used to ask me. I understood the poem and it was a kind of revelation to me.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">How did you meet Chimamanda?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">She was coming to London and I was asked to interview and present her as a guest before a live audience during a programme. I already knew her work. So I just reread it, then I interviewed her. It was quite a close, intimate interview. A lot of people said it was a most-relaxing and open-ended thing. After that, I was asked to do a bit of scripting in Newcastle and I interviewed her there as well. And at one time, we were all in London. We were both so all-together. I mean with Chimamanda - we kind of struck of a chord right away. She’s been an amazingly inspiring person and she’s a very self-possessed young woman. And she’s got an incredible talent. And I think she’s incredibly generous with her talent, which is unusual, because a lot of writers are just in it for themselves. To most, it’s an ego thing. For her to have collaborated with the Farafina Trust in bringing all of us here for this workshop, she’s doing something to help others. I think that’s an incredible thing. I am personally grateful to her for giving me an opportunity to reach the Nigerian audience through the workshop. She’s magical and mysterious. She makes things happen. She’s a treasure we should all be thankful to.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Which of the genres are you most comfortable with?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I just think of myself as a writer. So, whichever book I’m writing, I’m writing my best. I’ve written probably more of poetry. I think probably more people think of me as a poet.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">You were also described in one write-up as having a deep love of jazz music. Has music had any influence on your writing?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yes to an extent. Music represents unsayable things. It speaks to the silences. So, I like the things you can say and the things you can’t say.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">How do you motivate yourself to write? What is your writing regime like?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Oh well, I always have a writing regime I mean to stick to but I’m not very disciplined in it.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Do your writings reflect your real life situations?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">That comes to me as an interesting question. I am interested in the dichotomy between one thing and the other. And because when you are adopted, you have an imaginary mother and a real mother. And your real mother is actually the adopted mother. So people say to you, how do you know your real mother? You’ll say your real mother is the one that brought me up. So, I think when you are adopted, you question the notion of what makes real and what makes imaginary, what makes fact, what makes fiction, what makes your own country, what makes another country. Where is the border? And to me the interesting things go on in the border between the ordinary and the extraordinary, the real and the strange, the fact and the fiction. That’s back. I’m also a highly imaginative person. I don’t think if I haven’t been brought up in the way I have been, I don’t know if I would have been a writer.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Tell us about your son</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">He is lovely. He is pursuing a Spanish degree. I imagine he might be a film director or he might go into writing. I don’t know what he’ll do. But whatever he’ll do, he’ll do it well because he’s a young man of credible self-possession. I believe he is going to turn out a more special person than I am. He is 21 years old now.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">What is your overall vision? Are you aiming to win the Nobel Prize in future?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Laughs) No, I’m not hoping for that.</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Why? Are you saying winning award is a bad idea like some writers do say?</span></div></b><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I don’t know if it’s good or bad but I’m superstitious. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to think about what award I should get. But I’m not really too worried about awards. I’m more worried about if I could find a way to bring into the world the books that I want to bring into the world. It’s a bit like you bring children into the world. And you want these books to be cherished and loved by readers. And readers are more important than any awards. Honestly, they are. So if a reader comes up and presents to me ‘this book’, this means such a lot to me. That’s why I write. I don’t really write to get prizes. If prizes happen, that’s a bonus. It’s not really important in my thinking. I’m not really thinking in advance about that</span></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div align="justify" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">What do you essentially want to achieve with your writing?</span></div></b><div style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I want to achieve a conversation with my readers, to really get along like we are in a setting with a glass of wine together, intimate, revelatory, where both of us can have a moment of epiphany, where both of us can discover and recognise something that we hadn’t known before, where both of us can be surprised.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Presentation's References</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">OQUNDIPE, Taiwo. In: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Nation</i>. Available in: <</span><a href="http://thenationonlineng.net/web2/articles/26126/1/My-Nigerian-father-ashamed-of-me-says-Scottish-writer-Jackie-Kay/Page1.html"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">http://thenationonlineng.net/web2/articles/26126/1/My-Nigerian-father-ashamed-of-me-says-Scottish-writer-Jackie-Kay/Page1.html</span></a><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">> Access:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>June, 13, 2011.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Poetry Archive. Available in: < </span><a href="http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/trackListing.do;jsessionid=73E25EAE73BD7C40AC1A104661A0CEEA?poetId=5682"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/trackListing.do;jsessionid=73E25EAE73BD7C40AC1A104661A0CEEA?poetId=5682</span></a><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">> Access: June, 11, 2011.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Contemporary Writers. In: British Council. Available: < </span><a href="http://www.contemporarywriters.com/authors/?p=auth54"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">http://www.contemporarywriters.com/authors/?p=auth54</span></a><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> > Access: June, 11, 2011. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Gender Forum: An Internet Journal for Gender Studies. Available in: < </span><a href="http://www.genderforum.org/no_cache/issues/raceing-questions-iii/the-body-is-a-bloody-battlefield/"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">http://www.genderforum.org/no_cache/issues/raceing-questions-iii/the-body-is-a-bloody-battlefield/</span></a><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">> Access: June, 13, 2011.<o:p></o:p></span></div></span></div><div><br />
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</div></i></div></span>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-77860083831758727922011-06-13T06:44:00.000-07:002011-06-13T06:44:02.621-07:00Answer to a Sonnet by John Keats<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now I know I laughed for no reason</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I hope God understands me</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Maybe it was a trick by the demon</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Oh! Finally now I can see!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now sad and alone no more!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That mortal pain I’ll never fell</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Live in the darkness? What for?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Enjoy life is a much better deal</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I answer again: I laughed for no reason </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And must there be a reason to laugh?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I left behind the rainy season</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Threw away all the sad photographs.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Verse, fame and beauty can stimulate adrenalin</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But laughing is still the best medicine!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial;">By Fernanda Pedrecal and Marcos Costa </span></div>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-76277409711900599102011-06-12T11:43:00.000-07:002011-06-12T11:43:12.845-07:00William Blake (1757 - 1827)<div style="border-bottom: solid #CCCCCC 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid #CCCCCC .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0cm 0cm 3.0pt 0cm;"> <div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; line-height: 18.75pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid #CCCCCC .75pt; mso-outline-level: 2; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 3.0pt 0cm; padding: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><b></b></span></span></div><div style="border-bottom: solid #CCCCCC 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid #CCCCCC .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0cm 0cm 3.0pt 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b> <div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; line-height: 18.75pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid #CCCCCC .75pt; mso-outline-level: 2; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 3.0pt 0cm; padding: 0cm;"><b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jerusalem<o:p></o:p></span></b></div></b></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b> <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.75pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And did those feet in ancient time<br />
Walk upon England's mountains green:<br />
And was the holy Lamb of God<br />
On England's pleasant pastures seen?<br />
<br />
And did the Countenance Divine<br />
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?<br />
And was Jerusalem builded here,<br />
Among these dark Satanic Mills?<br />
<br />
Bring me my Bow of Burning gold:<br />
Bring me my Arrows of desire:<br />
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold:<br />
Bring me my Chariot of fire:<br />
<br />
I will not cease from Mental Fight<br />
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:<br />
Till we have built Jerusalem,<br />
In England's green & pleasant land.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.75pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i>William Blake (1757 - 1827)</i><o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The poem</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></span><em><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jerusalem</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(1804), by William Blake, is actually an excerpt from the preface to one of his "prophetic books",</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></span><em><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Milton</span></em><span class="apple-style-span"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">.</span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Jerusalem is here the symbolic residence of a humanity freed of the inter-related chains of commerce, British imperialism, and war. Blake's "mental fight" is directed against these chains. In his</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><em>Blake: Prophet Against Empire</em><span class="apple-style-span">, David Erdman tells us that Blake's "dark, Satanic Mills" are "mills that produce dark metal,</span></span> iron and steel, for diabolic purposes . . . . London . . . was a war arsenal and the hub of the machinery of war, and Blake uses the symbol in that sense."iron and steel, for diabolic purposes . . . . London . . . was a war arsenal and the hub of the machinery of war, and Blake uses the symbol in that sense."<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: windowtext; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="http://www.progressiveliving.org/william_blake_poetry_jerusalem.htm">http://www.progressiveliving.org/william_blake_poetry_jerusalem.htm</a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cecília</div></b></span></div>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-76804288241654117862011-06-12T06:58:00.000-07:002011-06-12T06:58:54.008-07:00Fansan Paul Adewale<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoNormalTable" style="mso-cellspacing: 0cm; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184; width: 100.0%;"><tbody>
<tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0;"> <td style="padding: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm; width: 331.2pt;" width="442"><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoNormalTable" style="mso-cellspacing: 0cm; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184; width: 100.0%;"><tbody>
<tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;"> <td style="padding: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm; width: 328.05pt;" valign="top" width="437"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.5pt;">He is a wonderful nigerian poet. He describes very well the feelings, pride to be an african and his dream to see Africa a reference to the others nations.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.5pt;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.5pt;">THE PRIDE TO BE AN AFRICAN</span></b></div></td> </tr>
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<tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;"> <td style="padding: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm; width: 22.5pt;" valign="top" width="30"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div></td> <td style="padding: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm; width: 328.05pt;" valign="top" width="437"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">My Africa My Africa My Africa<br />
My Africa of which everybody imitates<br />
My Africa of which culture exceed the Greek<br />
My Africa of which everyone is jealous of<br />
<br />
My Africa My Africa My Africa<br />
My Africa of enormous natural endowment<br />
My Africa of Non-Violence<br />
My Africa of Amorous populates<br />
<br />
My Africa My Africa My Africa<br />
My Africa of patriot men and women<br />
My Africa of shelter and vintage hospitality<br />
My Africa of great ancestral mythology<br />
<br />
My Africa My Africa My Africa<br />
My Africa that bore fruits of black diamonds<br />
My Africa which is a gift to the whole world<br />
My Africa of great leadership<br />
<br />
My Africa My Africa My Africa<br />
My Africa of learned youths<br />
My Africa of a bright generation<br />
My Africa true tradition<br />
<br />
My Africa My Africa My Africa<br />
My Africa of black pageant women<br />
My Africa of strong men<br />
My Africa from who we all hail from<br />
For every African deserves a Nobel Prize in<br />
Existence.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 12.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"></span></div><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoNormalTable" style="mso-cellspacing: 0cm; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184; width: 100.0%;"><tbody>
<tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0;"> <td style="padding: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm; width: 331.2pt;" width="442"><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoNormalTable" style="mso-cellspacing: 0cm; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184; width: 100.0%;"><tbody>
<tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;"> <td style="padding: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm; width: 328.05pt;" valign="top" width="437"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12.5pt;">ODE OF MOTHERHOOD</span></b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div></td> </tr>
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<tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;"> <td style="padding: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm; width: 22.5pt;" valign="top" width="30"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div></td> <td style="padding: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0cm; width: 328.05pt;" valign="top" width="437"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">Failure hunts us<br />
Confused and glazed<br />
Looking into vacancy<br />
As the sun struggle to peep out<br />
From the morning cloud<br />
So we struggle against our unseen failure<br />
<br />
Wouldn’t there be a time we too<br />
Throw caution into winds?</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><br />
Duty for children seems like chains of slavery<br />
Prisoner of our own flesh and blood<br />
We sometimes feel lovely<br />
But with fake enthusiasm<br />
<br />
Motherhood as a sorrowful journey<br />
Motherhood as fighting a ghost<br />
In their whining whispers weeps<br />
Those teeth, those teeth, those teeth<br />
Teeth that suppose to be their pride are neglected<br />
<br />
There will be a time when<br />
The splendour of your beauty will showcase<br />
These roses that are neglected<br />
These roses that are discomforted<br />
These roses that are ugly<br />
<br />
The skill of her peculiar stone<br />
For you coloured love and erased hatred</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><br />
All for the unworthy infants<br />
Was is a cowardice that you protected us<br />
But little did we see in nature that is ours<br />
<br />
Mothers even in death had no peace<br />
You made the world to be a grassier road<br />
Before her wandering feet<br />
Busy old fools giving shelters to the unholy ones<br />
Shine here to us and thou art everywhere<br />
<br />
We and the labouring world are passing by<br />
Like the pale water in their wintry race<br />
Leave and depend on those lonely face<br />
Like water enters a coconut without any knowledge<br />
So our mother watch us without father<br />
<br />
Father in the south with his working doctrine<br />
Mother at the north to lull us to sleep<br />
When day hides<br />
Mother stay awake<br />
When day breaks<br />
Mother stay awake<br />
I will rather come from a woman again<br />
Children crying on top of their voice<br />
Like wind whistling through the window.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div></td> </tr>
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</tbody></table><br />
Posted by Antonio Deodato </td> </tr>
</tbody></table></td> </tr>
</tbody></table>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-52231880240878726792011-06-11T20:42:00.000-07:002011-06-11T20:42:40.190-07:00The unknighty horseunder the blazin´sun<br />
of Nordeste of amaralina<br />
lies a black horse<br />
waiting peacefully for his<br />
knight<br />
tied to a blue<br />
swift prison<br />
fragile as his soul<br />
hopefull, tough.<br />
Adriano Nevez,Lis Machado, Mauricio, Mariluce LemosEnglish Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-54534453396460852452011-06-08T18:30:00.000-07:002011-06-08T18:30:03.794-07:00African Poets<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Summary. Today, 08/06 we saw at the poetry class the African Poets. Two of them are Gcina Mhlophe and Wole Sayinka. I will talk a little bit about the first one. She is from the South Africa and was born in 1959. She has a huge bibliography and appeared in many documentaries and was also indicated to some awards. She is a “freedom fighter, activist, poet, author, storyteller, and other things. She is one of the few women that have “power”, at least by writing, over some dominate men. Her poetry is made to the development of the country, to help people to grow in some way, help the children to read. She uses to tell her stories in four different languages, and one of them is English.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: right;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(Posted By Lis Machado)<o:p></o:p></span></div>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-87366672346813267262011-06-07T15:21:00.000-07:002011-06-07T15:21:14.202-07:00The blue chair and the horseThe chair is blue<br />
The horse is black<br />
<br />
The fields are green<br />
And I am here <br />
<br />
I'm stopped in my dirty place<br />
I have no force to fight<br />
<br />
I have no force to fight for my life<br />
How can I have hope? <br />
<br />
The animals are in jails<br />
And men are observing them<br />
Who are we? <br />
<br />
Who are people?<br />
Nobody can't see me in my lonely jorney<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
By Cecília,Évelim and NaianaEnglish Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-30015295303848527462011-06-06T04:52:00.000-07:002011-06-06T04:53:07.875-07:00Unknown Freedom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9tg6l214ccBuXjopxhf7-vtW6YWLI6OtDhFD4CgA73R5Qi2TkShFWvPNkj2oLKXeWrtQ4kF1snnb7Va3sYG2lsERqtx8q2Y3OG9WEhAqT2-JTya-ZkPe1WVSHYfKNQhKcDhsIocB3hC3m/s1600/image001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9tg6l214ccBuXjopxhf7-vtW6YWLI6OtDhFD4CgA73R5Qi2TkShFWvPNkj2oLKXeWrtQ4kF1snnb7Va3sYG2lsERqtx8q2Y3OG9WEhAqT2-JTya-ZkPe1WVSHYfKNQhKcDhsIocB3hC3m/s320/image001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A horse tied to a plastic chair<br />
Is free to go anywhere<br />
It doesn't move though<br />
Because nobody told him so<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Fernanda Pedrecal and Marcos CostaEnglish Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-8044775975981371352011-06-05T16:04:00.000-07:002011-06-05T16:06:12.407-07:00Love is blindNobody sees <br />
What I see<br />
You are so beautiful<br />
Even if it is only for me<br />
<br />
Nobody knows<br />
What I know<br />
I see what really matters <br />
There is no letters<br />
<br />
Nobody understands <br />
They can't stand<br />
Love is blind<br />
And takes me out of my mind<br />
<br />
Everybody thinks I'm crazy<br />
But I don't care<br />
I love you<br />
There's nothing they can do<br />
<br />
Aline Queiroz<br />
Mariana AldirEnglish Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-27249087333649317872011-06-05T15:38:00.001-07:002011-06-05T15:38:36.438-07:00William Carlos Williams<div align="left" style="padding-left: 14px; padding-top: 13px;"><span style="color: #3c605b; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">The Young Housewife<span style="color: black;"></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; padding-left: 14px; padding-top: 20px;"> At ten AM the young housewife<br />
moves about in negligee behind<br />
the wooden walls of her husband's house.<br />
I pass solitary in my car.<br />
<br />
Then again she comes to the curb<br />
to call the ice-man, fish-man, and stands<br />
shy, uncorseted, tucking in<br />
stray ends of hair, and I compare her<br />
to a fallen leaf.<br />
<br />
The noiseless wheels of my car<br />
rush with a crackling sound over<br />
dried leaves as I bow and pass smiling. </div><div style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; padding-left: 14px; padding-top: 20px;">(Posted by Rafaela Souza) </div>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-11729310505994753022011-06-05T15:20:00.000-07:002011-06-05T15:20:25.489-07:00Ezra Pound<div style="text-align: center;"><span>THE GARDEN</span></div><div> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial;"> (1885-1972)</span></i></b></div><ul><ul><dl><dt><img align="BOTTOM" border="0" height="25" src="http://www.poetry-archive.com/l_pic.gif" width="22" />IKE a skein of loose silk blown against a wall </dt>
<dt>She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens, </dt>
<dt>And she is dying piece-meal </dt>
<dt>of a sort of emotional anemia. </dt>
<dt> </dt>
<dt>And round about there is a rabble </dt>
<dt>Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor. </dt>
<dt>They shall inherit the earth. </dt>
<dt> </dt>
<dt>In her is the end of breeding. </dt>
<dt>Her boredom is exquisite and excessive. </dt>
<dt> </dt>
<dt>She would like some one to speak to her, </dt>
<dt>And is almost afraid that I </dt>
<dt>will commit that indiscretion. </dt>
<dt> </dt>
<dt>(Posted by Rafaela Souza) </dt>
</dl></ul></ul>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-89755009575065936512011-06-05T15:16:00.000-07:002011-06-05T15:16:59.082-07:00Ezra Pound (1885 - 1972)<h3><br />
</h3><div style="text-align: justify;"> Ezra Pound is generally considered the poet most responsible for defining and promoting a modernist aesthetic in poetry. In the early teens of the twentieth century, he opened a seminal exchange of work and ideas between British and American writers, and was famous for the generosity with which he advanced the work of such major contemporaries as W. B. Yeats, <a href="http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/robertfrost">Robert Frost</a>, <a href="http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/williams">William Carlos Williams</a>, <a href="http://www.poetryconnection.net/poets/Marianne_Moore">Marianne Moore</a>, <a href="http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/hd">H. D.</a>, James Joyce, Ernest Hemingway and especially <a href="http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/tseliot">T. S. Eliot</a>. His own significant contributions to poetry begin with his promulgation of <i>Imagism</i>, a movement in poetry which derived its technique from classical Chinese and Japanese poetry - stressing clarity, precision, and economy of language, and foregoing traditional rhyme and meter in order to, in Pound's words, "compose in the sequence of the musical phrase, not in the sequence of the metronome." His later work, for nearly fifty years, focused on the encyclopedic epic poem he entitled <i>The Cantos</i>.</div><div> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Ezra Pound was born in Hailey, Idaho, in 1885. He completed two years of college at the University of Pennsylvania and earned a degree from Hamilton College in 1905. After teaching at Wabash College for two years, he travelled abroad to Spain, Italy and London, where, as the literary executor of the scholar Ernest Fenellosa, he became interested in Japanese and Chinese poetry. He married Dorothy Shakespear in 1914 and became London editor of the <i>Little Review</i> in 1917. In 1924, he moved to Italy; during this period of voluntary exile, Pound became involved in Fascist politics, and did not return to the United States until 1945, when he was arrested on charges of treason for broadcasting Fascist propaganda by radio to the United States during the Second World War. In 1946, he was acquitted, but declared mentally ill and committed to St. Elizabeth's Hospital in Washington, D.C. During his confinement, the jury of the Bollingen-Library of Congress Award (which included a number of the most eminent writers of the time) decided to overlook Pound's political career in the interest of recognizing his poetic achievements, and awarded him the prize for the <i>Pisan Cantos</i> (1948). After continuous appeals from writers won his release from the hospital in 1958, Pound returned to Italy and settled in Venice, where he died, a semi-recluse, in 1972.</div><br />
<span style="color: red;"><b>Reference</b>: </span>http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/ezrapound<br />
<br />
(Posted by Rafaela Souza) <br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-57937028356019274582011-06-05T15:15:00.000-07:002011-06-05T15:17:36.526-07:00Proletarian Portrait- William Carlos Williams<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody>
<tr><td bgcolor="#ffffff" width="5"><br />
</td> <td bgcolor="#ffffff" valign="top" width="355"><br />
</td> <td bgcolor="#ffffff" width="5"><img alt="" height="1" src="http://deklynmorris.tripod.com/imagelib/sitebuilder/layout/spacer.gif" width="1" /></td> <td bgcolor="#ffffff" width="2"><img alt="" height="1" src="http://deklynmorris.tripod.com/imagelib/sitebuilder/layout/spacer.gif" width="1" /></td> <td bgcolor="#ffffff" width="22"><img alt="" height="1" src="http://deklynmorris.tripod.com/imagelib/sitebuilder/layout/spacer.gif" width="1" /></td> <td bgcolor="#ffffff" width="2"><img alt="" height="1" src="http://deklynmorris.tripod.com/imagelib/sitebuilder/layout/spacer.gif" width="1" /></td> <td bgcolor="#ffffff" width="5"><img alt="" height="1" src="http://deklynmorris.tripod.com/imagelib/sitebuilder/layout/spacer.gif" width="1" /></td> <td bgcolor="#ffffff" valign="top" width="355"></td> <td bgcolor="#ffffff" width="5"><img alt="" height="1" src="http://deklynmorris.tripod.com/imagelib/sitebuilder/layout/spacer.gif" width="1" /></td> <td bgcolor="#ffffff" width="2"><img alt="" height="1" src="http://deklynmorris.tripod.com/imagelib/sitebuilder/layout/spacer.gif" width="1" /></td> </tr>
<tr> <td bgcolor="#ffffff" height="5" width="2"><img alt="" height="1" src="http://deklynmorris.tripod.com/imagelib/sitebuilder/layout/spacer.gif" width="1" /></td> <td bgcolor="#ffffff" width="5"><img alt="" height="1" src="http://deklynmorris.tripod.com/imagelib/sitebuilder/layout/spacer.gif" width="1" /></td> <td bgcolor="#ffffff" width="355"></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
A big young bareheaded woman<br />
<br />
in an apron<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Her hair slicked back standing<br />
<br />
on the street<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
One stockinged foot toeing<br />
<br />
the sidewalk<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Her shoe in her hand. Looking<br />
<br />
intently into it<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
She pulls out the paper insole<br />
<br />
to find the nail<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
That has been hurting her<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Posted by Diogo Oliveira</b></div><br />
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody>
<tr><td bgcolor="#ffffff" width="355"></td><td bgcolor="#ffffff" width="355"><img alt="" height="1" src="http://deklynmorris.tripod.com/imagelib/sitebuilder/layout/spacer.gif" width="1" /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-48033933591145708132011-06-04T16:59:00.000-07:002011-06-04T16:59:36.892-07:00LOVE IS BLIND<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Love is blind</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Like a dark side</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Of your poor life</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Like this pool is blue</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Your love makes me feel</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Like a fool</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Love is blind</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>It's not blond or white</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>It's like a knife</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>That kills you under the sunlight</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Thin or fat</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Love is like that</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>It doesn't have to match</b></span><br />
<br />
<br />
Posted by: Amanda Soares, Bárbara Prado, Diogo Oliveira and Rafaela SouzaEnglish Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5330083962989137691.post-65633365569695029652011-06-04T09:57:00.000-07:002011-06-04T09:57:25.660-07:00The Last Rose of Summer - Thomas Moore<table align="CENTER" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="2" style="width: 601px;"><tbody>
<tr align="center"><td><span style="color: #9c9c63;"><b>The Last Rose of Summer</b></span></td></tr>
<tr align="center"><td> </td></tr>
<tr align="center"><td><span style="color: #9c9c63;"><b>Thomas Moore (1779–1852)</b></span></td></tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="CENTER" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" style="width: 601px;"><tbody>
<tr><td><table align="CENTER" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td>’T<span>IS</span> the last rose of summer</td><td><a href="" name="1"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td> Left blooming alone;</td><td><a href="" name="2"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td>All her lovely companions</td><td><a href="" name="3"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td> Are faded and gone;</td><td><a href="" name="4"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td>No flower of her kindred,</td><td align="RIGHT" valign="TOP"><span><a href="" name="5"><i> 5</i></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td> No rosebud is nigh,</td><td><a href="" name="6"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td>To reflect back her blushes,</td><td><a href="" name="7"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td> To give sigh for sigh.</td><td><a href="" name="8"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td>I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one!</td><td><a href="" name="9"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td> To pine on the stem;</td><td align="RIGHT" valign="TOP"><span><a href="" name="10"><i> 10</i></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td>Since the lovely are sleeping,</td><td><a href="" name="11"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td> Go, sleep thou with them.</td><td><a href="" name="12"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Thus kindly I scatter</td><td><a href="" name="13"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td> Thy leaves o’er the bed,</td><td><a href="" name="14"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Where thy mates of the garden</td><td align="RIGHT" valign="TOP"><span><a href="" name="15"><i> 15</i></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td> Lie scentless and dead.</td><td><a href="" name="16"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td> </td></tr>
<tr><td>So soon may I follow,</td><td><a href="" name="17"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td> When friendships decay,</td><td><a href="" name="18"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td>And from Love’s shining circle</td><td><a href="" name="19"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td> The gems drop away.</td><td align="RIGHT" valign="TOP"><span><a href="" name="20"><i> 20</i></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td>When true hearts lie withered</td><td><a href="" name="21"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td> And fond ones are flown,</td><td><a href="" name="22"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Oh! who would inhabit</td><td><a href="" name="23"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td> This bleak world alone?</td><td> </td><td> </td><td> </td><td></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="CENTER" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody>
<tr><td></td><td><a href="" name="24"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td> Posted by Diogo Oliveira</td></tr>
</tbody></table></td></tr>
</tbody></table>English Poetry Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17771240621794205377noreply@blogger.com0