Tuesday, April 28, 2015

The House on Mango Street


What was the inspiration for The House on Mango Street? 
Watch this video about the author Sandra Cisneros:






As you read The House on Mango Street, ANNOTATE the following: 
  • characters
  • themes
  • poetic elements - imagery (GOATVOK), figurative language, alliteration, etc. 
  • quotation marks for dialogue
  • vernacular - that is grammatically incorrect - pronouns, double negatives, etc. 

Character Map for The House on Mango Street

Thursday, April 23, 2015

From "Do not go gentle into that good night" by Dylan Thomas

A Grave of Light

The night is good at the close of day,
The dying light burns its gentle dance.
Men who see the blinding sight,
Their eyes wild and fierce,
Grieve their end that they know is not right.
Not old or wise to go to their grave,
Into the blaze the brave go in their flight.
Curse the deeds of dark;
Meteors know the frail tears of might.
Though it forked into a bay of rage,
Do not bless death in that good night.

William Carlos Williams - "The Turtle, For My Grandon" [remix]

Original
-------------------------------------------
Not because of his eyes,
    the eyes of a bird,
         but because he is beaked,
birdlike, to do an injury,
    has the turtle attracted you.
         He is your only pet.
When we are together
    you talk of nothing else
         ascribing all sorts
of murderous motives
    to his least action.
         You ask me
to write a poem,
    should I have a poem to write,
         about a turtle.
The turtle lives in the mud
    but is not mud-like,
         you can tell it by his eyes
which are clear.
    When he shall escape
         his present confinement
he will stride about the world
    destroying all
         with his sharp beak.
Whatever opposes him
    in the streets of the city
         shall go down.
Cars will be overturned.
    And upon his back
         shall ride,
to his conquests,
    my Lord,
         you!
You shall be master!
    In the beginning
         there was a great tortoise
who supported the world.
    Upon him
         All ultimately
rests.
    Without him
         nothing will stand.
He is all wise
    and can outrun the hare.
         In the night
his eyes carry him
    to unknown places.
         He is your friend.
-------------------------------------------
remix
-------------------------------------------
destroying all sorts of lives
nothing sharp clear
mud-like motives
and
his least action is all sorts of murderous
whatever opposes him overturned
by his great conquests

should you
outrun the night

my Lord and master
he is not your friend

will you escape his will
the confinement
ultimately not

go back

Echos

Erin Hanson:

My Poem:
Echos:

The air disappeared in the night, 
I shouted into the endless black, 
I shouted to the city, 
that never shouted back.

Slowly the ringing was a reminder, 
of the empty space of my own, 
the answer had a voice
"You will never know."

The invisible silence whispered then, 
and hung in the cold, 
I pushed past what was familiar, 
only then did I realize I was alone.

Cloony the Clown Remix

"Cloony the Clown Remix"

His soul screamed as loud as a trombone
shoes too small and not enough for the cold
many wondered if because he had no money
if he was sad, or felt bad
however, even though his jacket was split,
he never told a tale of woe
always was able to tell a joke
the "hah-hah-hahs" and "hee-hee-hees" could be heard around the world
all because of a clown who won't simply won't let
the Pain or Rain or Darkness in his soul
keep everybody from laughing

You can find the full poem original online at http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/shel_silverstein/poems/14822

Emily Dickinson


Emily Dickinson is a poet who has proved herself to be a great artist through her deep and thought-provoking works. She produced more than 2000 poems in her 55 years of life, and each is emotional and thought provoking. She tied life experiences and her feelings into poems and still receives praise for her work, even though she wasn’t recognized during her life. Emily Dickinson broadened the minds of people in her generation, broke the ground of literary work for women, and made a profound impact on the world of poetry.







Life
Emily Dickinson was born on December 10th, 1830 in Amherst, Massachusetts. She came from a wealthy family, and attended Amherst Academy for seven years and then continued on to The Mount Holyoke Female Seminary, but only stayed for one year because her parents asked her home and she didn’t like how religious the school was. She suffered from depression, social anxiety, and several other mental illness’, and became a social recluse soon after she left he Mount Holyoke Female Seminary. She spent the majority of her time writing, and had limited social interaction with anyone other than her family or a few close friends. She anonymously submitted 10 of her works to various newspapers, but didn’t want to be publically recognized. Her poems were her emotional outlet, and are often lyrical and can be identified as first person perspective. She incorporated nature and animals into many of her works, and spent more time on choice of words than the structure and form.
Dickinson was never married, but was rumored to be in a relationship with one of her closest friends. She was also very close to her older brother, William Austin, and her younger sister, Lavinia. She died of Bright’s Disease, a kidney disease, on May 15th, 1886 in the house she grew up in. Before dying, she asked her sister to burn all of her works, but after reading through them, her sister decided to only burn her journals but save the poems. With the help of Thomas Wentworth Higginson and Mrs Mabel Todd, the poems were edited and published. Since Emily died before she was well known, she did not receive any awards, but there is an award, The Emily Dickinson First Book Award, named after her to honor her memory and work.

Influences
Emily Dickinson was influenced by Ralph Waldo Emerson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, William Blake, and her own life. By looking at Emerson and Browning, it’s clear that the style of writing they used inspired Emily, and Blakes style is very similar to her own. All four wrote about things like nature, God, animals, and used simple things to describe complex ideas and thoughts. She took experiences from her own life and used them to write deep and thoughtful poems about being set free and love.

Works and Legacy

Dickinson broke the ground of literary work for women as well as broadening the minds of the people in her generation. She crafted 2000 poems throughout her life, but since they were not published until after her death, it is hard to say which were written when. Her poems made people think, and it was not very common for a women to publish such amazing works. To this day she is a powerful figure in American culture and one of the most widely read, impactful, and well known poets.




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“There is Another Sky”

There is another sky
Ever serene and fair
And there is another sunshine
Though it be darkness there
Nevermind faded forests, Austin;
Nevermind silent fields
Here is a little forest
Whose leaf is ever green
Here is a brighter garden
Where not a frost had been
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!


Works Cited:



http://www.egs.edu/library/emily-dickinson/biography/

Words selected from A Dream Within a Dream by Edgar Allen Poe to Create A never ending Dream by James Bagnell


A never ending Dream

They creep, I vision an amid roar
All that I see is less than gone
Is all a dream within a dream?
I see a tormented shore
While I weep,
I hear a tiger roar pitiless
Is all a vision or a dream
Grains of golden sand creep through my hands
A pitiless wave is gone,
God cant save the tiger,
or the tormented shore
I weep, I weep
Take this vision 
Take it upon the brow
Let me arow through this dream within a dream
Is it night or is it day?
Is it a vision?
Is all that I see a dream?
The tiger, the tormented shore, the pitiless wave
Let me arow this dream within a dream

"Lady Lazarus" Remix

"Lady Lazarus" by Sylvia Plath:
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it--

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?--

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot--
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I’ve a call.

It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
It’s the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

‘A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart--
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash--
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there--

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

23-29 October 1962
"The Miracle"
Beware, beware!
The enemy burns
to annihilate God.

The blood of a baby
on hands of flesh
to manage the Miracle.

They melt on them,
women of great concern,
to sticky ashes.

Brutes, they are,
Nazis from hell
Dying theatrically for Lucifer

I eye their red scars
shout for my miracle
and stir at the sticky air.

God? O, God.
I shouted,
you did not rise to me.

Was I not your opus?
In your face,
your bright pearl?
But you did not rise to me
and I will burn
by enemy foot.

The day will die
Their hair rung with gold
and our Miracle?

Poke at the ash,
there is nothing there!