This Is Just To Say

We have appreciated
The effort
You put into
Our class


And which
You were probably
Saving
For Uni

Thankyou
We all had fun
Although we spoke
Too much

Thankyou Simon, for all the time, effort and patience you poured into the year 11 Literature classes throughout semester 2. It was very much appreciated!

E~g!;s# Teaching in the 21st Century!!

Julie, Larissa, Helen,
Welcome!

So this is the blog that I set up for my wonderful Year 11 Students.

Sometimes they use it of their own accord. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes they use it when I specifically ask them to.

Sometimes they don't.

They have just finished their literature exam about a half an hour ago. It was a poetry SAC. I think they'll all do well. They've worked really hard this year and I'm proud of them. Many of them groaned when we told them poetry was on the cards for the last term. By now, they're pulling ee cummings to pieces, analysing H.D., trying to cheer Larkin up and revelling in Keats' language. The same thing happened with Richard III. By the end of the term they were the most informed critics watching the MTC production.

The blog includes links to authors' biographical details on Wikipedia, Literary Quotes (although these need updating), student photography, some of my photography (to try and get the ball rolling), links to literary sites and resources, sample essays and sample paragraphs and the option of leaving comments on other students' posts. I can also post the homework to the blog and the students are welcome and encouraged to post their homework online, too. I receive an email whenever a post is made, meaning I can read student posts and homework on the go. Very handy!

The idea behind the blog was to address written literacy across the two classes. The students are by and large excellent contributors to class discussions on whatever material we're working with. Translating that oral fluency onto the page has been the challenge. What I wanted to do - and they're aware of this - was to create an online space, accessible outside of school, where all the students across both literature classes could 'meet' and discuss their ideas and opinions of the texts we're studying. You see the deal? They can't just 'chat' face to face, as per in class. They have to think about what they want to say before they say it. I believe it can help bridge the gap between their tremendous oral expression skills and their written skills which, although by no means bad, certainly warranted attention before the commencement of Year 12.

Written expression has improved. Hasn't it guys?
(Please don't respond with, 'um, yeah, i guess . . . ')

:-)

I have been impressed with the quality of the written work in practice SACs over the last few weeks (and in the months before that when we were studying the short story). Examples of student writing are littered throughout this blog.

They're a fantastic bunch.

I'm leaving the blog up. It will be available throughout Year 12 for these students. They can share ideas, help each other out with new texts and challenging contexts and perspectives at VCE level. I hope it will prove an invaluable resource. Regardless, though, it has been constructive, engaging, interesting and most of all, I hope, fun.

Thanks Year 11 Lit for a wonderful year.

Simon

Ali's Birthday Poem - by Simon

Since a Happy
this Day yours
is
Ali Always
yearly once -
remember next
your(e) this time
New
and many
once mores
still for
You

Simon

William Carlos Williams - Sample SAC Response

Hi all,

Sorry this is late. Uni is a killer at the moment.

See you tomorrow.

Simon

****

In The Red Wheelbarrow, William Carlos Williams offers the reader the deceptively familiar image of the wheelbarrow of the title, ‘glazed with rain / water / beside the white / chickens’. On the surface, it appears to be a simple poem, evoking a farmyard scene recognised by many as typical of rural life or perhaps as an image from a childhood storybook. Upon closer inspection we can see certain techniques employed by the poet which lend an uneasy air of strangeness to the poem; defamiliarising an image that the reader may well feel is all too familiar. It is in the first two lines, ‘so much depends / upon’, that Williams creates this uneasiness. The picture of innocence has had a sudden, unexpected weight attached to it; robbing it of its benign nature and giving rise to a sense of impending consequence.

We are never told, nor is it suggested, just what the nature of this ‘so much’ might be. The deliberate ambiguity of the poem leads us to examine more closely the poet’s choice of words and the structure he has imposed upon the poem. The use of the colours ‘red’ and ‘white’ creates a vivid image in the reader’s mind. The word ‘glazed’ serves to somehow frame the wheelbarrow; the centrepiece of the scene. Williams has isolated certain words, separating ‘red wheel’ from ‘barrow’, ‘rain’ from ‘water’ and ‘white’ from ‘chickens’. The intention here may be to separate the images in the poet’s mind. Perhaps it is this formatting of the image and not necessarily the image itself upon which ‘so much depends’. In light of this reading, the air of unease now takes on particularity as content becomes bound to form.

The tone of the poem, This is Just to Say, is in stark contrast to the uncertainty that seems to hang over The Red Wheelbarrow. In this poem, Williams is lighter, almost jocular and teasing in his note-on-the-fridge style letter to someone, presumably his wife, a close friend or a lover, whose plums he has eaten from the icebox. The first stand-out element of the poem is Williams’ incorporation (or insinuation, rather) of the title into the main body of the poem. The line runs so smoothly, in conversational style, into the first line of the first stanza that one could well imagine it written thus: ‘This is just to say / I have eaten / the plums / that were in / the icebox’.

After the poet’s casual candour in the first two stanzas (evident both in the use of the word ‘just’ in the title and in Williams’ seemingly educated guess that the now plum-less recipient of the note was originally ‘probably / saving [the plums] / for breakfast’), the poem is punctuated suddenly by the first line of the third stanza, ‘Forgive me’. These words form either an imperative, a justification or a kind of plea (albeit half-hearted, given the succeeding lines). If we read it as an imperative, or directive, then we do so subscribing to the light-hearted tone of the poem, written perhaps in a moment of post-gluttonous guilt to a loved one whose breakfast has been stolen. As a justification, the effect is much the same; Williams asks forgiveness because the plums were ‘delicious’. Indeed, there is a kind of deliciousness to his audacity for saying so. However, if we look carefully at the last three lines of the third stanza, there is a sense of poignancy which is borne out in the repetition of the word ‘so’ and the ending of the poem with the words ‘so cold’

‘they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold’

Reading a sense of poignancy and, perhaps, regret into the end of the poem casts the rest of the poem is a very different light. As the line preceding this air of sadness, ‘Forgive me’ becomes more of a plea, as mentioned above. In light of this, the entire note may itself be read as merely a preamble to an apology for a sin far greater than the theft of plums from an icebox. It is a mark of Williams’ skill as a poet that he is able to take a sentiment like ‘This is just to say . . . Forgive me’ and cast it in terms of the playful relationship that may have been torn asunder by the act that warranted the plea for forgiveness. Much like in The Red Wheelbarrow, the longer one looks at the poem the more Williams achieves the effect of stripping away whatever initial impressions one may have and whatever constructions of meaning may be built on such impressions. Consequently we are left reading and contemplating a very different poem than that which we first encountered.

What is this?

This Is Not Art!

That's right. I'm at the TiNA festival in Newcastle. This is the 11th TiNA and it's been a pretty fantastic festival so far. The festival includes The Crack Theatre Festival, Electrofringe, Sound Summit, Critical Animals and the National Young Writers' Festival. Bucketloads of artists have descended on Newcastle for the weekend. The weather has been getting progressively worse, but the events are exciting and dynamic and the people are lovely.

I thought I'd post a few of the events here so you guys can get an idea of the kind of issues being discussed by young artists in Australia.

Writers Centres: next evolution? - a roundtable discussion on the direction in which writers centres are headed.

Critiquing Criticism: I can't believe it's not better - a panel discussion on the role of the critic - nurturer or discerner - and the state of criticism.

Writing Outside Gender - panel discussion looking at the radical potential of sex/gender diverse narratives told by sex/gender diverse folk.

Fictional Apocalypses - creating fictional apocalypses using ideas and events from history.

What's 'Published'? - a panel discussion on what constitutes 'published' in this digital world..

Melbourne Trashthetics - a panel discussion on Melbourne's trash aesthetic: where did it come from and where will it lead?

Women of Letters - special panel event with Michaela McGuire, Marieke Hardy, Anna Krien, Anna Barnes, Karen Hitchcock and Krissy Kneen - celebrating the lost art of letter-writing.

Words that Sell - a workshop on making money from your words.

The Woolworths Application Form was too Complicated: How I got into theatre - a forum on why we keep struggling on.

Token Effnik: Where are all the non-whiteys on TV? - a panel discussion on the dearth of non-White talent on Australian TV.

'i'm a writer, but nothing's ever happened to me' - a panel discussion with the voiceworks crew. Does experience count for everything? Or is there enough extraordinary in the everyday?

Vampires, Detectives and Rocket Ships: Oh My? - a panel discussion on the rise of genre fiction. Are the literati just snobs? Is it possible to be both literary and mainstream?

Breaking the Rules - a workshop that mucks around with words and smashes structure.

DIY New Media: A Survival Guide for Student Publications

The Expat Elite - a panel discussion on the pros and cons of taking your art offshore.

I should have read that by now - artists 'fess up about the books they really should have read by now...but haven't.

Vices - are they a help or a hindrance when it comes to writing?

Famous Bullshit Stories - featuring yours truly :-)

-------------------

So there you have it. A snapshot of what kind of stuff is going on in the world of emerging Australian art. I've only scratched the surface. There's a whole lot more going on. Many of the people here are disgustingly prolific. It's a swift kick watching what other people are up to. So, I'm going to get back to work on this novel of mine. And if you're working on something, keep at it. If you're not and you'd like to be, BEGIN!

Exciting times.

Hope you're all well. See you soon.

Ciao!
Simon

Ps. Pictures soon. I'm shooting in colour this weekend.

Sophia!

You can write them in your book or on the blog, whichever you like.

See you Thursday.
Simon

Do we have to write our responses to the 3 poems on the blog, or can we write them in our books to hand into you on mon..?

-sophia

From Simon . . .

Yo!

Analyses of poems applies to ANY three poems.

I'll leave some comments on your ALI poems soon.
Nice work.

I'm flying to Newcastle in the morning.
Gonna miss you all on Monday & Tuesday.

Remember to do the homework (ain't that much) and remember to be your usual lovely selves. Not much term to go.

See you soon.
Best Wishes,

Simon

Ps. If you're going to Parklife, say hi to DJ Medhi and Busy P . . . And BE GOOD!

oi simon, can the close analysis of the three poems,
be any poems of our choice.
or just the ones you have given us?????

-orlaith

out of womb
you did once come
now every word you hear is-
sung

once a year
for seventeen strong
you have seen every angle
of the sun

babies of jelly
for a bribe
presence come
from every side
happy birth-
day on this earth.

dedicated to ally, from orlaith 29.09.2010

Happy Birthday!

this day --
for you. A laughsong day:of
Joy,--

to live,grow up:
but never to Forget--
how young,how
Joy you once were,are,willbe.

--Isabelle (happy belated birthday Ali!)

A very late birthday poem for ali :)

Such a happy day for who
Begins today
Today begins a happy day for
You.

Spring birth as yours
is
puddle-wonderful
As we wish a day of
Happy
Birth to you.

Each
year the seedlings
Grow our Ali (and
bloom) on


with love - Amelia and Hester

Happy Birthday For Ali

Happy birthday

Ha-
ppy I hope you
Are thatyou-
___ :were;

willbe

for you so
jolly-gooda
jolly-gooDa.
_girl
i hope you
ha-ppy
________be

-Sunday

( _= space )

The Endarkenment

Hi Everyone
Try going to www.melbournefringe.com.au to find out all about this opera written by (former)phsc students.
Happy holidays
Barry

Simon
I tried to upload the publicity page but it kept saying it was a corrupt image.

ali's poem

today this is yours
it's yours for you

your birthday is special
try something new
so have presents many
and worries few

-i'm pretty sure i made up my own weird, twisted way of writing a poem there, but it's the thought that counts.......


sophia

Love.
It's such a striking
and wonderful thing.
It can even,
conquer,
Anonymity

Homework...bleugh!

Hi guys.

Yes, there's homework. It's pretty straight forward.

1. Close analysis of any 3 poems (mix and match the poets if you like). Post your analysis on the blog or write it in your book.

2. Post your Happy Birthday Ali poem on the blog.

That's it. Easy, no?

Remember to check the blog before you start back next term.

Have a brilliant holiday. Read, relax, etc.

See you all on the Thursday after you come back.

Any questions about lit - email me or post them on the blog. Comment on each other's posts. Answer each other's questions.

Be safe.

Cheers,
Simon

Seventeen- A poem for Ali

seventeen
years ago
today
you were born
to Judy
----and
------Steve

this day is
----wholly
------wholly yours
and your wish
is yours
to believe-

i hope you receive
love
----and
------gifts,
plenty of cake
in your tum-

many wishes to you
on your
birthday,
and
----many
------more
to come!


by Georgia F



p.s. HAPPYYYY BIRTTTTHHDAAYY ALIII!
i hope you had a lovely day x

Tomorrow . . .

Hi guys.

So, I just checked my Uni email and discovered I have the last of my three-per-semester Professional Practice seminars tomorrow from 2.15 - 4.15pm.

What a drag.

Obviously I won't be there to get cracking on ee cummings. Mr Coley will probably get into some of his stuff after wrapping up Larkin. I'll be in on Thursday. Apologies for tomorrow, so...You know I'd rather be there than here (Uni). Still, it has to be done.

Do some reading on cummings in advance of class. His background is very interesting. Also, a few of your fellow literature-bugs are fans of his work (see previous poetry posts...) Read their posts and see what you think of his poetry. It's going to be fun!

Thanks for your feedback in class today and sorry I couldn't stick around. Assignment was due. One down, a million more (seemingly) to go!

I won't forget to go through the blog and make some comments on what's been posted to-date. Promise.

You're all great. I love teaching you (and learning from you) !!

Take it easy!

Simon

Ode to sleep

OH great relief!
To sink into these sheets
All pastel green;
To lie unseen,
And sunken
Like a dying leaf.

By Sunday.

Winter holds a firm grip over the air on the first days of spring
blossom appears but the leaves remain dear,
spent to the months before him

Jacob. second attempt at the rhyming couplet. thought it could do some justice to the first.

She felt that their love would pulsate with strain,
Like two sun-soaked bricks left out in the rain

thought i'd try out a rhyming couplet/iambic pentametre thang....
hope twas ok

Dom

sorry, did not read the "really remember" bit. its jacob.

sitting sidewalk, falling rain
the wind blows the trees and moving train
water swells, moves away - daybreak, again

poem

its sofia
sorry its so late, ive been really sick. It might not actually be a poem but i call it one. I figure that when it talks of the future it isnt trying to predict it but it talks of the future that we work for in life. I guess i like it because it reminds me what i work for, slowly. It reminds me what peace sounds like. It also reminds me what i imagine my grandparents are trying to explain to me when they tell me stories of their childhood.

its called A Glance at The Future by Khalil Gibran.

From behind the wall of the Present I heard the hymns of humanity. I heard the sounds of the bells announcing the beginning of the prayer in the temple of Beauty.

Bells molded in the metal of emotion and poised above the holy alter--the human heart.

From behind the Future I saw multitudes worshipping on the bosom of Nature, their faces turned towards the East and awaiting the inundation of the morning light-- the morning of Truth.

I saw the city in ruins and nothing remained to tell man of the defeat of Ignorance and the triumph of Light.

I watched the elders seated under the shade of cypress and willow trees, surrounded by youths listening to their tales of former times.

I saw the youths strumming their guitars and piping on their reeds and the loose-trussed damsels dancing under the jasmine trees.

I saw the husbandmen harvesting the wheat, and the wives gathering the sheaves and singing mirthful songs. I saw woman adorning herself with a crown of lilies and a girdle of green leaves.

I saw Friendship strengthened between man and all creatures, and clans of birds and butterflies, confident and secure, winging towards the brooks.

I saw no poverty; neither did I encounter excess. I saw fraternity and equality prevailing among man. I saw not one physician, for everyone had the means
and knowledge to heal himself.

I found no priest, for conscience had become the High Priest. Neither did I see a lawyer, for Nature has taken the place of the courts, and treaties of amity and companionship were in force.

I saw that man knew that he is the cornerstones of creation, and that he has raised himself above littleness and baseness and cast off the veil of confusion
from the eyes of the soul; this soul now reads what the clouds write on the face of heaven and what the breeze drawn on the surface of the water; now understands the meaning of the flower's breath and the cadences of the
nightingale.

From behind the wall of the Present, upon the stage of coming ages, I saw Beauty as a groom and Spirit as a bride, and Life as the ceremonial Night of the Kedre.


[NOTE: Kedre = A night during the Moslem Lent when God is said to grant the wishes of the devout.]

New Feet Within My Garden Go by Emily Dickinson

New feet within my garden go,
New fingers stir the sod;
A troubadour upon the elm
Betrays the solitude.

New children play upon the green,
New weary sleep below;
And still the pensive spring returns,
And still the punctual snow!


The imagery of this poem is nice and pretty and comforting.
Earth renews itself.
I really like this poem.

-Georgia F

Sophia's favourite poem :D hoorah!

OH!THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!

By Dr. Seuss

Congratulations!
Today is your day,
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.
You’ll look up and down streets. Look ‘em over with care.
About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains, and your shoes full of feet,
you’re too smart to go down any not-so-good street.
And you may not find any
you’ll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you’ll head straight out of town.
It’s opener there
in the wide open air.
Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen,
don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along.
You’ll start happening too.
OH!
THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!
You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sites!
You’ll join the high fliers!
who soar to high heights.
You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed.
You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.
Except when you don’t.
Because, sometimes, you won’t.
I’m sorry to says so
but, sadly, it’s true
that Bang-ups
and Hang-ups
can happen to you
You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You’ll be left in a Lurch.
You’ll come down from the Lunch
wuth an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you’ll be in a Slump.
And when you’re in a Slump,
you’re not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.
You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re dark.
A place that could sprain both elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?
And IF you should go in,should you turn left or right…
or right-and-three-quaters? Or maybe not quite?
Or go around and back and sneak from behind?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.
You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long and wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most usless place
The Waiting Place…
…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.
NO!
That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You’ll find the bright places
where boom bands are playing.
Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. There are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.
Except when they don’t.
Because, sometimes, they won’t.
I’m afraid that some times
you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win
’cause you’ll play against you.
All Alone!
Whether you like it or not.
Alone will be something
you’ll be quite a lot.
And when you’re alone, theres a very good chance
you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.
But on you will go
though the whether be foul.
On you will go
though your enemies prowl.
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl.
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though you arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.
On and on you will hike.
And I know you’ll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.
You’ll get mixed up of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up
with many stray birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life’s
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with you left.
And will you succeed?
Yes! You will indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent garanteed!)
KID YOU’LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!
So…
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Alenn O’Shea
you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So… get on your way!


-definitely enjoyable - love sophia.

p.s. sincing we're meant to write something about that poem, i thought it was good.. yep.

You should have been an angel, it would've suited you
My gold-leafed triptych angel, she knows just what to do
In the half light of morning, in a world between the sheets
I swear I saw her angel wing, my vision was complete

And I know I'll never want another lover, my sweet
Can there be more in this world than the
joy of just watching you sleep?
I don't know just what to feel
Won't someone tell me my love's real?

Are we etched in stone or just scratched in the sand
Waiting for the waves to come and reclaim the land?
Will the sun shine all sweetness and light
Burn us to a cinder, our third stone satellite?

I'm on a tightrope, baby, nine miles high
Striding through the clouds, on my ribbon in the sky
I'm on a tightrope, one thing I've found
I don't know how to stop, and it's a
long, long, long, long way down

She's all that ever mattered, and all that ever will
My cup, it runneth over, I'll never get my fill
The boats in the harbour, slip from their chains
Head for new horizons, let's do the same

I'm on a tightrope, baby, nine miles high
Striding through the clouds, on my ribbon in the sky
I'm on a tightrope, one thing I've found
I don't know how to stop, and it's a tightrope baby
nine miles high

Striding through the clouds, on my ribbon in the sky
I'm on a tightrope, one thing I've found
I don't know how to stop, and it's a
long, long, long, long way down


i know its long, but these are the lyrics from the stone roses, i thought about putting only a section up, but just read a bit if you cant be f***ed. it is beautiful poetry.


-orlaith

Hester and Amelia's happy poetry for you :)

THE FOUR FRIENDS
-A.A Milne

Ernest was an elephant, a great big fellow,
Lenard was a lion with a six foot tail,
George was a goat, and his beared was yellow,
and james was a very small snail.

Lenard had a stall, and a great big strong one,
Ernest had a manger and its walls were thick,
George found a pen, but i think it was the wrong one,
and james sat down on a brick.

Ernest started trumpeting and cracked his manger,
Lenard started roaring and shivered his stall,
James gave a huffle of a snail in danger
and nobody heard him at all.

Ernest started trumpeting and raised such a rumpus,
Lenard started roaring and trying to kick,
James went to journey with the goats new compass
and he reached the end of his brick

Ernest was an elephant and very well intentioned,
Lenard was a lion with a brave new tail,
George was a goat, as i think i have mentioned,
but james was only a snail.


HAPPINESS!

E. E. Cummings, in spite of everything.

in spite of everything
which breathes and moves,since Doom
(with white longest hands
neatening each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds

-before leaving my room
i turn,and(stooping
through the morning)kiss
this pillow,dear
where our heads lived and were.

I like this poem because I feel it expresses the truth of pretending and reassuring, masking our bad thoughts and emotions with those that are good.

since feeling is first- E. E. Cummings

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all the flowers. Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

and death i think is no parenthesis

So... I think this poem is saying, there is more to life than rules, analysing, wisdom, structure and so on. All these things are silly compared to the importance of feelings... especially love.
I like the lack of capital letters and ambiguity of the way the sentences could be read, which emphasises the meaning of the poem.
I don't know if i agree with it entirely...but i like it anyway.

viv

NOT CECILIA'S FAVOURITE POEM
BECAUSE I WAS RUSHED. It's a
bit of a giggle, I suppose.

So fair is she!
So fair her face
So fair her pulsing figure

Not so fair
The maniacal stare
Of a husband who's much bigger.

Spike Milligan

bronia and maras photo

GC's fave poem

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - T.S Elliot


Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question....
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

-----
I like it because it creates a little story and great images plus it isnt pretentious and annoying to read or gross and sappy.....

Sunday's Favourite Poem

Landscape
By Joy Learmonth

In the beginning only the foreground is important. Life consists of primary colours. Yellow sand, blue water, red of the sky at dawn. When the middle distance beckons I long to walk beside someone who seems to walk somewhere else, in a place I haven't been to yet. I search, in this rain-filled day, not knowing what it is I search for. Others seem to know where they are going. I stumble on once-familiar streets, reach for faces I have known, but they are alien. Faces where recognition slides away, sideways, in this goblin market, leaving me to climb my stairs in a ragged fashion. Far off I see gardens, pathways, a rose arbour, and begin to run. I find myself facing a trompe l'oeil painting - the future is a trick of the eye.

---

What you see depends on which way you are looking and where you are standing. For me, the continuous and vivid changes in the imagery echo the ever-changing landscape of both external and internal life. In the beginning we are interested in the immediate; in ourselves. "Only the foreground is important". As time passes we "search" for connection with others, for meaning. Whatever we can see in the future may not last, may be a "trick of the eye" like a trompe l'oeil painting. The material world and our experiences in it, along with our relationships, are always changing. Life can be a lonely. The climbing of stairs in a "ragged fashion", serves as a metaphor for the psychological struggle of humanity.
I love this piece because it is so evocative and I feel a strong personal connection with it; a sensation of deeper meaning and understanding with each read.

-Sunday.

Mara's fave poem

EE Cummings - i carry your heart

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Homework Update

Ok. Quick update. You need to let me know who you are when you post to the blog - otherwise it comes up anonymous.

Also, I DID ask you to provide reasons for why you like the poem you chose.

And the 'roses are red' poem is bunk. Unless you can back it up with some good lit analysis. Do, please!

Simon

Favourite Poem

I really like the Turkish poet Nazim Hikmet, my favourite is probably Things I Didn't Know I Loved. It's pretty long and I can't work out how to copy and paste so here's a link: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15930

Odette :)

Favourite Poem - Ode On Melancholy

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

This is the first stanza of my favourite poem by John Keats. It's also the first poem that really sparked my interest in poetry.
Why do I like it? Well, at the risk of sounding superficial, I adore it aesthetically - the beauty of his language. I love the references - Lethe, Proserpine, Psyche, and the animals and plants linked with death. The second and third stanzas are just as gorgeous.
I also like how the meaning is not immediately apparent; after Keats has wooed you with the words, you read it again and again, and eventually it becomes clear.

It's hard to choose a favourite, though, and I have many others that I love amost as much - or just as much, for that matter - as this one.

-Isabelle

poetry

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Im schizophrenic
No i'm not



I don't know who wrote this or where or not it's classified as a real poem, but I like it. It's funny

Bad Poetry? Oh Noetry!

Hi guys!

Can you do me a favour and consider whether or not you have a favourite poet / poem and write down who / what it is and maybe a few reasons why you like him/her / it?

Bring it to class tomorrow arvo?

Thanks

Simon

We Have a Visitor! - Thursday (22/07/10)

Hey hey!

So, as you are all aware, novelist Andrew Croome will be coming in to speak to both Lit classes tomorrow (22/07/10). Period 2 for Lit B and Period 3 for Lit A.

Andrew won the Australian/Vogel Award in 2008 for his novel, Document Z. He also won the UTS Glenda Adams Award for New Writing in the recent NSW Premier's Literary Awards, coming in ahead of The Age Book-of-the-Year Winner (2009), Steven Amsterdam (Things We Didn't See Coming) and 2010 Miles Franklin Award-Shortlisted, Craig Silvey (Jasper Jones). He was named 2010 Best Young Australian Novelist by the Sydney Morning Herald and was shortlisted for the

*

Andrew will be speaking to us about the process of writing fiction and the conversion of historical data and records into compelling literary fiction. There will be time for a bit of Q & A at the end. Exciting!

*

What else?

We're going to do some close text analysis on the Hemingway and Chekhov stories. There will be some blog time. More writing. We'll be checking the homework. We'll be giving you some more of it, too. It's important. Unfortunately there's no oral exam for Lit. Therefore we're going to have to turn those in-class epiphanies into coherent, well-written, high-VCE-standard essays. We'll have fun doing it, though. Promise.

*

Thanks to Isabelle for adding a (great) photo (taken by her friend, Sally-Anne) to the last post. Would you like to add a photo/picture to this photo? That would be great. Do it!

*

Loving the insights into the stories we're doing. Keep it up. Remember how alien Richard III was when we first started and how expert you all were by the end of it? Same thing will happen with the stories. We need to study them inside-out. Pull them apart. Start asking ourselves why the authors used particular words and phrases over other ones. Why certain details were included / excluded. The key word is 'deliberate'. These guys are craftsmen. Nothing is left to chance. Nothing is in there by accident. Everything-for-a-reason DOES apply here.

*

Ok. See you tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it. I hope you are, too!

Simon
*
Image added (again) by Isabelle, with kind permission from Sally-Anne J.

Tuesday (20/07/10)

Hi all.

Came across this in The Age today. It may be of interest to some of you - despite our having moved past Richard III. The psychology of evil is an important theme in all literature, particularly when looking at the neutral, unemotional method of dealing with morality which some authors employ in the short story.

Here's the link

In tomorrow's class we're going to work on some writing. You've all contributed impressively to class discussions, however we need to do some serious work on transferring those ideas and opinions to paper.

To clarify the point made about selection of texts for the SAC, we'll be doing about 5 authors (a few stories each). You can then pick an author to do the SAC on and we'll supply extracts from each author's work. Make sense? Hope so.

See you tomorrow arvo.

Simon

Ps. Want to add a picture to this post? Do!
P.p.s - Photo added by Isabelle, taken by Sally-Anne J.

Thursday (15/07/10)

Hey hey!

So, on Thursday we're going to be going through the stories many of you have written. Barry & I will be available for one-on-one discussion/analysis of your work throughout the double period.

The rest of the class will be reading short stories and discussing them much in the same way as was done on Tuesday - except with a bit more structure and most probably an introduction to / reading of the stories by myself or Barry. There will also be an opportunity to use the blog in class. And . . . we'll leave plenty of time for discussion and a Q&A session toward the end. Busy busy!

If anybody has any questions - email me.

If anybody has any thoughts about the stories you read in class on Tuesday, feel free to post them to the blog. Remember to sign off with your first name so I know who you are. I'll get around to organising the posts into sections for each story, once we have some actual posts.

Avanti!

Simon :-)

_

Welcome Year 11 Lit.

Hi all.

This is a welcome post. Welcome.

We'll hopefully use this blog to share links, ideas, stories and essays throughout the rest of the year. I'll be giving you all the email address and password to access it.

You'll have to put your name to any posts you make. Any posts without names get wiped.

Everybody has access. People may comment on each other's posts, links, essays, etc . . . Please keep the comments clean and constructive. Any negative rubbish gets wiped.

Feel free to post photos and videos, too. Same rules apply.

There is a section for links and a section for literary quotes. You can add to these areas, too.

I'm not sure how it'll all pan out . . . but you're all pretty great, so I expect something good will come of it.

Keep reading.

Cheers,

Simon

SAC Paragraph - A Little Cloud - Joyce

"I met him one night London and he seemed to be very flush... Poor O'Hara! Boose, I suppose?"

"Other things, too," said Little Chandler shortly. 

Ignatius Gallaher laughed. 

"Tommy," he said, "I see you haven't changed an atom. You're the very same serious person that used to lecture me on Sunday mornings when I had a sore head and a fur on my tongue. You'd want to knock about a bit in the world. Have you never been anywhere even for a trip?"

"I've been to the Isle of Man," said Little Chandler. 

Ignatius Gallaher laughed. 

* * *

Little Chandler, on top of being referred to as such, is, in this extract, constantly referred to by, or associated with, diminutive language. When he says, "Other things, too", Joyce has him say it, "shortly". Almost immediately after this, Gallaher says that Little Chandler "hasn't changed an atom" (at the time of writing, the smallest known particle). Gallaher's advice that Little Chandler "knock about a bit in the world" is followed by the latter's revelation that he has "been to the Isle of Man". The Isle of Man is a very small island, less than 230 square miles, between Ireland and the UK. The creature most often associated with the island is the Manx cat. It is notable for having no tail, i.e. for having been shortened. By inundating the reader with this kind of terminology and allusion throughout the exchange, Joyce is seeking to reinforce Little Chandler's status as something of a lowly character in the eyes of Gallaher. This is cemented by Gallaher's use of the name, "Tommy" (perhaps a childhood abbreviation or nickname) when addressing Little Chandler, which highlights the imbalanced nature of their friendship. Further to this, Joyce's repetition of the line, "Ignatius Gallaher laughed', leaves the reader in no doubt as to Gallaher's dismissiveness toward his 'friend'. Our sympathy for Little Chandler is elicited here and throughout the rest of his encounter with Gallaher, as he struggles to keep up with his well-travelled, well-to-do friend of old. Joyce's deliberate choice of words seems to imply that, in keeping with the theme of paralysis that runs through 'Dubliners', perhaps he struggles in vain. 


By Simon

SAC Paragraph - "Neighbors" by Raymond Carver

"In the morning he had Arlene call in for him."

With this sentence, Carver succinctly conveys the shift in his character's attitude towards his forays into his neighbours' apartment. Whereas before, at the start of the story, the act of exploring the Stones' apartment was just something a little different and exciting to do, it has now quickly become almost an obsession. Bill doesn't even want to go to work anymore and gets his wife to call in sick for him. He tries to distract himself and stop thinking about the apartment across the hall. "He tried to start a book" but that didn't work so "He went out for a walk and felt better." While outside, he is fine, but as soon as he re-enters the building, he wants to go into the Stones' place again. He at first tried to make excuses, as if suspecting that he was doing something wrong by trespassing, by stopping by his neighbours' door "on the chance he might hear the cat moving about", but eventually couldn't control himself anymore and "went to the kitchen for the key."

In this short paragraph, filled with brief, declarative sentences, Carver is showing the reader how the decision to first enter the neighbours’ place has affected and changed Bill. The shortness of the sentences shows a restlessness, mirroring Bill's inability to stay focused on anything other than the Stones' apartment.

The strength of his obsession (and later Arlene's) reveals the couple to be unhappy with their lives. At the beginning, we learnt that they constantly compare themselves to the Stones and it seems that these excursions into the Stones' home are their version of the holidays that the Stones always seem to take. The Millers find their own lives to be ordinary and dull, empty, while the Stones' lives seem "fuller and brighter", so they venture across the hall to try and discover what it's like to be someone else, their neighbours - perhaps attempting to find what is missing from their own lives.

Through the rest of the story, the Millers are revealed to be quite voyeuristic in their obsession with the Stones' apartment, but at the same time, their experience is quite ordinary, something that could happen to anyone, because it is a common human experience to feel jealous or "passed by somehow" and to wonder what life is like in someone else's shoes and what makes their life seem better than ours.

By Maddy, Genny and Maeve

Joyce, Eveline, lit sac preporation

A passage in the last paragraph, you'll probably figure it out.

So Joyce gives us an image of Eveline being small and fragile in a moment of descision using the contrast of 'all the seas if the world' as a metaphor for the unknown, large, heavy, uncontrolable possibilities which could come depending on her descision. Furthermore, Joyce says that the sea 'tumbles about her heart'. This gives the reader an idea of how paricularly vulnerable Eveline is about this descision, as it threatens her being's core, putting her on edge emotionally as this danger is tumbling - putting pressure upon - her where she's weakest.
As these emotions dawn upon Eveline she becomes defensive and sees Frank as the one pulling her into this descision, this possible danger. 'He was pulling her into them' (into the sea of unknown possibilities). She then jumps to the conclusion that he will drown her, and we, the reader, know that she is freaking out to the point where she has lost her logical thinking skills. She sees the sea of possible danger as definite danger, which will drown her with all that she doesn't know and has no control over, and she sees Frank as one with too much control over her where she's so volnerable.
'She gripped with both hands at the iron railing.' Eveline seeks stability and support in the dizzy maze of her emotions, she seeks stability to guide her through the descision, and support to keep her steady, the iron railing helps physically (which then helps mentally I suppose) and she throws herself at it with desperation (both of her hands).
Frank's calling, '"Come!'", is reality calling into Eveline's frantic mind, which is deep in the ocean still, and Eveline's previous defensive thoughts give this call two tones - it's sneaky, pulling her to a foreign land where she's weak and he's strong, and it's also (though she's forgotten this) an escape from living the pitiful life her mother did.
'No! No! No!' The three nos are insisting the difficulty for Eveline, however the third repition suggests frustratoin that she has to be saying no and doesn't have more control. In my opinion. 'It was impossible. Her hands clutched the iron in frenzy.' She's paralysed, unable to go either way, clutching the iron for the mutual guidance between her Father and Frank - both demanding difficulties. The use of the word frenzy goes with the insistance of her hand's grip, teamed with her emotions.
'Amid the seas she sent a cry of anguish.' She's lost, and crying for help in a large, dangerous world in which she has no control. No body's going to answer, she must stop, breathe, think for herself, and go to buenos ayres.
BY BRONIA AND SOFIA :)

Free Radicals- Alice Munro

"She sits in her usual ample armchair, with piles of books and unopened magazines around her. She sips cautiously from the mug of weak herb tea that is now her substitute for coffee. At one time she thought that she could not live without coffee, but it turned out that it is really the warm large mug she wants in her hands, that is the aid to thought or whatever it is she practices through the procession of hours, or of days."

Munro portrays Nita as a widow in denial. Nita receives phone calls from all her closest friends, checking up on her, and she quickly assures them she is "fine", and makes excuses to end the conversation. It's in this passage that Munro subtly indicates that Nita feels the need to have familiar things around her. It's her warm cup of tea that she has in her hands for comfort, and the books and magazines surrounding her for the feeling of familiarity.
We also learn that Nita keeps avoiding doing certain things, like cleaning her husband's study.
"that is the aid to thought or whatever it is she practices through the procession of hours, or of days."
This indicates that Nita has lost track of time. Days are passing her, and she has done nothing to help herself move on.

Munro certainly paints a picture with this passage. The description of Nita sitting in her armchair is detailed enough for us to imagine it very clearly.



Lauren & Georgia

SAC paragraph - Bliss - Katherine Mansfield

"Like the flame of a candle, to stretch up, to point, to quiver in the bright air, to grow taller and taller as they gazed-almost to touch the rim of the round, silver moon."

Mansfield uses similes to create a visual image in the readers mind. This use of similes can often evoke personal memories and allow the reader to see into the characters thoughts. Mansfield writes "and the two women stood side by side looking at the slender flowering tree" this shows that the two women are connected by the same image before them, something they are both able to see in the same way.

By Sunday, Amelia, Sophia, Lucy and Brigette

Katherine Mansfield: Bliss: Pear Tree

In Katherine Mansfeild's Bliss, Bertha refers to a pear tree throughout the story.

"The windows of the drawing-room opened on to a balcony overlooking the garden. At the far end, against the wall, there was a tall slender pear tree in fullest, richest bloom; it stood perfect, as though becalmed against the jade-green sky. Bertha couldn't help feeling, even from this distance, that it had not a single bud or a faded petal."

The pear tree symbolises beauty, especially beauty of Bertha's blissful life. "And she seemed to see on her eyelids the lovely pear tree with it's wide open blossoms as a symbol of her own life."

Bertha sees the blooming pear tree in the garden as a symbol of her blissful happiness and her friendship with Pearl. However, when Bertha's life falls apart in the end, the tree is the same, showing that Bertha was not really connected to the beauty of the pear tree and was simply kidding herself. "But the pear tree was as lovely as ever and as full of flower and as still."

But it could also be seen as a sign that all beauty is not lost. Perhaps Bertha will move on to a richer and fuller life in the future. Or maybe she will choose to ignore her discovery, and continue to live in ignorant bliss.

"Your lovely pear tree-pear tree-pear tree!"

-Rasphal, Cecelia, Jack, Viv

SAC PARAGRAPH - HEMINGWAY "UP IN MICHIGAN"

In the third paragraph of "Up In Michigan", Hemingway uses an unusually large amount of repetition and exposition. He places this at the very beginning of the story to give it emphasis and indicate that it is a major plot point. he starts off by simply stating that, "Liz liked Jim very much" and then continues to use the word 'like' no less than nine times more. The ridiculous amount of times the word that is used is comparable with Liz's ridiculous obbsession for Jim, and it gives us insight into how Liz thinks and feels. Because Hemingway provides basically nothin on characters thoughts, this paragraph is vital for figuring out why Liz responds the way she does, when she is abused by Jim.

... Zak, Brighde, Jessica, Jacob

Boys, Chekhov - Sac Paragraph

The winter sun, making its way through the snow and the frozen tracery on the window-panes, gleamed on the samovar, and plunged its pure rays in the tea basin. The room was warm, and the boys felt as though the warmth and the frost were struggling together with a tingling sensation in their bodies.




'The winter sun, making its way through the snow and the frozen tracery on the window-panes' is the moment in Chekhov's writing where he brings an outside fantasy up close to an inside reality. The concept of reality vs fantasy is continuous and fluid throughout each of Chekhov's stories. The characters are confronted with the illusion of a somewhat impossible fantasy and the reality of an ordinary existence. For the boys 'the warmth and the frost were struggling together with a tingling sensation in their bodies' implys the desire to be out living their fantasy, yet still feeling comfortable and warm in the fimilar. The use of the word 'tingling' eludes that the feeling they are experiencing is somewhat uncomfortable, unusual, curious and almost exciting.
The imagery of the 'winter sun' that 'gleamed on the samovar' reminds us that the boys are in a family home, with expectations from the family themselves. The samovar is a representation of the families tradition, it reminds us of love, warmth and togetherness - a fantasy of the families which is later shattered when Volodya comments that 'In California they don't drink tea, but gin'. Chekhov often uses clashes of individuals fantasies to address and bring the characters back to face their common reality. In the particular scene of the boys sitting down to tea the scene is set first with 'the winter sun', outside we can imagine that with the sun comes warmth and life, yet with the use of winter before the word sun it changes the scene completely. When first you think of warmth and life, winter clashes against this, eluding the family to the idea that everything outside is all well and good as they can only see the sunshine, but the boys who have come from outside have in fact witnessed the suprising cold which comes with the 'pure ray's of the sun......

And so on and so forth. The bell is about to go.



- Mara Hurley.

Hemingway - 'Hills Like White Elephants'

"I love you now. You know I love you."
"I know. But if I do it, then it will be nice again if I say things are like white elephants, and you'll like it?"
"I'll love it. I love it now but I just can't think about it. You know how I get when I worry."

To the girl, and to us, the man's words ring hollow and insincere as he promises her that he 'loves' her, despite the impossible situation he has forced her into - she must choose between the baby and their own relationship. The girl aready senses this, and presses him to confirm her fears, but also to make the decision for her - 'if I do it, then will it be nice again [...] and you'll like it?' His noncommittal answer shows us his ignorance towards her feelings and desires, and his flippant attitude towards her obvious reliance on him for moral support, stuck in a foreign country whose language she doesn't know. Their relationship cannot carry on in this vein, as he leads her from hotel to hotel, continuing to deny her what she wants and needs - a family and a home. It seems inevitable that she will make the break for her freedom, and tragic that the price of this decision will be the baby.
Hemingway strips the dialogue down to the bare minimum and offers no judgment on the situation as a narrator. No adverbs are used, and thus the reader's feelings towards the situation must come from their own judgments, making this story almost ambiguous in its morality. The audience cannot really tell if the man is manipulative or just oblivious, and whether his 'love' for the girl is real or faked. The girl certainly loves him, but her love will sour as she realizes he does not want 'anybody else', and the baby will not be welcome.

Dom, Claudia, Isabelle

SAC Paragraph - Up In Michigan - Hemingway

"She liked it the way the hair was black on his arms and how white they were above the tanned line."
Using short, descriptive sentences, Hemingway creates the impression that Liz has dangerously obsessive feelings for Jim. Liz is attracted to Jim's physical features, "how white his teeth were," how he "washed", how he "looked." These observations show that Liz's crush on Jim is purely based on appearance. This alludes to her ignorance of relationships (as revealed later in the story). Without the knowledge of Jim's point of view, the reader takes pity on Liz's delusional idea of love, or what Liz refers to as what "made her feel funny."
 
Flo, Ali, Anna and Odette