Write about the first four chapters of Things Fall Apart. You can write about anything you’ve noticed so far, questions you have, etc.
And take a few minutes to browse through the blogs on the right. Some people are writing some amazing things.
Challenge yourself to do the same.
Link to “How to Write About Africa” here.
And here’s mine:
How to Write About Oakland
Always point out how close Oakland is to San Francisco. It’s twelve miles. And use the word “only.” It’s only twelve miles. This helps to increase the confusion many have as to how a city (sorry, The City) that is home to The Golden Gate Bridge, Real Life Cable Cars, The Giants, The 49ers, and Coit Tower could possibly share air space with a city that is home to A Police Department So Corrupt the Federal Government Had to Step In, School Closures, Crackheads, The A’s, The Raiders, and Fans of the Raiders. Don’t mention the fact that only tourists and travel guides care about The Golden Gate Bridge and Real Life Cable Cars, there was a time the Giants wished they were the A’s, and pretty much no one knows what the heck Coit Tower is doing there.
Choose one of the poems your group read and discussed on Thursday, and write a commentary. If you were absent on Thursday, I’ll have the poems available in class on Monday.
Because we have the poetry terms test on Tuesday, Commentary #4 is not due until Wednesday.
On Thursday, I mentioned that there are some students who are writing truly incredible commentaries. And I meant it. I’m sharing these with you not because I want you to copy them, or to say this is now the bar by which everyone will be measured (though that day will come, I assure you). I just want to show you that it’s possible to write commentaries that are intelligent, beautiful, honest, and funny.
You just need to take a bit of a leap.
Remember that the Imagists were all about the concentration of words. Think minimalism. Avoid decoration.
) Title: “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a _______”
2) Repeat your image in each stanza
3) Each stanza should have 2-7 lines
4) Each line should have 2-10 words
5) Lines should vary in number of words
6) Stanzas should vary in number of lines
7) Each stanza should express a different theme
8) Each stanza should convey sight, sound, or smell
9) Each stanza should convey a different perspective
Go here.
Read “Soldier’s Home” and respond to the following questions.
Here is a link to the text of the story if you need it.
1. What kind of person was Krebs before the war? What does the description in the first paragraph tell you about him? Why does the narrator mention that the fraternity brothers were all “wearing exactly the same height and style collar”?
2. How does the vision of Germany and the Rhine in the second paragraph contrast with the description in the first paragraph? What does this tell you about his experience?
3. Look closely at the language in this passage (or any other passage in the story): “Nothing was changed in the town except that the young girls had grown up. But they lived in such a complicated world of already defined alliances and shifting feuds that Krebs did not feel the energy or the courage to break into it. He liked to look at them, though. There were so many good-looking young girls. Most of them had their hair cut short. When he went away only little girls wore their hair like that or girls that were fast. They all wore sweaters and shirt waists with round Dutch collars. It was a pattern. He liked to look at them from the front porch as they walked on the other side of the street. He liked to watch them walking under the shade of the trees. He liked the round Dutch collars above their sweaters. He liked their silk stockings and flat shoes. He liked their bobbed hair and the way they walked” (349). What words or sentence patterns are repeated? What is conveyed by this repetition, and how does it help you to understand Krebs? What does he focus on as he watches the girls? Why does he find the “already defined alliances and shifting feuds” too “complicated” for him?
4. Krebs thinks a lot about “lies” in this story. What kinds of lies does he tell or refuse to tell? Why do they nauseate him? In what way might this be connected to his war experiences?
5. What is Krebs’s relationship with his sister like? How does he respond differently to her than to the other girls or women in the story? What does she represent for him?
6. The scene with Krebs and his mother parallels the earlier scene with his sister, but his mother’s demands provoke a very different reaction from him. What does she want from him? What is she afraid has happened to him? How does she seek to control him? Does she succeed?
7. Although Krebs’s father and grandfather mentioned, all of the encounters shown in the story are those with women. Why might Hemingway shape the story in this way? What does Krebs think about the relationship between his father and his mother?
8. Why is this sentence in the story? “Krebs looked at the bacon fat hardening on his plate.”
9. Why isn’t Krebs grateful for the use of the car?
10. What do you think happens at the end of the story? Why does he decide to watch his sister play indoor baseball?
By now, you should have created your blog and posted your first commentary. If you’re still having trouble doing so, please talk to me tomorrow so we can take care of it.
For information on creating your blog, go here.
For information on commentaries, go here.
And if you didn’t see it, here is the complete text of Richard Blanco’s poem for President Obama’s inauguration. If you were to write a commentary, what would you say?
“One Today”
One sun rose on us today, kindled over our shores,
peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces
of the Great Lakes, spreading a simple truth
across the Great Plains, then charging across the Rockies.
One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story
told by our silent gestures moving behind windows.
My face, your face, millions of faces in morning’s mirrors,
each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:
pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,
fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows
begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper—
bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,
on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives—
to teach geometry, or ring-up groceries as my mother did
for twenty years, so I could write this poem.
All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
the “I have a dream” we keep dreaming,
or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won’t explain
the empty desks of twenty children marked absent
today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light
breathing color into stained glass windows,
life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth
onto the steps of our museums and park benches
as mothers watch children slide into the day.
One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk
of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat
and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills
in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands
digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands
as worn as my father’s cutting sugarcane
so my brother and I could have books and shoes.
The dust of farms and deserts, cities and plains
mingled by one wind—our breath. Breathe. Hear it
through the day’s gorgeous din of honking cabs,
buses launching down avenues, the symphony
of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,
the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.
Hear: squeaky playground swings, trains whistling,
or whispers across café tables, Hear: the doors we open
for each other all day, saying: hello, shalom,
buon giorno, howdy, namaste, or buenos días
in the language my mother taught me—in every language
spoken into one wind carrying our lives
without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.
One sky: since the Appalachians and Sierras claimed
their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked
their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:
weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report
for the boss on time, stitching another wound
or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,
or the last floor on the Freedom Tower
jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.
One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love
that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother
who knew how to give, or forgiving a father
who couldn’t give what you wanted.
We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always—home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country—all of us—
facing the stars
hope—a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it—together.
The sooner you choose your poem, the sooner you can start memorizing and working on your performance.
Here is a link to the Poetry Out Loud site. Click on “Poems and Performance” to find approved poems.
Here is a list of poems I collected from the POL site. I divided them in to categories based on subject and themes. Nearly all of them are under 25 lines. If the POL site is a little overwhelming, I suggest starting here.
Choose a poem you love–or at least like a whole lot. Choose something you want to say.
Please PRINT your poem out and bring it with you to class on Monday!