1. The poet's thoughts are of the old days at his primary school and every little interesting thing that happened to him or around him. He probably felt a bit of nostalgic and maybe just a tinge of sadness when he looked back at these happy memories.
2.
Old Memories
Tied my shoe laces,
Grabbed my schoolbag
And rushed off to school,
ready to face another day.
Stepped into the classroom
Only to see people rushing work.
Said hi to my friends before
Going down to the hall.
After singing the national anthem,
We went back and began class.
The bell rang and there was chaos,
as people rushed out of the classroom.
Teacher stepped in,
and we had to line up.
Finally freedom when the final bell rang,
We then walked home together
While ramming each other towards the walls.
So you see school is not easy
but you can bet it's memorable.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Favourite Poet
I picked a poet named Naomi Shihab Nye. She intrigues me because her poems are all related to heritage and peace which makes her quite noble. One interesting fact I learned about her was that she actually began writing poems as early as the age of six which shows her interest in poetry. I believe she is a kind woman who likes peace and harmony. I feel that her work is simple yet touching, something worth commendation.
Nye has received awards from the Texas Institute of Letters, the Carity Randall Prize, the International Poetry Forum, as well as four Pushcart Prizes. She has been a Lannan Fellow, a Guggenheim Fellow, and a Wittner Bynner Fellow. In 1988 she received The Academy of American Poets' Lavan Award, selected by W. S. Merwin.
Making A Fist
For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.
"How do you know if you are going to die?"
I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,
"When you can no longer make a fist."
Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,
clenching and opening one small hand.
San Antonio
Tonight I lingered over your name,
the delicate assembly of vowels
a voice inside my head.
You were sleeping when I arrived.
I stood by your bed
and watched the sheets rise gently.
I knew what slant of light
would make you turn over.
It was then I felt
the highways slide out of my hands.
I remembered the old men
in the west side cafe,
dealing dominoes like magical charms.
It was then I knew,
like a woman looking backward,
I could not leave you,
or find anyone I loved more.
Two Countries
Skin remembers how long the years grow
when skin is not touched, a gray tunnel
of singleness, feather lost from the tail
of a bird, swirling onto a step,
swept away by someone who never saw
it was a feather. Skin ate, walked,
slept by itself, knew how to raise a
see-you-later hand. But skin felt
it was never seen, never known as
a land on the map, nose like a city,
hip like a city, gleaming dome of the mosque
and the hundred corridors of cinnamon and rope.
Skin had hope, that's what skin does.
Heals over the scarred place, makes a road.
Love means you breathe in two countries.
And skin remembers--silk, spiny grass,
deep in the pocket that is skin's secret own.
Even now, when skin is not alone,
it remembers being alone and thanks something larger
that there are travelers, that people go places
larger than themselves.
References:
http://poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/174
http://www.pifmagazine.com/SID/240/?page=1&
Nye has received awards from the Texas Institute of Letters, the Carity Randall Prize, the International Poetry Forum, as well as four Pushcart Prizes. She has been a Lannan Fellow, a Guggenheim Fellow, and a Wittner Bynner Fellow. In 1988 she received The Academy of American Poets' Lavan Award, selected by W. S. Merwin.
Making A Fist
For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.
"How do you know if you are going to die?"
I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,
"When you can no longer make a fist."
Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,
clenching and opening one small hand.
San Antonio
Tonight I lingered over your name,
the delicate assembly of vowels
a voice inside my head.
You were sleeping when I arrived.
I stood by your bed
and watched the sheets rise gently.
I knew what slant of light
would make you turn over.
It was then I felt
the highways slide out of my hands.
I remembered the old men
in the west side cafe,
dealing dominoes like magical charms.
It was then I knew,
like a woman looking backward,
I could not leave you,
or find anyone I loved more.
Two Countries
Skin remembers how long the years grow
when skin is not touched, a gray tunnel
of singleness, feather lost from the tail
of a bird, swirling onto a step,
swept away by someone who never saw
it was a feather. Skin ate, walked,
slept by itself, knew how to raise a
see-you-later hand. But skin felt
it was never seen, never known as
a land on the map, nose like a city,
hip like a city, gleaming dome of the mosque
and the hundred corridors of cinnamon and rope.
Skin had hope, that's what skin does.
Heals over the scarred place, makes a road.
Love means you breathe in two countries.
And skin remembers--silk, spiny grass,
deep in the pocket that is skin's secret own.
Even now, when skin is not alone,
it remembers being alone and thanks something larger
that there are travelers, that people go places
larger than themselves.
References:
http://poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/174
http://www.pifmagazine.com/SID/240/?page=1&
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Once I saw mountains angry by Stephen Crane
Once I saw mountains angry,
And ranged in battle-front.
Against them stood a little man;
Aye, he was no bigger than my finger.
I laughed, and spoke to one near me,
"Will he prevail?"
"Surely," replied this other;
"His grandfathers beat them many times.
"Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers --
At least, for the little man
Who stood against the mountains.
There is little use of figurative language throughout the poem as it focuses on the content of the poem.
"Mountains angry" is a form of personification, in which the mountains are given a human emotion anger to show their fury and their desire for battle.
"the little man" is a form of symbolism, in which he symbolises courage to show that anyone, even if small, can possess it.
"he was no bigger than my finger" is a form of hyperbole, in which the little man's size is exaggerated to show how small the odds are of him defeating the mountains.
The reason I like this poem is how the story is simple yet captivating. There is a small person who is actually standing up against the tall mountains. The author ridicules him for his foolish act. But then, he realised something after hearing the story about the little man and his grandfathers, that the young man had something many lacked-courage. The young man actually was brave enough and peace-loving to try and stop the war and also continue the legacy of those who came before him. All with just his small size. It helps to reflect if people have the virtue in them or are just cowards.
Once I saw mountains angry,
And ranged in battle-front.
Against them stood a little man;
Aye, he was no bigger than my finger.
I laughed, and spoke to one near me,
"Will he prevail?"
"Surely," replied this other;
"His grandfathers beat them many times.
"Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers --
At least, for the little man
Who stood against the mountains.
There is little use of figurative language throughout the poem as it focuses on the content of the poem.
"Mountains angry" is a form of personification, in which the mountains are given a human emotion anger to show their fury and their desire for battle.
"the little man" is a form of symbolism, in which he symbolises courage to show that anyone, even if small, can possess it.
"he was no bigger than my finger" is a form of hyperbole, in which the little man's size is exaggerated to show how small the odds are of him defeating the mountains.
The reason I like this poem is how the story is simple yet captivating. There is a small person who is actually standing up against the tall mountains. The author ridicules him for his foolish act. But then, he realised something after hearing the story about the little man and his grandfathers, that the young man had something many lacked-courage. The young man actually was brave enough and peace-loving to try and stop the war and also continue the legacy of those who came before him. All with just his small size. It helps to reflect if people have the virtue in them or are just cowards.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
History
The book I have reviewed is called "HISTORY". It is written by John Farndon and has over 500 pages. It is filled with interesting facts about key events in history of mankind. It is also easy to read as the facts are in bulleted form and there are many colourful illustrations. It is also written tight and concise.
One part I liked was when they talked about the ancient Egyptians and their culture.They first included the development of Egypt by River Nile. Next, they shared about the gods of Egypt they believed in and their beliefs of how the universe was created. Some of the gods are Ra-Atum, the sun god, Osiris, ruler of the underworld Kingdom of the Dead. Finally, there is the mystery of the pyramids. Experts are simply baffled even till this day as to how the pyramids are built. Theories have been tested out but none can explain satisfactorily how such vast quantities of stone could have been moved such huge distances and arranged with such incredible accuracy.
It is good to read this book to get a brief introduction on key events and people. It can also be used as reference or just reading pleasure.
One part I liked was when they talked about the ancient Egyptians and their culture.They first included the development of Egypt by River Nile. Next, they shared about the gods of Egypt they believed in and their beliefs of how the universe was created. Some of the gods are Ra-Atum, the sun god, Osiris, ruler of the underworld Kingdom of the Dead. Finally, there is the mystery of the pyramids. Experts are simply baffled even till this day as to how the pyramids are built. Theories have been tested out but none can explain satisfactorily how such vast quantities of stone could have been moved such huge distances and arranged with such incredible accuracy.
It is good to read this book to get a brief introduction on key events and people. It can also be used as reference or just reading pleasure.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
