Wednesday, December 16, 2015

1. Study

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

1. Study

Monday, December 14, 2015

1. Get review for semester exam.
2. Work on missing assignments.
3. Turn in missing work.

Friday, December 11, 2015

1. Essays due.




A Christmas Carol

Thursday, December 10, 2015

1. Work on essays (due tomorrow).

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

1. Work on essays (due Friday).

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

1. Watch final part of the 2013 version of Much Ado About Nothing.
2. You will have two essays to write, each of which is a test grade. 
3. The first paper is a comparison/contrast of the two movies. Unlike most of the papers you have done in here, this one will be in the usual form for a paper of this type: 
     a. introduction paragraph, which includes your thesis statement;
     b. two paragraphs that tell how the two movies were alike, including examples or proofs;
     c. two paragraphs that tell how the two movies were different, including examples or proofs;
     d. concluding paragraph;
     e. transition sentences for the paragraphs; and
     f. proper sentence structure, grammar, spelling, punctuation, etc.
4. There is no set length for the first paper, but with six paragraphs, this should be well over a page.
5. The second paper is a one-page minimum essay in which you have free rein to tell me an opinion (or more) about the movie(s), story, characters, etc. Give me reasons or proofs for your thoughts. There is no set form for this paper. The main object is to get your idea(s) across. That is the one thing on this paper that will be judged. Of course, poor spelling, handwriting, and other sub-par efforts can hinder that goal, although they, in themselves, will not be graded on this paper.
6. Both papers will be handwritten on paper.
7. Both papers are due on Friday, December 11.
8. You will have other assignments to do this week, as well, but plenty of time will be allowed in class for the papers.

Monday, December 7, 2015

1. Watch President Franklin Roosevelt's speech after Pearl Harbor in 1941.
2. Watch the final part of the 1993 version of Much Ado About Nothing.
3. In place of a missing grade, you may write a one-page essay on some aspect of Pearl Harbor-- the attack, the errors, the results, the costs, or any other thing associated with it. You may include facts, but put everything in your own words. Most of all, I want your opinion about that which you are writing. 

Friday, December 4, 2015

1. Watch second part of the 2013 version of Much Ado About Nothing.

Thursday, December 3, 2015

1. Watch second part of the 1993 version of Much Ado About Nothing.

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

1. Watch first part of the 2013 version of Much Ado About Nothing.
2. Write down thoughts.

Tuesday, December 1. 2015

1. Watch first part of the 1993 version of Much Ado About Nothing.
2. Write down thoughts.

Monday, November 30, 2015

1. I hate Shakespeare.
2. Write a one-page minimum paper explaining why you hate William Shakespeare. 
3. Include at least five facts about Shakespeare, his theater, his plays, the times, language, and/or whatever else may apply to him.
4. The paper in which the student best expresses his/her vehemence for Shakespeare will go to lunch 5 minutes early tomorrow and may take one person with him/her.
6. We will discuss Shakespeare and what we are going to do over the next two weeks.

Friday, November 20, 2015

1. Finish reading Book 2, Ch. 14, in A Tale of Two Cities.
2. Quiz on Ch. 11 & 12
3. Quiz on Ch. 13 & 14

Thursday, November 19, 2015

1. Read Book 2, Ch. 11, 12, 13, & 14 in A Tale of Two Cities.
2. Quiz tomorrow.
3. We will pick the novel back up in January to concentrate on our play between Thanksgiving and Christmas break.

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

1. Quiz over Ch. 9 & 10 in A Tale of Two Cities. (You may use your books.)
2. Read Ch. 11, "A Companion Picture", Ch. 12, "The Fellow of Delicacy", and Ch. 13, "The Fellow of No Delicacy".

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

1. Discuss "The Highwayman".
2. Discuss Book 2, Ch. 7 & 8, from A Tale of Two Cities.
3. Make sure you have read Ch. 9, "The Gorgon's Head".
4. Read Ch. 10, "Two Promises".
5. You will have a quiz tomorrow over Ch. 9 & 10.

Monday, November 16, 2015

1. Read the poem below.
2. Get in groups of four.
3. Assign each member of the group a job:
     a. Reader-- this member is to read the poem to the group.
     b. Researcher-- this member is to look up information.
     c. Writer-- this member is to write down what the group decides to say about the poem.
     d. Artist-- this member is to draw a relevant picture about the poem.
4. If there is a fifth member, he/she will be another researcher.
5. Write a one-page minimum essay about the poem (whatever you want to say-- inform, amuse, entertain, enlighten, or annoy me).
6. Also include picture(s), which does not count as part of the one page.
7. This is due today by the end of the period. 
8. Each member will receive a daily grade for this.

The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes

PART ONE

I

THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, 
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, 
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, 
And the highwayman came riding— 
Riding—riding— 
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

II

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, 
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin; 
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh! 
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, 
His pistol butts a-twinkle, 
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

III

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard, 
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred; 
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there 
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, 
Bess, the landlord's daughter, 
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

IV

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked 
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked; 
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, 
But he loved the landlord's daughter, 
The landlord's red-lipped daughter, 
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

V

'One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night, 
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; 
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, 
Then look for me by moonlight, 
Watch for me by moonlight, 
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.'

VI

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand, 
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand 
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, 
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!) 
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.



PART TWO

I

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; 
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, 
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, 
A red-coat troop came marching— 
Marching—marching— 
King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.

II

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, 
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; 
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! 
There was death at every window; 
And hell at one dark window; 
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

III

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; 
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! 
'Now, keep good watch!' and they kissed her. 
She heard the dead man say— 
Look for me by moonlight; 
Watch for me by moonlight; 
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

IV

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! 
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! 
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, 
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, 
Cold, on the stroke of midnight, 
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

V

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest! 
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, 
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again; 
For the road lay bare in the moonlight; 
Blank and bare in the moonlight; 
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain .

VI

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear; 
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? 
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, 
The highwayman came riding, 
Riding, riding! 
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!

VII

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night! 
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! 
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, 
Then her finger moved in the moonlight, 
Her musket shattered the moonlight, 
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

VIII

He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood 
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood! 
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear 
How Bess, the landlord's daughter, 
The landlord's black-eyed daughter, 
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

IX

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, 
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! 
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, 
When they shot him down on the highway, 
Down like a dog on the highway, 
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

X

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, 
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, 
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, 
A highwayman comes riding— 
Riding—riding— 
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

XI

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard; 
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; 
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there 
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, 
Bess, the landlord's daughter, 
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Friday, November 13, 2015

1. Novel reading assignment for 11/13 due.
2. Quiz on Book 2, Ch. 7-8, in A Tale of Two Cities.
3. Read Book 2, Ch. 9, "The Gorgon's Head".

Thursday, November 12, 2015

1. Read the poem below.
2. In your own words , tell me what you think is going on in the poem. Who is the traveller? (the UK spelling, by the way) Why did he come? What happened in the past? Who are the listeners? Who else might be there? Why did no one answer? Where is all of this happening? What else came to your mind while reading this? What are your thoughts about this poem? Be sure to tell me what you think and feel, not what someone else thinks or what you believe the author meant. I would rather hear what was going on in your brain. This is a one-page minimum.
3. Be sure to have read Chapters 7-9 in A Tale of Two Cities by tomorrow. There will be a quiz.


The Listeners by Walter de la Mare

"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grass
Of the forest's ferny floor;
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:--
"Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word," he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone. 

Wednesday, November 11. 2015

1. Click on the link below.
2. Choose at least twenty (yes, twenty) of the poems to read. (You may read more; there are several pages of them.)
3. List the twenty you read.
4. Tell which poem is your favorite and why. (one or two sentences only-- if I am going to have you read twenty poems, even if they are short, I will keep the writing to a minimum.

Ogden Nash

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

1. Read the poem below.
2. Write two paragraphs, telling me the following:
     a. your response and 
     b. what you think the poet would say about computers.

Television by Roald Dahl

The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rat and Mr. Mole-
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did. 

3. Read Book 2, Ch. 9, "The Gorgon's Head", in A Tale of Two Cities.

4. Also read Book 2, Ch. 7-8, "Monsigneur in Town" and "Monsigneur in the Country", if you have not yet. There will be a quiz on Friday over Ch. 7-8.

Monday, November 9, 2015

1. Read the poem below.
2. Write three paragraphs telling me the following:
     a. what the heck it means,
     b. why you think someone would write something like this, and
     c. your overall response to it.


Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

'Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!'

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One two! One two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

'And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Friday, November 6, 2015

1. Quiz on Book 2, Ch. 5-6, in A Tale of Two Cities.
2. Novel reading assignment for 11/6 due (Book 2, Ch. 7-8, "Monsigneur in Town" and "Monsigneur in the Country".

Thursday, November 5, 2015

1. Read the three poems below.
2. Write a response to one of them.

Invictus by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:


Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.' 


The Soldier by Rupert Brooke

IF I should die, think only this of me:

That there’s some corner of a foreign field

That is forever England. There shall be

In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,

A body of England’s, breathing English air,

Washed by the rivers, blest by the suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;

And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

1. Read the three poems below. 
2. Write a response to one of them (minimum one-half page).

If by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son! 

Abou Ben Adhem 

by James Henry Leigh Hunt

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,

And saw, within the moonlight in his room,

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,

An angel writing in a book of gold:— 

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,

And to the Presence in the room he said

"What writest thou?"—The vision raised its head,

And with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered "The names of those who love the Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"

Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,

But cheerly still, and said "I pray thee, then,

Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night

It came again with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,

And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest

No Man is an Island by John Donne
No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; 
It tolls for thee.