As we work through this book, this week, here are parts I would like to focus on:
For Mon:
Introduction
My Father and the Figtree
The Words Under the Words
Arabic Coffee
My Grandmother in the Stars
19 Varieties of Gazelle
For Wed:
Prayer in my Boot
Jerusalem
Two Countries
Peace
How Long Peace Takes
Blood
Praying For WInd
Olive Jar
Stain
My Uncle's Favorite Coffee Shop
For Fri:
Different Ways to Pray
Biography of an Armenian Schoolgirl
Spark
The Clean Rinse
For the 500th Dead Palestinian...
The Tray
5 more of your choice
Monday, January 31, 2011
The Vagina Monologues at SCSU
SCSU is staging a version of The Vagina Monologues, a play we are reading for this class soon. Extra Credit will be offered to anyone who attends the performance (and submits a one-page reaction to it). Extra Extra Credit will be given to anyone who is part of the performance team (no write-up needed). Director Sarah Rizzuto sent me the following info. Email me if you want or need more info and I will forward her entire email to you.
Casting Calls: Monday Jan 31 from 3:30-4:50 & Tuesday Feb 1 from 5-7:00 in EN C-108
Performances: Monday February 14th at 7:00PM & Tuesday February 15th at 7:00PM in the Student Center Theater
Contact Info:
Directing Team: Ashley McGuffie (ashmcguffie@yahoo.com (203) 218-1459); Sarah Rizutto (runningstars@hotmail.com ) and Eunice Opuku (opukue1@owls.southernct.edu)
Production Team: Ebony McClease (mccleasee1@owls.southernct.edu ) and Moira Duffy (duffymhd@gmail.com)
Casting Calls: Monday Jan 31 from 3:30-4:50 & Tuesday Feb 1 from 5-7:00 in EN C-108
Performances: Monday February 14th at 7:00PM & Tuesday February 15th at 7:00PM in the Student Center Theater
Contact Info:
Directing Team: Ashley McGuffie (ashmcguffie@yahoo.com (203) 218-1459); Sarah Rizutto (runningstars@hotmail.com ) and Eunice Opuku (opukue1@owls.southernct.edu)
Production Team: Ebony McClease (mccleasee1@owls.southernct.edu ) and Moira Duffy (duffymhd@gmail.com)
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Class cancelled today due to snow
So here is a snow poem for you
(not a woman writer, but a contemporary American poet):
photo © 2009 Mrs. Gemstone | more info (via: Wylio)
Snow Day
Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,
its white flag waving over everything,
the landscape vanished,
not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,
and beyond these windows
the government buildings smothered,
schools and libraries buried, the post office lost
under the noiseless drift,
the paths of trains softly blocked,
the world fallen under this falling.
In a while I will put on some boots
and step out like someone walking in water,
and the dog will porpoise through the drifts,
and I will shake a laden branch,
sending a cold shower down on us both.
But for now I am a willing prisoner in this house,
a sympathizer with the anarchic cause of snow.
I will make a pot of tea
and listen to the plastic radio on the counter,
as glad as anyone to hear the news
that the Kiddie Corner School is closed,
the Ding-Dong School, closed,
the All Aboard Children's School, closed,
the Hi-Ho Nursery School, closed,
along with -- some will be delighted to hear --
the Toadstool School, the Little School,
Little Sparrows Nursery School,
Little Stars Pre-School, Peas-and-Carrots Day School,
the Tom Thumb Child Center, all closed,
and -- clap your hands -- the Peanuts Play School.
So this is where the children hide all day,
These are the nests where they letter and draw,
where they put on their bright miniature jackets,
all darting and climbing and sliding,
all but the few girls whispering by the fence.
And now I am listening hard
in the grandiose silence of the snow,
trying to hear what those three girls are plotting,
what riot is afoot,
which small queen is about to be brought down.
Billy Collins
(not a woman writer, but a contemporary American poet):
photo © 2009 Mrs. Gemstone | more info (via: Wylio)Snow Day
Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,
its white flag waving over everything,
the landscape vanished,
not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,
and beyond these windows
the government buildings smothered,
schools and libraries buried, the post office lost
under the noiseless drift,
the paths of trains softly blocked,
the world fallen under this falling.
In a while I will put on some boots
and step out like someone walking in water,
and the dog will porpoise through the drifts,
and I will shake a laden branch,
sending a cold shower down on us both.
But for now I am a willing prisoner in this house,
a sympathizer with the anarchic cause of snow.
I will make a pot of tea
and listen to the plastic radio on the counter,
as glad as anyone to hear the news
that the Kiddie Corner School is closed,
the Ding-Dong School, closed,
the All Aboard Children's School, closed,
the Hi-Ho Nursery School, closed,
along with -- some will be delighted to hear --
the Toadstool School, the Little School,
Little Sparrows Nursery School,
Little Stars Pre-School, Peas-and-Carrots Day School,
the Tom Thumb Child Center, all closed,
and -- clap your hands -- the Peanuts Play School.
So this is where the children hide all day,
These are the nests where they letter and draw,
where they put on their bright miniature jackets,
all darting and climbing and sliding,
all but the few girls whispering by the fence.
And now I am listening hard
in the grandiose silence of the snow,
trying to hear what those three girls are plotting,
what riot is afoot,
which small queen is about to be brought down.
Billy Collins
Monday, January 24, 2011
A Welcome Poem
Seize The Day
By Judith Ortiz Cofer
Remember to wake early and take your time in rising.
Enter the world refreshed by the hope emitted by each atom of light,
by the bird who must sing at the sight of the sun.
Does he pity us humans,
who can choose not to break into song at dawn?
Look for small revelations all day.
Let water heal your body.
Think of bathing as a ritual of new beginnings.
Step outside and breathe deeply.
Take in the smells of life, good and foul.
Remember this day is a gift.
Be surprised by nature that shares your world of giant steps.
The bug that irks you,
the yellow butterfly that catches your eye,
and the furred thing with sharp teeth that repels you –
are all in your moment of history.
Concentrate on living hour by hour as if you were feeding coins
into a meter measuring your life.
Here is this hour, and you have already paid for it.
Love your work, and enjoy your play.
Remember, there is little lasting joy in things
done only for gold or fame.
Without love your spirit will be a flower picked without purpose
and thrown on the ground to be trampled by anyone.
Have a place and a time to sit with your thoughts.
Pray before sleep, or read a great poem.
Sacred words will clear your crowded mind.
Remind yourself to speak Spanish
before you go into the dark.
Greet your ancestors
in our native tongue, let them guide you
to the place of your origin, an island in the sun,
our home now only in our dreams. Say noche,
say amor, say suenos.
Welcome the night.
Good sleep is your body’s mending time.
In its sweet release, the fires of worry and anger will be subdued;
and in dreams you may learn to fly above any blaze,
and let your secret self float free
above a new world.
You must imagine and learn to embrace
each and every day.
By Judith Ortiz Cofer
Remember to wake early and take your time in rising.
Enter the world refreshed by the hope emitted by each atom of light,
by the bird who must sing at the sight of the sun.
Does he pity us humans,
who can choose not to break into song at dawn?
Look for small revelations all day.
Let water heal your body.
Think of bathing as a ritual of new beginnings.
Step outside and breathe deeply.
Take in the smells of life, good and foul.
Remember this day is a gift.
Be surprised by nature that shares your world of giant steps.
The bug that irks you,
the yellow butterfly that catches your eye,
and the furred thing with sharp teeth that repels you –
are all in your moment of history.
Concentrate on living hour by hour as if you were feeding coins
into a meter measuring your life.
Here is this hour, and you have already paid for it.
Love your work, and enjoy your play.
Remember, there is little lasting joy in things
done only for gold or fame.
Without love your spirit will be a flower picked without purpose
and thrown on the ground to be trampled by anyone.
Have a place and a time to sit with your thoughts.
Pray before sleep, or read a great poem.
Sacred words will clear your crowded mind.
Remind yourself to speak Spanish
before you go into the dark.
Greet your ancestors
in our native tongue, let them guide you
to the place of your origin, an island in the sun,
our home now only in our dreams. Say noche,
say amor, say suenos.
Welcome the night.
Good sleep is your body’s mending time.
In its sweet release, the fires of worry and anger will be subdued;
and in dreams you may learn to fly above any blaze,
and let your secret self float free
above a new world.
You must imagine and learn to embrace
each and every day.
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