<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832</id><updated>2012-02-16T03:34:07.553-08:00</updated><title type='text'>AP Literature and Composition</title><subtitle type='html'>by Shelby Surdyk</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>53</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-3336500545252944952</id><published>2010-02-18T17:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-18T17:09:55.639-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Alaskan Alliance Against Administrative Waste!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://alaskaaaw.blogspot.com/"&gt;UA Top Executives Recive Bloated Salaries&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By Forest Kvasnikoff | Juneau Empire My Turn Piece February 10, 2010&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a life-long Alaskan and a graduate of the University of Alaska system, I want to express my great concern at the salaries of the university president and its three chancellors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While the decisions on these salaries are made by the Board of Regents, as the Alaska Legislature reviews the University of Alaska's budget, I urge legislators, as well as every constituent, to consider the following.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, the university is moving to ever-larger classes and several students, particularly at University of Alaska Southeast, cannot graduate in four years because of the lack of faculty to teach classes. It was only through the generosity of faculty, willing to provide independent study classes, that I was able to graduate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To reduce the president's and chancellor's salaries by $100,000 would enable needed faculty to be employed and move to achieving the outright objective of the university -teaching and graduating students.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It appears, in fact, that top administrators would be willing to work for much less. In 2003, President Mark Hamilton commented to Sen. John Cowdery after the senator complained about his salary, "If that (my salary) is standing in the way of funding the university, I will work for a dollar next year and be proud of it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the time of Hamilton's comment to Cowdery his base salary was $250,000. Despite his bravado in 2003, the following fiscal year Hamilton's base salary was increased by $6,500 and by 2006 he was awarded a $100,000 bonus for fulfilling a three-year contract.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second, Hamilton is currently one of the highest-paid Alaska executives, with a price tag in 2009 of $300,000 - and that is not including $9,250 for a car, $70,000 in deferred compensation, $34,847 worth in retirement pay or the price for the house in which Hamilton lives that is financed by the state. The running total for Hamilton alone for 2009 amounts to more than $531,144.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Third, UA chancellors throughout the system since 2006 have been making more than $200,000, not including benefits for cars, a house and bonuses. Chancellor John Pugh, for instance, who administers about 80 full-time faculty members and under 1000 full-time students at UAS, pulled in $204,570 in 2008, and that is not including his benefits or the car provided at state expense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For comparison sake, consider that the chancellor at the University of California Berkeley, Robert J. Birgeneau, received $467,556 in total compensation for 2008-09. This means that Birgeneau, with a total enrollment of 35,396 Students (97 percent of them were full-time) can be said to be "earning" $13.21 for each student who enters U.C. Berkeley.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comparatively, Chancellor Pugh hypothetically earns $69.25 (26 percent of them were full-time in 2008-09) for every student entering the University of Alaska Southeast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pugh, then, is making approximately five times more per student than the chancellor at the University of California Berkeley - a well-established and fairly prestigious university. Keep in mind, also, the fact that in June 2009, the Juneau Empire ran an article which indicated that Chancellor Pugh was facing a vote of "no confidence" from faculty members at the University of Alaska Southeast. Apparently, the size of one's salary isn't indicative of administrative tact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, expenditures for administrative purposes have risen sharply throughout the UA system. One has to wonder why the UA system hasn't made concerted internal efforts to trim the fat a bit concerning administrative costs. Perhaps, no one notices or cares that President Hamilton is making nearly 3.5 times as much as Alaska's governor, and the chancellor, at the smallest campus in the UA system, is making about $75,000 more?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Make no mistake: I am certainly aware that administrative costs for top university executives have been on the rise and will likely continue. But, it is difficult to pretend that Alaska legislators and their constituents would support a public system, ostensibly dedicated towards the noble goal of higher education, which irrespective of its size and purpose, irrationally rewards a few at the expense of expanding and improving purely educational ventures.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-3336500545252944952?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/3336500545252944952/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=3336500545252944952' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3336500545252944952'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3336500545252944952'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2010/02/alaskan-alliance-against-administrative.html' title='Alaskan Alliance Against Administrative Waste!'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-728069748389230077</id><published>2009-04-28T12:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T13:09:39.676-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Online Flash-Cards!</title><content type='html'>&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Flashcardexchange.com has flash cards for pretty much any subject you could imagine, but its cards for 'AP lit terms' have especially high ratings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Here is the link for a set of digital flash cards that I liked:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flashcardexchange.com/flashcards/view/466521"&gt;http://www.flashcardexchange.com/flashcards/view/466521&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;When you get the this web-page, click the link that says 'Study', to access the cards. Very neat little site. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a very extensive set (102 card), with very basic terms (like irony, novella, narrator) as well as more challenging terms (like 'in medias res', euphony, frame story, cacophony, hubris)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;_&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-728069748389230077?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/728069748389230077/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=728069748389230077' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/728069748389230077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/728069748389230077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/04/online-flash-cards.html' title='Online Flash-Cards!'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-7156276135687085253</id><published>2009-04-28T12:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T12:44:01.917-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Poetry Term Quiz!</title><content type='html'>Famous-Poems.org has created an awesome little quiz to test our knowledge of poetry terms- such as Anaphora, Hyperbole, Idyll, Assonance, Alliteration, Epizuexis...and a kazillion other poetical terms that we either NEED to know, or would be IMPRESSIVE to use on the AP exam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You should give it a try: http://www.famous-poems.org/quiz&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table style="font-family: arial,verdana; font-size: 11px; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); width: 440px; cursor: default;" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="padding: 3px 5px; background: rgb(0, 0, 0) none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(255, 255, 255); white-space: nowrap;"&gt;I took the &lt;a href="http://www.famous-poems.org/quiz" target="_blank" style="border: medium none ; color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;"&gt;Poetry Terminology Quiz&lt;/a&gt; at &lt;a href="http://www.famous-poems.org/" target="_blank" style="border: medium none ; color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;"&gt;Famous Poems&lt;/a&gt;&lt;b&gt;.org&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="padding: 3px 10px; background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 12px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;My results:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h1 style="margin: 0pt; font-size: 21px; font-weight: normal;"&gt;Super Poetry Expert!&lt;/h1&gt;&lt;div style="border: 1px solid rgb(170, 170, 170); margin: 5px 0pt; padding: 2px; cursor: default; width: 396px;"&gt;&lt;div style="background: rgb(0, 0, 0) none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; width: 389px;"&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: verdana,arial; color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 1px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 10px;"&gt;&lt;div style="border-right: 2px solid rgb(255, 255, 255); padding: 2px; width: 55px; text-align: center;"&gt;My Score&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border: 1px solid rgb(170, 170, 170); margin: 0pt 0pt 5px; padding: 2px; cursor: default; width: 396px;"&gt;&lt;div style="background: rgb(0, 0, 0) none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; width: 270px;"&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: verdana,arial; color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 1px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 10px;"&gt;&lt;div style="border-right: 2px solid rgb(255, 255, 255); padding: 2px; width: 55px; text-align: center;"&gt;Average&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;The average quiz taker scored 63%, while I scored a whopping &lt;b&gt;98%&lt;/b&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;How's that for a poetry expert?&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="padding: 3px 5px; background: rgb(0, 0, 0) none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(255, 255, 255); white-space: nowrap;"&gt;Think you can do better? Head to the &lt;a href="http://www.famous-poems.org/" target="_blank" style="border: medium none ; color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;"&gt;Famous Poems&lt;/a&gt; &lt;b&gt;Library&lt;/b&gt; and &lt;a href="http://www.famous-poems.org/quiz" target="_blank" style="border: medium none ; color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;"&gt;Take the Quiz!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-7156276135687085253?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/7156276135687085253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=7156276135687085253' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/7156276135687085253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/7156276135687085253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/04/poetry-term-quiz.html' title='Poetry Term Quiz!'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-8244374828982177333</id><published>2009-04-24T10:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-24T11:47:44.229-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Renaissance: A Rebirth</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SfIFUE993TI/AAAAAAAAA-s/Vo8qVyDlfhk/s1600-h/vitruvian.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SfIFUE993TI/AAAAAAAAA-s/Vo8qVyDlfhk/s320/vitruvian.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328327151621889330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During the Middle Ages, books were expensive and few people were even able to read. Those who were educated and literate, generally clergy men, ig&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;nored 'pagan' works by the romans and greeks and focused primarily on biblical texts.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; The renaissance represented a break from the medieval pattern of thought. Economic prosperity and relative peace inspired a growth in literature and a rediscovering of ancient 'classical' texts. The idea that the church should only be conerned with people's spirituality and not their civic lives rose in popularity, and art flourished. Literature appearing this age of science and creation is considered to be part of the 'Re&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;naissance Literary Movement'.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Major Influences:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;* classic Greek and Roman literature&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;* art and ideology of Italy&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;* quattrocento architecture and symmetry&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;* protestantism *&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Reoccuring themes:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;* the value of Chivalry&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;* humanism vs. church&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;* struggle for moral purity&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;* freewill of men&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;* search for 'truth' *&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Common Literary Devices:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;* symmetrical verse and metre&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;* harmonic alliteration and rhyming&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;* 'poems within poems', short, concise sections&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;* Imagery and depictions of art *&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Other Stylistic Devices:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;* philosophy and ideology that reflected developing science of the period&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;* love stories, or romantic dramas&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;* tragic stories of struggling heroes *&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Representative Poets and Authors:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;* Shakespear&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;* Christopher Marlowe&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;* Edmund Spencer&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;* Aemilia Lanyer&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;* Mary Herbert&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"&gt;* Sir Walter Ralegh *&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SfIEjTGhMuI/AAAAAAAAA-k/zKMJh8li_P0/s1600-h/Creation+of+Adam.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 181px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SfIEjTGhMuI/AAAAAAAAA-k/zKMJh8li_P0/s400/Creation+of+Adam.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328326313602265826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;dt style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sonnet by Sir Thomas Wyatt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;Some fowls there be that have so perfect sight &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;Again the sun their eyes for to defend; &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;And some because the light doth them offend &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;Do never 'pear but in the dark or night. &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;Other rejoice that see the fire bright &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;And ween to play in it, as they do pretend, &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;And find the contrary of it that they intend. &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;Alas, of that sort I may be by right, &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;For to withstand her look I am not able &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;And yet can I not hide me in no dark place, &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;Remembrance so followeth me of that face. &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;So that with teary eyen, swollen and unstable, &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;My destiny to behold her doth me lead, &lt;/dt&gt;&lt;dt style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"&gt;Yet do I know I run into the gleed.&lt;/dt&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-8244374828982177333?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/8244374828982177333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=8244374828982177333' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8244374828982177333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8244374828982177333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/04/renaissance-rebirth.html' title='Renaissance: A Rebirth'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SfIFUE993TI/AAAAAAAAA-s/Vo8qVyDlfhk/s72-c/vitruvian.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-3413497907483149283</id><published>2009-04-23T12:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T13:02:59.931-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Augustan Literature</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SfDH1TtanGI/AAAAAAAAA-M/hUXCZEk66ZE/s1600-h/images-1.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 93px; height: 124px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SfDH1TtanGI/AAAAAAAAA-M/hUXCZEk66ZE/s200/images-1.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327978077817052258" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This movement draws its title from the Roman Emperor Augustus who ruled during the time of Virgil and Horace- two poets who heavily influenced writers in the eighteenth century.  Augustan poets both held Virgil and Horace in high esteem, and said of the writing:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;color:black;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana,Arial,Times New I2;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Those rules of old discovered, not devised,          &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana,Arial,Times New I2;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Are nature still, but nature methodized."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Meaning, that roman epic poetry was the purest, natural, form of writing. However, at the same time they mocked that style and used exagerated versions of 'epic poetry' to c&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;reate comedic satire and comment of current events and human nature. These parodies often mocked the achievements of men and the idea of ambition. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Major themes:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SfDG0NtZhXI/AAAAAAAAA-E/6VHtSpj64RM/s1600-h/Alexander_Pope.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 254px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SfDG0NtZhXI/AAAAAAAAA-E/6VHtSpj64RM/s320/Alexander_Pope.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327976959514871154" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Human Frailty&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Order in the universe&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The providential design of God&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Standards of human potential&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Common Literary Devices:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Satire, irony, and brevity&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Parody&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Allusions to Epic roman poetry&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Political commentary and Allegory&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Heroic couplets&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Other Stylistic Devices and Characteristics:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Mundane, or painfully ordinary, non-eventful, plots&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Mock Epic&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Criticism of the 'ambiguity' of Metaphysical poets&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Harmony and precision in diction and syntax&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SfDJQNt3ZeI/AAAAAAAAA-c/sYOVBa_Sdwk/s1600-h/images-2.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 108px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SfDJQNt3ZeI/AAAAAAAAA-c/sYOVBa_Sdwk/s320/images-2.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327979639576421858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Well-known authors from the period:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SfDJQNt3ZeI/AAAAAAAAA-c/sYOVBa_Sdwk/s1600-h/images-2.jpeg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Alexander Pope&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;John Dryden&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Johnathan Swift&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Joseph Addison&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-3413497907483149283?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/3413497907483149283/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=3413497907483149283' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3413497907483149283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3413497907483149283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/04/augustan-literature.html' title='Augustan Literature'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SfDH1TtanGI/AAAAAAAAA-M/hUXCZEk66ZE/s72-c/images-1.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-472935573645258698</id><published>2009-03-05T13:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-05T13:34:14.839-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Piety of 1984: Virgil and Orwell</title><content type='html'>It has just crossed my mind, that perhaps Orwell drew or grew from a prior writing, the Aenied, in the same way Virgil expanded from Homer's epic poems.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SbBEStrYQtI/AAAAAAAAA9c/Uxud8WBW2Bc/s1600-h/georeorwell.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 144px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SbBEStrYQtI/AAAAAAAAA9c/Uxud8WBW2Bc/s200/georeorwell.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309819048959689426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SbBFQ6hTOAI/AAAAAAAAA9k/XHBmrMHA4G8/s1600-h/20061012-300px-Publius_Vergilius_Maro.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 144px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SbBFQ6hTOAI/AAAAAAAAA9k/XHBmrMHA4G8/s200/20061012-300px-Publius_Vergilius_Maro.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309820117558966274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like the Aenied, and all epic poems, 1984 begins in the middle of things. Winston's character is modeled off of an historic leader (Winston Churchill).  He has experience great hardships and losses. His actions seem out of his control.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-472935573645258698?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/472935573645258698/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=472935573645258698' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/472935573645258698'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/472935573645258698'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/03/piety-of-1984-virgil-and-orwell.html' title='Piety of 1984: Virgil and Orwell'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SbBEStrYQtI/AAAAAAAAA9c/Uxud8WBW2Bc/s72-c/georeorwell.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-2217164320122068157</id><published>2009-03-05T12:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-05T13:19:59.419-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Augustus Ceasar</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"In extreme danger, fear feels no pity."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's clear that Virgil modeled Aeneas, in many aspects, off of the Roman leader Augustus, who transformed a crumbling republic into the powerful empire. So, in order to have a better understanding of Virgil's text, I've begun some research on this Roman emperor. Here are some of the more interesting or helpful sites I've encountered thus far:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.roman-emperors.org/auggie.htm"&gt; De Imperatoribus Romanis&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This site is great! It includes both a brief summary of Augustus, his life and role, and an indepth biography.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://encyclopedia.kids.net.au/page/au/Augustus_Caesar"&gt;Kids Net- Augustus Ceasar&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is it that children's websites are the most interactive and engaging? that it is assumed adults no longer need colors and graphics to maintain interest?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;a href="http://mcusiman.tripod.com/aug44.swf"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Bust of Augustus Ceasar&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uhhh...I'm only posting this because someone might find it funny. I don't really get it. It's short video, supposedly about Augustus Ceasar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;a href="http://www.inthemedievalmiddle.com/2006/06/augustus-caesar_05.html"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the Middle&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Interesting blog by a child about Augustus Ceasar- also kind of wierd and scary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.quotableonline.com/AugustusCaesar.html"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.quotableonline.com/AugustusCaesar.html"&gt;Augustus Quotes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;and finally some Augustus Quotes. Some enlightening, others, not so much. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-2217164320122068157?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/2217164320122068157/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=2217164320122068157' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/2217164320122068157'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/2217164320122068157'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/03/augustus-ceasar.html' title='Augustus Ceasar'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-1830135270074497307</id><published>2009-03-04T12:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-04T13:05:27.830-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dido in the Underworld</title><content type='html'>Throughout the Aeneid, depictions of women can easily be interpreted as sexist and degrading, but in the final scene with Dido, she is endowed with an amount of honor and dignity that no other charater, leastly Aeneas, has yet to display.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although much of the descriptions of the underworld are horrific and disgusting (mutlilated limbs, wailing infants), the scene of Dido is fairly placid. She is wandering, drifting like a fog, not suffering or wailing. Her appearance is compared to that of a raising moon. In this sense the tone associated with her is calm, and new. Moon is also a symbol of femininity, and while it was the control of her heart and emotions by a man that lead to her suicide, the moon could be symbolic of her independence from men and passions. This seems to enforce the idea that she has achieved redemption in death.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While Aeneas is crying, throwing a tangent, utterly unstoic in her presence, she maintains her control. Her 'fiery glance' is doubtfully due to an angry grudge, but disappointment in his new appearance. Compared to the Aeneas that arrived on her shores, so full of purpose, and stole her heart, this blubbering child-like mound of pity must be a disgrace, and insult to the dignity she still retains. Forests are traditionally places of mystic freedom, the uncontrolled. The fact that Dido returns to the forest, as stoic as marble, enforces the idea that in the underworld she has achieved freedom at last. She is not doomed to infinite suffering, but subjected to a final place of peace.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-1830135270074497307?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/1830135270074497307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=1830135270074497307' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/1830135270074497307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/1830135270074497307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/03/dido-in-underworld.html' title='Dido in the Underworld'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-3647085720887077945</id><published>2009-03-03T12:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-03T12:58:31.600-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Funeral Games for Anchises</title><content type='html'>The most prominent feature of this chapter is of course, the competitions and Aeneas' awards. What stands out about these awards is how generous Aeneas is with them. In the end, everyone seems to be a winner. Even in the boat competition, the captain of the losing vessel is given a beautiful slave girl! This is extremely ironic, because has been shown through the history and hardships of the Trojans, in the end, the all are losers, they all will die, and they all will suffer. Actually, I find it freaking hillarious. For a moment they are all comforted and then...THEIR BOATS GET LIT ON FIRE!---by their WIVES!! HAHAHA. It seems this situation speaks to the pattern of this book. Happiness is just the preparation for suffering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, while this chapter fulfills its purpose of giving Roman citizens an anniversary, a tradition, a right to celebrate, it also, again, mocks all human purpose. The games seem miniature reenactments of what has happened (boat race) and what is to become (other competitions). All their achievements are nothing but a game. And as is proven in even single game that takes place, it matters not how hard you work, or how certain your success may seem, anything can tip at any given moment, and you have no power over your own success.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really don't think Virgil bought into the whole 'destiny of Rome'. Also, he was probably a pessimist.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-3647085720887077945?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/3647085720887077945/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=3647085720887077945' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3647085720887077945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3647085720887077945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/03/funeral-games-for-anchises.html' title='Funeral Games for Anchises'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-3056389273511342684</id><published>2009-03-03T12:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-03T12:45:35.189-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Tragic Queen of Carthage</title><content type='html'>Something that this Chapter has made clear for me, and that I find quite interesting, is that Virgil writes from the perspective of the Gods. It makes sense that if this book is to become the history of Rome, readers should be endowed with a sense of god-like authority in the text.&lt;br /&gt;From the point of view of the narrator, Gods are given credit for all that takes place on earth. Humans are but the pawns that gods utilize in their affairs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, on the surface, Dido's love for Aeneas is created entirely from cupids arrow, at least that's how the narrators tells it. But if one looks deeper, and has any faith in human souls and self-control, it seems Dido fell for Aeneas before Cupid ever entered the scene. Having experienced hardships herself, hearing Aeneas' tale of suffering evokes compassion towards him. Although hesitant to pursue him, it is because she does not want to attach herself to him and lose dedication to her duty as queen. What seems to differ Dido from Aeneas is that she &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;perceives&lt;/span&gt; her duty to be self-determined, to have some control over her own fate. Aeneas on the other hand, can feel free of obligation and responsibility because all of his actions he feels are 'dictated by the gods'. He has the mind-set that control belongs only to the gods, and accepts whatever fate they may bestow on him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the two become unofficially married, and Dido becomes deeply attached, Aeneas is able to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;console&lt;/span&gt; himself in leaving by saying, he has a fate predetermined by the Gods. This makes Dido's story far more tragic. In her final attempt to control her fate and be free from the twisted, tortuous games of the gods, she throws herself into death. Of course, this fits exactly into the plans of Venus, and proves that she has no control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are the gods anyway? This chapter seems to represent them as nothing but an array of emotions. Any human being overcome with any emotion, has been employed by a god for some purpose. Is freedom, to have absolute control of ones emotions? Is this even possible? If Dido had accepted her fate, controlled her emotions, and thus destroyed &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Venus'&lt;/span&gt; plan, would she have been at all free? It certainly would not have made a better story if she had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*I hope this made sense...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-3056389273511342684?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/3056389273511342684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=3056389273511342684' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3056389273511342684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3056389273511342684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/03/tragic-queen-of-carthage.html' title='The Tragic Queen of Carthage'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-753392558650696169</id><published>2009-03-03T11:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-03T12:18:56.769-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Landfalls, Ports of Call</title><content type='html'>While the Aenied was ordered to be written for a singular purpose (to provide the roman empire with divine right through literature), it seems Virgil wrote with another intent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the surface, the Aenied is achieving its goal by seemingly giving the Romans a sense of purpose, a dignified and tragic history, especially in book 3. Here, the Trojans suffer greatly. Any roman would swell with pride knowing the obstacles overcome, the hardships faced, the suffering experienced. Also, this books makes the path for Italy very rigid. Every location the trojans land, rejects them. Thus,  the idea of Italy being the one spot to rebuild is reenforced. For Romans inhabiting italy, this chapter is effective in proving why Italy must be the homeland, why it is their divine right to inhabit it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, on a deeper level, this Chapter begins a process of mocking divinity, purpose, fortune, and fate. While the hero, Aeneas seems to be battling bravely on, if one looks at the chapter deeply, what is happening? He is being tossed around like a worthless toy! No god fully protects the Trojans, every god in some way abandons them. After the loss of his father, Aeneas has simply gone mad with avengance. While often referred to proudly as 'stoic', its clear that Aeneas is led by nothing but emotions and prayers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/Sa2QdCZKeXI/AAAAAAAAA9M/ryijz9uQqgE/s1600-h/antfarm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 336px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/Sa2QdCZKeXI/AAAAAAAAA9M/ryijz9uQqgE/s400/antfarm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309058364272703858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;Jove, observing the plight of Aeneas and the Trojans.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-753392558650696169?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/753392558650696169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=753392558650696169' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/753392558650696169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/753392558650696169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/03/landfalls-ports-of-call.html' title='Landfalls, Ports of Call'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/Sa2QdCZKeXI/AAAAAAAAA9M/ryijz9uQqgE/s72-c/antfarm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-1566166584411424093</id><published>2009-02-10T12:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T12:50:13.736-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Interactive Moby-Dick Map!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;a href="http://awesome.goodmagazine.com/features/011/Wanderlust/"&gt;The Voyage of the Pequod from Moby-Dick.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For all those studying Melville's classic Moby-Dick in school, or simply reading it for pleasure, this website is a delight! It allows you to visually see the voyage of the Pequod, from launching to capsizing. You can also follow a short time-line complete with illustrations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;To see the sight, click the link above or go to this URL:&lt;/span&gt; http://awesome.goodmagazine.com/features/011/Wanderlust/&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-1566166584411424093?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/1566166584411424093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=1566166584411424093' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/1566166584411424093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/1566166584411424093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/02/interactive-moby-dick-map.html' title='Interactive Moby-Dick Map!'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-7741375209445730883</id><published>2009-01-28T12:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-28T12:59:47.770-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ishmael: Was He Black?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SYDHCuUBbtI/AAAAAAAAA9E/YwIFNyfF5D0/s1600-h/black_sailor2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 398px; height: 389px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SYDHCuUBbtI/AAAAAAAAA9E/YwIFNyfF5D0/s400/black_sailor2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296452011393380050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Think About It.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-7741375209445730883?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/7741375209445730883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=7741375209445730883' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/7741375209445730883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/7741375209445730883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/01/ishmael-was-he-black.html' title='Ishmael: Was He Black?'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SYDHCuUBbtI/AAAAAAAAA9E/YwIFNyfF5D0/s72-c/black_sailor2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-6496367546376116263</id><published>2009-01-28T12:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-28T12:54:19.664-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Moby-Dick: Ch. 107</title><content type='html'>Chapter 107: The Carpenter&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If he did not have a common soul in him, he had a subtle something that somehow anoalously did its duty."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of Melville's novel has seemed dedicated to redefining religion and religious practices. Many allusions have been made to Jesus and many characters display characteristics that seem representative of Jesus- Pequod launching on his birthday, Moby-Dick's seeming rebirth and immortality, Ishmael's lack of parental information, Queequeg's 'miracles' and heroic saviors, and Ahab's sense of higher power. This chapter, in a sense, define's what Ishmael percieve's Jesus (the greatest carpenter) to be. A humble man who was 'no duplicate', and simply followed out his orders and purpose willingly and succesfully. Hey, perhaps every character in Moby-Dick corresponds to a character from the bible? Melville did call this a 'wicked text'...did he rewrite- maybe even mock- the holy book?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-6496367546376116263?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/6496367546376116263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=6496367546376116263' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/6496367546376116263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/6496367546376116263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/01/moby-dick-ch-107.html' title='Moby-Dick: Ch. 107'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-6626213660578116866</id><published>2009-01-22T08:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-22T13:47:56.130-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Moby-Dick: Chapters 82-106</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 82: The Honor and Glory of Whaling&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Throughout this novel, Ishmael has implied that whales are immortal, Gods. Now he takes a new approach, detailing the whalers as heroes, Gods. If whalers are the Gods, then what are the whales? This chapter emphasizes the idea of whales as the hunted mortal beings. Do Gods worship the worshippers? Is whaling a battle of the Gods? Are are there no Gods at all?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 83: Jonah Historically Regarded&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The validity of myths is something debated to this very day. But his chapter seems to make clear that the myths themselves are the source of wonder, and they are capable of creating miracles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 84: Pitch Poling&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Annointing" the Pequod is evidently a ritual for certain sailors. Like most forms of worship viewed objectively, it neither hurts nor benefits in any particular way. Yet for Queequeg, it satisfies the soul. Perhaps that is the 'soul' purpose of worship, and has nothing to do with the Gods above.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 85: The Fountain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How is that that which creates rainbows, can also be poisonous in nature? This is Double-think to the extreme. But wait, Ishmael also observes that a whale's spout is 'nothing but mist'. It inspires goodness, evil, and nuetrality. Triple-think? ...or the Holy Trinity?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 86: The Tail&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In legend, it was the provocative tail of the Mermaid that drew men to their deaths. Ishmael seems as entranced by the tale of this whale as any sailor was to a siren.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 87: Grand Armada&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The calm before the storm. The calm within the storm.&lt;br /&gt;The plot of this book has remained fairly flat throughout. Here it is foreshadowed, that this is the point of rest before the plot begins to rise. At the same time, it mentions that within every storm there is a center of stillness. It seems that the plot of this book is like a storm. Circling around and around, tossing the reader from place to place without obvious direction. It can be exhausting and chaotic. However, at its center remains the same stillness, the same message and purpose, that there is in any storm. It is perhaps the same stillness found int he motivation of each sailors, whose lives are like storms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 88: Schools and School-Master&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The men on the Pequod are, in a sense, very feminine. It is traditionally believed that only females can share close, intimate friendship, and that masculine men must be indepdent and without attachment. That would be the reason you don't often see men hugging in public. However, aboard the Pequod, all the men show open affection for one another. Not neccessarily in a sexual way, but friendly and affeciontately. Ahab, on the other hand, lacks that sense of femininity, and is disconnected from the other men. Is the Pequod a Harem? Like the schools of whale's which they pass? Is Ahab the great Leviathan?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 89: Fast-Fish and Loose-Fish&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ownership of whales is an illusion. The chapter makes ownership of a whale seem only a conception of the human-mind. It concludes saying that the reader is both a fast-fish and a loose-fish. The soul of any human being is both trapped and free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 90: Heads or Tails&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tails- haha, what artificial victory. The title itself is interesting, because in a coin-toss 'Heads or tails' determines whether one 'wins or loses'. The idea of presenting the tail of a leviathan to a queen- a sign that the have conquered that which tries to lure them to their death- is a complete scam. It is a false front. What the leviathan is, will never be conquered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 91: The Pequod meets the Rosebud&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gold from the rotten. One man's decayed flesh is another man's pay-day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 92: Ambergris &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Interesting, that only man create's the tarnished/smelly image of the whale. Only when man interferres, harvests blubber, and allows it to rot, that whale's produce a disgusting scent. Otherwise, they smell good, and their oil is pure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 93: The Cast Away&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps you must be on the verge of death before you can truly see God- Like Ishmael before heading out for Nantucket- Like Ahab when he lost his leg. Oh, Pip will grow to be a great sailor I predict.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 94: A Sqeeze of the Hand&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, Matrimony found through cooperation. Is love synonymous with bliss? This chapter makes it seems so. Why do children play with mud? dream of swimming through spaghetti? squich Pla-doh in their hands? Is it any different a reason than why Ishmael find such happiness and affection squeezing sperm?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 95: The Cassock&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The greatest example of 'maleness' aboard the Pequod. For a ship which attempts to exclude all things feminine, and believes it has found perfect relationships without the presence of women, it makes perfect sense they would use the penis of whale's as protective gear. It is much the same as men using the whaling vessel to protect them from the outside world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 96: The Try-Works&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Madness is only one state of wisdom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 97: The Lamp&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In perfect rhythm with the rest of the novel, whaler are depicted in a holy way. The ship itself seems to be an alter in the lamp light, or a sacrfice. Or the whalers, seems blessed by the light of whales, the light of God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 98: Slowing Down and Clearing Up&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moby-Dick must be arriving soon. It is predicted that the Pequod will be crushed by the whale- obliterated. Now, in a ritualistic manner, it is clean and purified. Prepared for sacrifice. It is a 'death bath'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 99: The Doubloon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Haha, Pips interpretation is best! The coin, symbolic of the whale quest, is in actuality nonsensical. Crazy, Loony. They have been warned about whats coming to them for pursueing the White Whale- crows unfaltered by the scarecrow. Caw Caw!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 100: Leg and Arm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had at first assumed that Ahabs madness and obsession were driven fully from his encounter with Moby-Dick. Now we see that the White Whale does not consume everyone in the same sense that it has consumed Ahab. Because it is made quite clear that the other ship is English, and that Samuel is from Longon, perhaps this is a commentary on American and its independence- the pilgrims did afterall leave England in search of religious freedom. The english are spiritually dead :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 101: The Decanter&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ishmael goes further to discuss the glutonous characteristics of English vessels, particularly their love for alcohol. Oh how effective subtle insults can be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 102: A Bower in the Arsacides&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A mock of credibility. While he begins attempting to justify himself as an expert on whales, taking measurement of bones, and telling a story that enforces his position- the story is completely false. For all we know, so is the descriptions of whale bone measurements. Concluding the chapter by discussing how he was going to tattoo a poem on his body only further mocks the credibility he was 'trying' to establish. But I do like the idea that your identity, your body, is a poem waiting to be written.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 103: Measurement of the Whale's Skeleton&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, Ishmael uses the most mortal aspect of a whale, it's physical bones, to make it immortal. Perhaps whales are like Hercules and Tea Cake, half gods.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 104: The Fossil Whale&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moby-Dick, the novel, is a Leviathan. Perhaps Melville's entire purpose was to recreate the enormity of a Sperm Whale, in text. The blood of it is certainly as old as the whales'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 105: Does the Whale's Magnitude Diminish?- Will He Perish?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Immortality is claimed not in the everlastingness of an individual, but in a species. Ishmael knows humans could be wiped of the face of the earth at God's hand, and the species will eventually cease. However, Whale's will be the creatures which survive Armegeddon. This is where man and whale differ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 106: Ahab's Leg&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How ironic that Ahab would consider the bone of any whale a trustworthy leg. Ahab's command for a new lege seems remiscent of a command for the preparation of battle, assigning all mens to their posts. It seems that the new leg could serve as battle armor. Is the battle with Moby-Dick to happen soon?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-6626213660578116866?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/6626213660578116866/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=6626213660578116866' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/6626213660578116866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/6626213660578116866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/01/moby-dick-chapters-82-106.html' title='Moby-Dick: Chapters 82-106'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-8755762587500184984</id><published>2009-01-14T11:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-14T12:16:09.159-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Insights on 'The Whale': Ch. 78-81</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 78- Cistern and Buckets&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Only one sweeter end can readily be recalled- the delicious death of an Ohio honey-hunter, who seeking honey in the crotch of a hollow tree, found such exceeding store of it, that leaning too far over, it sucked him in, so that he died embalmed. How many, think ye, have likewise fallen into Plato's honey head, and sweetly perished there? "&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The oil cavern in he head of a Sperm whale, while not veiwed as the brain or mind necessarily, represents the most valuable part of the whale. Perhaps Tashtego's near-death experience slipping into that 'honey-comb' is symbolic of how easily sailors are sucked into whaling. How easy that which you desire can overtake and destroy you. From Ishmael, who was saved from suicide by the sea, to Queequeg, who was drawn to the whaling ships since the first time he saw them, to Ahab, whose future is inextricibly twined with that of the White Whale, all men on board are captured in the vortex of the whaling industry. Of course, when you spend upwards of 3 years at sea at a time, how could you not be?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 79- The Prairie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;"But how? Genius in the Sperm Whale? Has the Sperm Whale ever written a book, spoken a speech? No, his great genius is declared in his doing nothing particular to prove it. It is moreover declared in his pyramidical silence. And this reminds me that had the great Sperm Whale been known to the young Orient World, he would have been deified by their child-magian thoughts."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, Ishmael nominates himself as the great whale expert. Like a priest, he interprets and dictates meaning, sometimes finding a greater truth, othertimes making a great fool of himself. As he discusses the nature of a whale's genius, the question is posed "What would we humans be without tongues?" Ishmael seems to argue that genius and communication, in its purest form, is found in the whale, although it has never written a book or spoken a speech. Is this how humna society determines 'genius'?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 80- The Nut&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"It is plain, then, that phrenologically the head of this Leviathan, in the creature's living intact state, is an entire delusion. As for his true brain, you can then see no indications of it, nor feel any. The whale, like all things that are mighty, wears a false brow to the common world. "&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Discussion of the Whale's skull seems to compliment the potential of high-intelligence in a whale, adding power to the malicious stories of Moby Dick. However, the whale has no immediatly apparent brain, also encouraging the idea that whale's are powered by a higher force. Moby Dick, powered by a darker force.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 81- The Pequod Meets the Virgin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"But still more curious was the fact of a lance-head of stone being found in him, not far from the buried iron, the flesh perfectly firm about it. Who had darted that stone lance? And when? It might have been darted by some Nor' West Indian long before America was discovered. "&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The great whale harpooned in this chapter emphasizes the potential age of a whale. A stone harpoon found embedded in the skin implies the whale may have lived before the discovery of iron. It almost like he existed from the beginning of time. This inturn emphasizes the immortal nature of whales. How old could Moby Dick be? Or is he, and what he represents, ageless?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-8755762587500184984?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/8755762587500184984/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=8755762587500184984' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8755762587500184984'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8755762587500184984'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2009/01/insights-on-whale-ch-78-81.html' title='Insights on &apos;The Whale&apos;: Ch. 78-81'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-893331371651913936</id><published>2008-12-11T12:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T12:52:27.940-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Moby-Dick Commentary: Ch.21-22</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Going Aboard&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Melville has dictated an entire chapter simply for the act of boarding the Pequod. Why? On the surface, it seems a chapter that easily could have been an extension on the chapter before or combined with the one following. Perhaps it is meant to emphasize the point of no return. Entering the rabbit hole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pg. 95 "Unless its before the Grand Jury."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meaning God?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Merry Christmas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The title of this is peculiar to me, for I don't recall any indication that it was in fact Christmas or even the holiday season. There is no celebration, and only one comment about the date in the whole chapter. Christmas = Birth of Christ. Who is christ? What does christ symbolize in this novel? The launching of the ship = Birth of Christ? Who does it save, from what sins?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-893331371651913936?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/893331371651913936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=893331371651913936' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/893331371651913936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/893331371651913936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/12/moby-dick-commentary-ch21-22.html' title='Moby-Dick Commentary: Ch.21-22'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-7149743579789490229</id><published>2008-12-10T10:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T11:01:05.085-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Moby-Dick Commentary: Ch. 19-20</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;The Prophet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Pg. 90 "And nothing about his losing his leg last voyage according to the prophecy."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A prophecy implies the unalterable will of God. Enforces the idea of whaling as religion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Pg. 91 "Elijah."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A 'prophet and hero', known for his courageous act of standing up to King Ahab, for introducing an idol to the Jewish Kingdom. Like King Ahab, captain Ahab, and all the sailors who follow him, treat whaling like worship. Elijah the prophet was also known for bringing turmbulent weather; foreshadow?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;All Astir&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Pg. 93 "never did any woman better deserve her name...Aunt Charity"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From a feminist perspective of the novel, Aunt Charity is a deeply respected and needed member of the Pequod. While she herself doesn't sail, she provides all the neccessary items and goods for the crew before sailing. She seems empowered and confident.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Pg. 94 "I said nothing and tried to think nothing"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this blind following, act of trust the same as 'faith'?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-7149743579789490229?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/7149743579789490229/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=7149743579789490229' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/7149743579789490229'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/7149743579789490229'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/12/moby-dick-commentary-ch-19-20.html' title='Moby-Dick Commentary: Ch. 19-20'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-5620999819068266385</id><published>2008-11-11T12:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T13:01:28.796-08:00</updated><title type='text'>WWI Reflected in 'The Big Two-Hearted River'</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SRnxASU_5KI/AAAAAAAAA2I/mmJG2SWEWNw/s1600-h/blackcricketonflower_filt-vi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 154px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SRnxASU_5KI/AAAAAAAAA2I/mmJG2SWEWNw/s200/blackcricketonflower_filt-vi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267506226408711330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The First World War was the greatest, most horrific war mankind had ever seen up until that point. A war fought over morals of justice, equality, freedom, it served as one of the most immoral periods in man's history as civilians became targets and mass-bloodshed became common. By some, it was called "&lt;i&gt;La &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Guerre&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;du&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Droit&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt; (&lt;i&gt;the War for Justice&lt;/i&gt;)"; by others "The War to End All Wars". In this way, WWI was a "Two-Hearted River". Also, as soldiers serving in the War felt patriotic, proud, and righteous, many returned home experiencing extreme shell shock (now known as post-traumatic stress syndrome) and were never able to recover. In this way, military service and role of a soldier was a "Two-Hearted River".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nick is a soldier. This is seen in his ability to bear heavy loads and his extreme physical endurance. It is seen also in his lack of luxury needs, his desire for silence and solitude, and his appreciation of a cigarette.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SRnyd_0fYmI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/ZfslAOvJCXo/s1600-h/smoke-from-forest-fire1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 191px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SRnyd_0fYmI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/ZfslAOvJCXo/s200/smoke-from-forest-fire1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267507836348228194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; The black and burnt landscape which he returns home to in reminiscent of a bombed and exploited landscape. Like the aftermath of war, the aftermath of the fire has left the area lifeless, empty. What was once lush, is now charred. It also &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;reinforces&lt;/span&gt; the idea of shell-shock experienced by soldiers at war, who often return home and cannot appreciate and reconnect with it. After their traumatic experiences at war, home for them becomes a lifeless landscape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The trout, like politicians and, more often than not, the enemies, they are unharmed by the massive fire, protected by the cool river. The insects in the story seem to represent civilians in the face of war. While Nick pities a blackened one trying to reestablish life at one point, he ruthlessly fashions them for fish bait at another. Like most soldiers at war, Nick was able to eradicate feelings of pity when a job needed to be done, and lives had to be sacrificed to achieve that. This again &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;reinforces&lt;/span&gt; the 'Two-Hearted" nature of soldiers in war.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The Sun Also Rises" is arguably written in a similar fashion as this short story: dancing around the theme of war, while keeping its presence entirely implied. Reading "The Big Two-Hearted River" can help one prepare for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Hemingway's&lt;/span&gt; novel by training the mind to see references to war when they aren't directly stated. Perhaps characters in the novel share the same 'two-hearted nature' as the character in this short story. By reading this short story before hand, the nature may be more easily identifiable in the characters of the novel.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-5620999819068266385?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/5620999819068266385/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=5620999819068266385' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/5620999819068266385'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/5620999819068266385'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/11/wwi-reflected-in-big-two-hearted-river.html' title='WWI Reflected in &apos;The Big Two-Hearted River&apos;'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SRnxASU_5KI/AAAAAAAAA2I/mmJG2SWEWNw/s72-c/blackcricketonflower_filt-vi.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-1709881304802688088</id><published>2008-10-22T06:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-22T07:54:09.936-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dialectical Journal: Their Eyes Were Watching God (Pages 80-193)</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 89&lt;/strong&gt; "&lt;em&gt;In search of things&lt;/em&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The disallusion of material items.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 90&lt;/strong&gt; "&lt;em&gt;Mislove&lt;/em&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mistaken Love. Was that the emotions and actions of Janie's Grandma? Or has Janie misconstrued her Grandma's love in such a way to make it sound less than it was. What is love?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 96&lt;/strong&gt; "&lt;em&gt;He was jumping her king&lt;/em&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Janie's king is this false front that she worked so hard to establish; the mastered disconnection between her appearance and true emotions. This fellowis playing at more than just a game of chess. He knocking down more than her hard won kings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 99&lt;/strong&gt; "&lt;em&gt;quenching the thirst of the day&lt;/em&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do we live for rest? How much of the world that Janie lives in works in the day only to sleep at night?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 100&lt;/strong&gt; "&lt;em&gt;Fact is, she decided to treat him...around there again&lt;/em&gt;."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Playing hard to get? For a woman complaining about how old she has grown, she sure is acting like a school girl. If she really did't care for him, she wouldn't intentionally treat him one way or another, just laugh off his advances like she does all the rest. She must like him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 101&lt;/strong&gt; "&lt;em&gt;Crazy Thing!...beaming out with light&lt;/em&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much for treating him coldly. Amazing how simple kindness can overcome negativity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 102&lt;/strong&gt; "&lt;em&gt;they made a lot of laughter out of nothing&lt;/em&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Janie is loving life now, at this moment, with Tea Cake. The speaker has created a great connection between happyness, laughter, and love. For Janie at least, one cannot exist without the other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 102&lt;/strong&gt; "&lt;em&gt;Tea Cake went out to the lemon tree..had lemonade too&lt;/em&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fruit motif. Life literally gave Janie lemons and she made lemonade. Metaphorically, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 116&lt;/strong&gt; "&lt;em&gt;Hurry up and come...never could be mad with you!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sounds just too good to be true. I don't think that this bliss can last much longer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 128&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"she tooks things the way he wanted her to"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe its innocent, but it seems that Tea Cake is getting a little too much control over her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 132&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"they made good money, even to the children...up with the present"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Foreshadow: perfection never lasts long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 141&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"Us oughta class off."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mrs. Turner, human in her aspirations, and human in her flaws. Her close association with Janies proves that 'class' is only an illusion created in the mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 141&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"You reckon?...We'se too poor"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Janie has grown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 145&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"all gods who recieve homage are cruel"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Interesting. We give gods the power to be cruel over us. Like Janie's grandma who saw material wealth as the end all of end alls. And how Janie saw Jody. The bodies Janie returned from at the begining of the story, mindless people "with their eyes thrown wide in Judgement", are those who worship at unattainable alters. Their eyes were watching God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 145&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"Half gods are worshipped...require blood."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tea Cake...a half god? What blood will God soon be demanding?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 156&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"If I never see you no mo' on earth, Ah'll meet you in Africa."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was a phrase originally used by those slaves brought to America from Africa, by people who dreamed of returning to their home, freedom. These characters are still enslaved, although law declares them free. Slaves to class and to economics.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 156&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"Others hurried east like...snakes and coons."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Formal education and money keep Janie and Tea Cake planted while others leave, which seems to be a bad descision of the part of Tea Cake and Janie. Again, we see people compared with animals. Only, in the case I predict that these natural instincts will be more valuable than anything taught in school. Books won't save you from a Hurricane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 157&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt; "Don't care how good anybody sould play a harp, God woudl rather to hear a guitar."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This speaks mountains about these characters. I have to say, I love this line. A guitar can capture the sorrow, soul, and spirit of these people in a way no refined, eloquent instrument could. If God's require blood, they demand a sacrifice of yourself.  He wants the suffering, pleasure, and soul of these people. Pompous wealth means little to Him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 159&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"If you kin see de light at day break, you don't keer if you die at dusk."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like all great saints, Janie has found the true meaning of purpose and God. When Moses saw the burning bush, he didn't care what he had to risk to get his people free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 163&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt; "swim, man. Dat's all."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This author has a sick sense of humor, naming him 'Motor Boat'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 172&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"De ones de white man knows...laughed with her"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Janie and Tea Cake fell in love making 'laughter out of nothing'. Is that what they are doing here? Finding humor in the empty anger and prejudice of people, that really amounts to nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 184&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"Tea Cake crumpled...teeth from her arm"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Has he gone to Africa?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 192&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"Lawd! Pheoby breathed...about livin' fuh themselves"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, Janie may free her people after all. She ain't no moses, and her people are slaves in a different way. But god is guiding her all the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 193&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"Tea Cake, with sun for a shawl"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He is her burning bush. Tea Cake showed Janie the word of god.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 193&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;"She pulled in her horizon like a great fish-net...over her shoulders"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A tree preparing for winter, pulling the nutrients from its leaves into its roots, and then dropping the golden leaves to the ground to create soil for others. Winter is coming in Janie's lifetime. She never had children, but one can already see rebirth in others. Pheoby 's won't be the only eyes Janie opens.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-1709881304802688088?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/1709881304802688088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=1709881304802688088' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/1709881304802688088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/1709881304802688088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/10/dialectical-journal-their-eyes-were_22.html' title='Dialectical Journal: Their Eyes Were Watching God (Pages 80-193)'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-2212485254028520077</id><published>2008-10-17T14:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-22T07:57:45.867-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dialectical Journal: Their Eyes Were Watching God (Pages 1-80)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 1&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;Ships at a distance have every man's wish onboard... That is the life of men.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A very pessimistic tone with which to begin the book. It seems to be a metaphor appliable to all people. "Men" seems synonymous with "humans".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 1&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;Now, women forget all those things they don't want to remember, and remember everything they don't want to forget.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The narrator has drawn a distinct line between men and women. Perhaps this foreshadows a theme of "the role of women in a man's world". The speaker voice must be woman. Has she had some kind of experience with men to give her this judgmental attitude.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 1&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;The dream is the truth.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There seems to be something desperate in this line. Someone who believes this must be living in a situation where the present is only bearable because of hope for the future. What dream is this speaker holding onto that she needs so desperately to be true?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 1&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;It was time to hear things and talk...They say in judgment.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These characters are living in a society where the right to free speech is oppressed. The fact that they exercise their right in darkness shows that humanities and ethics still exist among them. Maybe this will become an optomistic book. At least these characters have thinking and judging minds, if only at night. I don't think the speaker is necessarily criticizing them, perhaps empathizing with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 2 &lt;/span&gt;"&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;Seeing the woman as she was made them remember the envy they had stored up from other times...It was mass cruelty.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, strike what I said before, the speaker does not empathize with these characters. It's interesting that she refers to &lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;this&lt;/span&gt; as 'mass cruelty', but not having to deal with the bloated bodies earlier in the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 2&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;A mood come alive. Words walking without masters; walking altogether like harmony in a song.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Group think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 2&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;What she doin coming back here in dem overhalls?...wid her hair swingin' down her back lak some young gal?&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the speaker is not a typical woman in that society. Is she rebellious? Certainly is a noncomformist, at least by those men's standards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 2 &lt;/span&gt;"&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;Why don't she stay in her class?&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Considering the men were describing money, and nice clothes earlier, she must be from a "higher" class than these men or at least they perceive her to be. And as we heard earlier, she percieves women (including herself) to be higher intellectually than men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 2&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;The porch couldn't talk for lookin&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, the speaker classifies all these men as one in the same. A single thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 2 &lt;/span&gt;"&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;They, the men, were saving with the mind what they lost with the eye.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What have these characters already lost in dignity and humanity to have no desire for respect and self discipline.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 2&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;It was a weapon against her strength and if it turned turned out of no significance&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Was she leading a rebellion? Is seems the 'it' may have been the death of all those people who's bodies she buried earlier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 4&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;They hope the answer were cruel and strange&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are these characters in such a tough spot in life that they must find suffering in someone else to find pleasure in their own lives? The author draws a comparison between people and animals in some situations, but in thsi the characters seem distinctly human. What other animal finds pleasure in the suffering of another of its kind? What other animal feels envy and seeks revenge?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 5&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;An envious heart makes a treacherous ear.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This book already seems to be developing the theme of a class struggle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 6&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;dis year and a half y'all aint seen me&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems like a great story is being foreshadowed, about hat year and a hafl she was gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 8&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;Janie saw her life like a great tree in leaf...dawn and doom was in the branches.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trees in leaf are plump full of sun a nutrients from summer and spring. However, it means that winter is up and coming and the tree must quickily draw the nutrients into itself and drop the leaves. Whatever Janie has just returned from must have filled her with happiness, joy, sustinence, and she is displaying that to the world, but now she senses a 'winter' coming, or maybe its time to bear fruit, for the rush of her life to end and another to begin. Oh, maybe she's pregnant?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 14&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;De nigger woman is a mule..as ah can see&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The metaphor and motif of mule appears again. Why is it that the workers, those who bear the responsibility of carrying the load which all are dependent on, are looked down upon?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 18&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;In de black dark...by de river&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A reference to moses? Is this baby supposed to be the saviour for her people? Has that sense of purpose been passed to Janie?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 20&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;cracked plate&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not that 'it doesn't have much use left in it" but that its a dish other people use, depend on, in their daily lives. Use without thanks. People need it to feed themselves. They often pray over the food on the plate, but are never grateful for the plate itself. It's cracked because those using it haven't taken care of it. Even when its cracked though, a plate is still useful. It's jsut not something you put out for company. Perhaps something you don't like to use yourself, and would like to throw out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 21&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;There are years that ask questions and years that answer...the sin the day?&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If this is a year for asking questions, it is foreshadowing a year for answers. Answers that will probably be contradictory to what she is told now or expects.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 21&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;often-mentioned 60 acres&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sarcam, or bitterness in these words. Killicks must be a man of wealth; and Janie sees wealth not in possessions or property but in the pollenation of a fruit tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 25&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;a bloom time, a green time, and an orange time&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lifetime...or a childhood...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 25&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;A stallion rolling the in the blue pasture of ether&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A wild, bucking, uncontrollable thing intentionally sedated itself. Or thinks its free while it cripples and limits itself. The animal, curious, natural side of humanity suppressing itself through civilized society and economy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 25 &lt;/span&gt;"&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;Janie's first dream was dead, so she became a woman&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If for women "the dream is the truth" than how does having a dream die make a girl a woman? Perhaps the speaker is noting that women do not have far-fetched, fantastical dreams. The present is what it is, and women make it as good as it can be, without chasing a wishful thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 55 &lt;/span&gt;"&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;The the matter of the mule, for instance&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, Joe can draw a comparison almost unconsiously between "his woman" and a mule. This enforces the perception of women as livestock.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 56&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;Mule has sense&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No longer is the person 'animalified', but the animal 'personified'. I finally get it, I think. Matt and his mule is symbolic of a relationship between a man and wife. Perhaps a foreshadow of where Janie's relationship is heading.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 56&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;The was a little seriousness...didn't cost him anything.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Matt probably cares for his mule, doesn't spoil it, but doesn't mean to really neglect it. Joe looks down on men like Matt, but would Joe be able to handle himself and get over a situation like the ones Matt is put through? I doubt it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 56&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;She snatched her head away from the spectacle...Wish't Ah had mah way wid 'em ali.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why does Janie pity the mule? Does she conciously sympathize with it? Perhaps she remembers what her grandma said about mules and black women. Maybe she no sees the truth in the statement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 58 &lt;/span&gt;"&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;Didn't buy im fuh no work...tuh do it.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe redemed. If the mule incident was a symbol for a man and wife, potentially a foreshadow for Janie's life, at least it has a happy ending. Of perhaps its a story of how her life would have been is she had remained married to Killicks, but like the mule, she was rescued by Joe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 60&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;the joys of mule-heaven to which the dear brother had departed this valley of sorrow...the raw-hide to his back&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Haha. Considering the mule symbolism for black women...what is heaven like for a black woman? Humorous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 65 &lt;/span&gt;"&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;Nature makes caution... He made nature and nature made everything else.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny, the two 'dimmest' seeming characters thus far in the story, stumble upon one of the greatest truths. Perhaps this is reenforcing the idea that formal education and economic wealth is insignificant in a life, when one loses sight or becomes unaware of the natural truths in a life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 72 &lt;/span&gt;"&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;She had an inside and an outside...not to mix them.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A year for answers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Pg. 76&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;Now and again she thought...and considered flight&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bird motif. We are all birds part of a flock. Can fly high, but can never quite reach heaven. Flight: running away from the bad? Or running toward the good, a dream? or both?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pg. 76&lt;/strong&gt; "&lt;em&gt;She didn't read books so she didn't know...boiled down to a drop&lt;/em&gt;"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Reenforcing the theme of formal education vs. instinctively or naturally obtained knowledge. She didn't need books to understand morality and rightness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-2212485254028520077?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/2212485254028520077/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=2212485254028520077' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/2212485254028520077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/2212485254028520077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/10/dialectical-journal-their-eyes-were.html' title='Dialectical Journal: Their Eyes Were Watching God (Pages 1-80)'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-2365623230973674142</id><published>2008-10-14T13:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T13:55:09.902-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Literary Device: Catalexis</title><content type='html'>Incompleteness of the last foot at the end of a verse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Example: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One more unfortunate,&lt;br /&gt;Weary of breath,&lt;br /&gt;Rashly  importunate,&lt;br /&gt;Gone to her death!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Function:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first and third lines given are dactylic, but the second and last lines are missing the syllables which would normally complete the dactyl. Perhaps the author employs the techniques because the incompleteness in the lines emphasizes that the life lost was not yet complete, the character not ready to die. Or perhaps it was employed in order to add an 'abrupt sounding' quality to the piece, reenforcing the premature nature of the death. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-2365623230973674142?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/2365623230973674142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=2365623230973674142' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/2365623230973674142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/2365623230973674142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/10/literary-device-catalexis.html' title='Literary Device: Catalexis'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-8241464291189662612</id><published>2008-09-26T13:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-26T14:10:31.031-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Literary Device: Hyperbole</title><content type='html'>an evident exaggeration for the sake of emphasis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Example:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"For it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Function:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Luke 18:25, Jesus is teaching his disciples about wealth. As a merchant passes by on a camel, he uses the hyperbole to stress the importance of his message.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-8241464291189662612?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/8241464291189662612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=8241464291189662612' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8241464291189662612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8241464291189662612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/literary-device-hyperbole.html' title='Literary Device: Hyperbole'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-3411249228414148555</id><published>2008-09-24T14:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T12:31:16.004-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Literary Device: Rhyme and Meter</title><content type='html'>In order to pass the "Poetry" section of the AP Literature and Composition exam, one should use necessary terms and (as the great Alaskan Governor would say) "verbage" in order to impress your reader. Here are some that may help:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;End Rhyme-&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;the rhyming of words that appear at the ends of two or more lines of poetry&lt;br /&gt;".&lt;/span&gt; ...I am going to choke you,&lt;br /&gt;Until you turn blue.&lt;br /&gt;Or will you turn red?&lt;br /&gt;I'll just choke you till you're dead&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Approximate Rhyme-&lt;/span&gt; words that sound similar but do not rhyme exactly&lt;br /&gt;"...he who likes slavery,&lt;br /&gt;has no morals to live by..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Refrain-&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;a line or phrase repeated throughout a poem, sometimes with variations, often at the end of each stanza.&lt;br /&gt;"... a dog that misbehaves,&lt;br /&gt;deserves to be beaten&lt;br /&gt;and also you,&lt;br /&gt;deserve to be beaten..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Meter-&lt;/span&gt; the basic rhythmic structure of a verse, and  usually depends on acoustic properties of the spoken words, such as the length or stress of their syllables.&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Iamb-&lt;/span&gt; a two-syllable metrical foot consisting of one unaccented syllable followed by one accented syllable.&lt;br /&gt;" I &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;had&lt;/span&gt; a &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;li&lt;/span&gt;ttle &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;dog&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;It's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;fur&lt;/span&gt; was &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;soft &lt;/span&gt;as &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;wool&lt;/span&gt;;&lt;br /&gt;It&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; foll&lt;/span&gt;owed &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;me &lt;/span&gt;a&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;round&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;My &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;home&lt;/span&gt;, my &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;street&lt;/span&gt;, my &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;school&lt;/span&gt;."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Trochee-&lt;/span&gt; Reverse of the iamb. A metrical foot of two syllables, one long (or stressed) and one short (or unstressed).&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;strong&gt;Tro&lt;/strong&gt;chee/ &lt;strong&gt;trips&lt;/strong&gt; from/ &lt;strong&gt;long&lt;/strong&gt; to/ &lt;strong&gt;short&lt;/strong&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Anapest- &lt;/span&gt;A metrical foot of three syllables, two short (or unstressed) followed by one long (or stressed).&lt;br /&gt;"And his &lt;strong&gt;co&lt;/strong&gt;horts were &lt;strong&gt;gleam&lt;/strong&gt;ing in &lt;strong&gt;pur&lt;/strong&gt;ple and &lt;strong&gt;gold&lt;/strong&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dactyl-&lt;/span&gt; a three-syllable metrical foot, consisting of one accented syllable followed by two unaccented syllables.&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Pic&lt;/b&gt;ture your &lt;b&gt;self&lt;/b&gt; in a &lt;b&gt;boat&lt;/b&gt; on a &lt;b&gt;riv&lt;/b&gt;er with&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;tan&lt;/b&gt;gerine &lt;b&gt;tree&lt;/b&gt;-ees and &lt;b&gt;mar&lt;/b&gt;malade &lt;b&gt;skii&lt;/b&gt;-ii-es"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-3411249228414148555?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/3411249228414148555/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=3411249228414148555' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3411249228414148555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3411249228414148555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/literary-device-rhyme-and-meter.html' title='Literary Device: Rhyme and Meter'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-4884230994420834932</id><published>2008-09-24T13:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T14:00:43.487-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Second Coming!</title><content type='html'>Cried &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chicken Little&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a typical 'doomsday fashion', the Second Coming fears for survival (spiritual and literal) of mankind. Not to say that it is an insignificant poem, because it is not. The fact that the 'deeper idea' presented in the poem will be familar to nearly all audiences is part of what makes the poem timeless. What this poem is saying in 1920, people would still say today in 2008:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;"...the center cannot hold;...surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-4884230994420834932?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/4884230994420834932/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=4884230994420834932' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/4884230994420834932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/4884230994420834932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/second-coming.html' title='The Second Coming!'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-9022016420154361796</id><published>2008-09-23T12:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T13:26:00.419-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Female Power in 'A Game of Chess'</title><content type='html'>I know, I know, the titled of this post is a little Oxymoron. But that was intentional. Throughout T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland" we see themes and motifs that tie together the 5 sections that differ so much in format and tone. One such motif is female power. The motif itself is sometimes tied to the theme "the becoming of female power in a wasteland created by men" as well as "the loss of female power". In the second section, A Game of Chess, this motif is explored in depth, representing both themes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A description of a woman on 'throne-like' furniture, the opening of the section, is a reference to a historic female ruler Dido, who was known for acting on emotion and passion. However, many regarded Dido as 'act of control', 'unstable'. After a description of her luxurious furnishing, the attention of the poem is turned to the 'Unstoppered' perfumes. Not only does dowsing herself in perfume (used to hide odors) enforce the motif of 'false reality, unreal', it is transforming this queen-like figure into a more desperate, sadder, entity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, the poem is turned to decour. This time to a wooden mantel. Specific references to water ('sea-wood', 'dolphin swam') are reminicent of "Ophelia", a great female character of Shakespeare's "Hamlet" who lost her life drowning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;References of nighten-gales begin appearing. Traditionally the song of this bird was sad, and of lament, as it was often associated with rape of revenge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The female entity has become a wasteland, trapped like a piece in a game of chess.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-9022016420154361796?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/9022016420154361796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=9022016420154361796' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/9022016420154361796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/9022016420154361796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/throughout-t.html' title='Female Power in &apos;A Game of Chess&apos;'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-1398791801194184361</id><published>2008-09-22T11:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T12:05:51.960-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lyrical Terrorist</title><content type='html'>Can poetry be a form of terrorism?&lt;br /&gt;Apparently so.&lt;br /&gt;Here is an article published in 'The Times' November 2007&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/crime/article2836243.ece"&gt;http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/crime/article2836243.ece&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;"She had the ideology, ability and determination to access and download material, which could have been useful to terrorists.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"&gt;“Poetry can be described as disturbing, shocking, even repulsive. What is the intent? Is it to shock, to revolt? That in itself doesn’t make it criminal and it doesn’t help you to get into the mind of who has written it.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;How to Behead&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Hold him &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Tie the arms behind his back &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; And bandage his legs together &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Just by the ankles &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Blindfold the punk &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; So that he won't hesitate as much &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; For on seeing the sharp pointy knife &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; He'll begin to shake &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; And continuously scream like an eedyat &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; And jiggle like a jelly &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Trust me – this will sure get you angry &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; It's better to have at least two or three brothers by your side &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Who can hold the fool &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Because as soon as the warm sharp knife &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Touches his naked flesh &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; He'll come to know what'll happen&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-1398791801194184361?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/1398791801194184361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=1398791801194184361' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/1398791801194184361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/1398791801194184361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/lyrical-terrorist.html' title='Lyrical Terrorist'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-6641513583901115956</id><published>2008-09-22T11:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T11:56:17.472-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Helpful Link: What the Thunder Said</title><content type='html'>While browsing the net for anything remotely related to T.S. Eliot that could help me pass the upcoming poetry test for AP class, I came across this incredibly helpful site: &lt;a href="http://www.whatthethundersaid.org/"&gt;What the Thunder Said&lt;/a&gt;. It is a " a site devoted to the works and life of T.S. Eliot". Are there such things as &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Poetic Extremists&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-6641513583901115956?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/6641513583901115956/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=6641513583901115956' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/6641513583901115956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/6641513583901115956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/helpful-link-what-thunder-said.html' title='Helpful Link: What the Thunder Said'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-8804459081358147644</id><published>2008-09-17T12:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-17T13:07:33.353-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Literary Device: Connotation</title><content type='html'>an association that comes along with a particular word. Connotations relate not to a word's actual meaning, or denotation, but rather to the ideas or qualities that are implied by that word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Example: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw on the slant hill a putrid lamb,&lt;br /&gt;Propped with daisies. The sleep looked deep,&lt;br /&gt;The face nudged in the green pillow&lt;br /&gt;But the guts were out for crows to eat&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Function:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Richard Eberhart's "For a Lamb", those feelings associated with lamb (such as innosense, peace, purity, gentleness) only highlight the ugliness of the situation. So, the connotation of the word serves to reenforce the tone of the poem.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-8804459081358147644?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/8804459081358147644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=8804459081358147644' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8804459081358147644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8804459081358147644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/literary-device-connotation.html' title='Literary Device: Connotation'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-4933996260836458909</id><published>2008-09-17T08:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-17T08:50:03.557-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Immature Poets Imitate; Mature Poets Steal</title><content type='html'>For those of you who avidly follow this blog, you may remember the post "Theivery", in which I placed a link to a sight listing allusion within "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock". Well, I have now realized that the quote I presented in that post was incomplete. Here is how it is finished:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;"Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.&lt;/strong&gt;"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;- T. S. Eliot&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-4933996260836458909?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/4933996260836458909/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=4933996260836458909' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/4933996260836458909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/4933996260836458909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/immature-poets-imitate-mature-poets.html' title='Immature Poets Imitate; Mature Poets Steal'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-8424898952443319962</id><published>2008-09-17T08:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-17T12:10:38.580-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Little Something About 'Tarot'</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SNEhOTlOf7I/AAAAAAAAA1Q/NvwjqrCK2JI/s1600-h/smar19.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247011570521636786" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SNEhOTlOf7I/AAAAAAAAA1Q/NvwjqrCK2JI/s320/smar19.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; For anyone reading "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot, I would think that having a basic understanding of Tarot is critical. If you are anything like me, you have found yourself facing the poem without any background or knowledge of these 'fortune-telling' cards. Here is a link to &lt;a href="http://www.sacred-texts.com/tarot/pkt/index.htm"&gt;'The Pictorial Key to the Tarot' &lt;/a&gt;by Arthur Edward Waite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, applying an author's personal background to their work can reveal a deeper understanding of the text. In case anyone was wondering, the tarot card that matches Eliot's birthdate (9/26/1888) is &lt;a href="http://www.facade.com/celebrity/T_S_Eliot/"&gt;'The Heirophant'&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-8424898952443319962?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/8424898952443319962/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=8424898952443319962' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8424898952443319962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8424898952443319962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/little-something-about-tarot.html' title='A Little Something About &apos;Tarot&apos;'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SNEhOTlOf7I/AAAAAAAAA1Q/NvwjqrCK2JI/s72-c/smar19.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-8904287441371133786</id><published>2008-09-16T13:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-16T13:34:12.354-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blues...</title><content type='html'>Can't hear the wind no more&lt;br /&gt;I said, can't hear the waves no more&lt;br /&gt;I listen and listen. That wind is gone for good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can't hear the waves no more&lt;br /&gt;I beg, only for a whisper&lt;br /&gt;I can't remember what it was they used to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can't hear the wind&lt;br /&gt;Can't hear the waves&lt;br /&gt;Are they speaking?&lt;br /&gt;Or is it I who has forgot how to listen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-8904287441371133786?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/8904287441371133786/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=8904287441371133786' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8904287441371133786'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8904287441371133786'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/blues.html' title='Blues...'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-75560654074183482</id><published>2008-09-15T12:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-15T12:52:56.040-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Literary Device: Caesura</title><content type='html'>A pause in a line of verse dictated by sense or natural speech rhythm rather than by metrics.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Example:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At dinner, in that careful rouge of light&lt;br /&gt;of five or six martinis, you could pass&lt;br /&gt;for Ginger Rongers; we could dance all night&lt;br /&gt;on tiny tabletops as slick as glass&lt;br /&gt;in flying shiny shoes. As Fred Astaire,&lt;br /&gt;my wrinkles grow distinguished as we dine,&lt;br /&gt;my bald spot festers with the growth of hair,&lt;br /&gt;I grow intelligent about the wine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Function:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Ted Kooser's "Anniversary", the literary device 'caesura' is employed to reenforce the atmosphere of a couple's anniversary wedding. As the couple are drinking, forgetting their age, the lines breaks are placed in such as way that the poem read very quickily. When the poem turns to descriptions of age and reality, line breaks are placed at natural pauses in speech (caesura's) and underlined with punctuation, making the poem read particularly slowly, like an old  persons movement.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-75560654074183482?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/75560654074183482/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=75560654074183482' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/75560654074183482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/75560654074183482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/literary-device-caesura.html' title='Literary Device: Caesura'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-8263203889686664849</id><published>2008-09-15T10:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-16T13:16:21.893-07:00</updated><title type='text'>a Tear for a Toss</title><content type='html'>Form: a new challenge? or a suffocating restriction? For the students of Skagway's AP class, writing in traditional form would hopefully help them to recognize the subtle techniques and statements one can control through the form of a poem. Here is my first ever 'published' poem, a villanelle. Enjoy :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peach pit tossed into the sea before bed&lt;div&gt;Sweet Nectar coated hands to never touch again&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ask, What are tears for; When should they be shed?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Damp wings beat against the glass without end&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dawn reveals colored husk to never hatch children;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Peach pit tossed into the sea before bed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dew drops clung to fallen leaves and the dead&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dark bone, cracked by an axe. Layers of rings, the grain&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ask, What are tears for; When should they be shed?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dimming spots, like a river, bled and bled&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Down into the dust, the goddess of felines slain;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Peach pit tossed into the sea before bed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Distant bird calls, screeches; they have all fled&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dark painted people, moving on, ways forgotten&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ask, What are tears for; When should they be shed?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Grey sky parted, pouring rain the color red&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Never enough moisture to quench the parched earth. Again&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That damned peach pit tossed into the sea before bed!  &lt;br /&gt;  If not this, what are tears for?  &lt;br /&gt;     When, if ever, should they be shed? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-8263203889686664849?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/8263203889686664849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=8263203889686664849' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8263203889686664849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8263203889686664849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/tear-for-toss.html' title='a Tear for a Toss'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-5932771685277618265</id><published>2008-09-11T12:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T13:39:38.337-07:00</updated><title type='text'>May Death Unite All</title><content type='html'>"The Heights of Macchu Picchu, III", translated by James Wright, suggests that disease and death obtain their power  not in the people or lives they eliminate, but in their ability to make all individuals equal. As the title of the piece explains, the poem is discussing the the great civilization of the Incas, who built their empire amongst the jagged cliffs of the Andes. More specifically, it recalls an event that may have been what destroyed them: a plague of an unstoppable, uncurable sickness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beginning with the comparison of the 'human soul' during an epidemic, to the harvesting and storing of corn (1-2) seems to clarify that the story is being told by an indigenous speaker (rather than by an outsider of the culture). Choosing 'maize' (1) as the crop of harvest also bears significance to the poem. Maize was a plant worshipped by the Incas, the source of all life and substance. So, it seems to be suggesting human souls approach 'cleanliness' during plagues of suffering. As the poem continues, it explains why that is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These diseases, the poem states, contain the ability to wipe out a population (4-5), causing "not only one death, but many deaths". But it then discusses the insignificance of a death, calling it "a tiny death..a light flicked off in the mud..pierced into each man like a short lance" (5-7). The author is reenforcing the idea of equality. When sickness strikes, each man has an equal chance of dying; each man that contracts disease faces the same fate and each man that dies lays motionless in the same way. Earlier, 'souls' during an epidemic are suggested to be approaching 'godliness' (1-2). Equality is considered morally right, as 'godly' as 'maize'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People from all walks of life were apparently taken by the plague; from "the captain of the plough" to "the rag-picker of snarled streets" (10-11). Although on the surface level, the poem may seem to be depressing, pained, in tone when it says "everybody lost heart, anxiously waiting for death",  but it is actually spoken in a tone of reverence. The people are waiting for sleep and rest, and one can argue that in those finals moments of life, the Incans must have reached a point of acceptance, drinking their bad luck with "shaking hands".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-5932771685277618265?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/5932771685277618265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=5932771685277618265' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/5932771685277618265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/5932771685277618265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/may-death-unite-all.html' title='May Death Unite All'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-8062765453306176786</id><published>2008-09-10T08:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-10T10:28:48.017-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sonnet This, and Sonnet That...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Everyone should write at least one sonnet in a lifetime.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;- Conrad Geller&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I have read, there are really only two basic guidelines for a 'traditional' sonnet:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;     A.&lt;/span&gt; There are 14 lines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;     B.&lt;/span&gt; The poet introduces at least one volta (or a jump or shift in direction of the emotions or thought), usually somewhat after the middle of the Sonnet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are then two distinct style of Sonnet: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Italian&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;English&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Italian Sonnets-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Often referred to as "Petrearchan" Sonnets, were is existance before the now more popular 'English' Sonnet. Apparently, they are usually written with a long line of five beats (iambic pentameter), and use 'envelop rhyme'. Some believe it may have developed from the sestina. However, as I am unable to read or understand italian, I can't personally discuss an Italian poets rhythmatic schemes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is an English translation of a Petrach sonnet:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Soleasi Nel Mio Cor&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;She ruled in beauty o'er this heart of mine,&lt;br /&gt;A noble lady in a humble home,&lt;br /&gt;And now her time for heavenly bliss has come,&lt;br /&gt;'Tis I am mortal proved, and she divine.&lt;br /&gt;The soul that all its blessings must resign,&lt;br /&gt;And love whose light no more on earth finds room,&lt;br /&gt;Might rend the rocks with pity for their doom,&lt;br /&gt;Yet none their sorrows can in words enshrine;&lt;br /&gt;They weep within my heart; and ears are deaf&lt;br /&gt;Save mine alone, and I am crushed with care,&lt;br /&gt;And naught remains to me save mournful breath.&lt;br /&gt;Assuredly but dust and shade we are,&lt;br /&gt;Assuredly desire is blind and brief,&lt;br /&gt;Assuredly its hope but ends in death.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Translated by &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Thomas Wentworth Higginson&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.sonnets.org/higginson.htm"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The English Sonnets-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Often referred to as "Shakespearean" Sonnets, developed from the Italian sonnet. Apparently they use 'alternating rhymes' and the number of rhymes is 7 and concludes with a  rhymed couplet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following is one of the most famous pieces by the father of English sonnets:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sonnet XVIII&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="90%"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td align="center"&gt;Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?&lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td align="center"&gt;Thou art more lovely and more temperate:&lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td align="center"&gt;Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,&lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td align="center"&gt;And summer's lease hath all too short a date:&lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td align="center"&gt;Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,&lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td align="center"&gt;And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;&lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td align="center"&gt;And every fair from fair sometime declines,&lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td align="center"&gt;By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;&lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td align="center"&gt;But thy eternal summer shall not fade&lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td align="center"&gt;Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;&lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td align="center"&gt;Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,&lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td align="center"&gt;When in eternal lines to time thou growest:&lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td align="center"&gt;So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,&lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td align="center"&gt;So long lives this and this gives life to thee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;by William Shakespeare&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-8062765453306176786?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/8062765453306176786/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=8062765453306176786' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8062765453306176786'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8062765453306176786'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/sonnet-this-and-sonnet-that.html' title='Sonnet This, and Sonnet That...'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-3937837943097058027</id><published>2008-09-09T08:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-09T10:20:10.608-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sweet Blues!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.last.fm/music/Chris+Thomas+King/_/Hard+Time+Killing+Floor+Blues"&gt;Hard Time Killing Floor&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;by: Chris Thomas King&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Hard time here and everywhere you go&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;Times is harder than ever been before&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the people are driftin' from door to door&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;Can't find no heaven, I don't care where they go&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hear me tell you people, just before I go&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;These hard times will kill you just dry long so&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, you hear me singin' my lonesome song&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;These hard times can last us so very long&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I ever get off this killin' floor&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;I'll never get down this low no more&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;No-no, no-no, I'll never get down this low no more&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you say you had money, you better be sure&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;'Cause these hard times will drive you from door to door&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sing this song and I ain't gonna sing no more&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;Sing this song and I ain't gonna sing no more&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;These hard times will drive you from door to door&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To hear this poetry put to music, click on the title of the poem, or visit this website:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.last.fm/music/Chris+Thomas+King/_/Hard+Time+Killing+Floor+Blues"&gt;http://www.last.fm/music/Chris+Thomas+King/_/Hard+Time+Killing+Floor+Blues&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-3937837943097058027?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/3937837943097058027/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=3937837943097058027' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3937837943097058027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3937837943097058027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/sweet-blues.html' title='Sweet Blues!'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-4885952682407582164</id><published>2008-09-08T12:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T12:50:24.160-07:00</updated><title type='text'>An Explication of 'Punk Pantoum'</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our society lives in a disconnect.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Noam Chomsky would say, we are becoming obsessed with consumerism, capitalism. 'Punk Pantoum' is a commentary on that disconnect, and what it does to a life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this poem, we hear the speaker, asking a lover to commit suicide with him. The speaker comes from a wealthy background and was raised in a place of fine horses, elegance, prestige. However, he connects the place he lives in with 'rats, a severed fetlock, muscle, bone and hooves'. He sees that artificiality in those who feel comfortable in capital success.  However, 'there's a new song' for the speaker and his lover. A new release, escape from the disconnected world. Like many youth in the world today, the speaker and his lover have turned to 'cutting' to find focus in an artificial world, to feel real pain. "Blood jewels" are enticing to him, because unlike shiny, cold jewels, these ones are real, require pain to create, and were once part of someone. The 'new song', or solution, to their situation is to commit suicide together. The speaker mentions his lovers 'final bruise', after death, she can have no more bruises. With a razor, they plan to create tracks more real than those raced on and bet over by the wealthy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-4885952682407582164?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/4885952682407582164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=4885952682407582164' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/4885952682407582164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/4885952682407582164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/explication-of-punk-pantoum.html' title='An Explication of &apos;Punk Pantoum&apos;'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-3108101113283313383</id><published>2008-09-07T11:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T11:32:24.204-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Literary Device: Symbol</title><content type='html'>from Greek word 'symbolon' meaning "token, watchword" (applied c.250 by Cyprian of Carthage to the Apostles' Creed, on the notion of the "mark" that distinguishes Christians from pagans). Something which stands for something else - &lt;em&gt;Online Etymology Dictionary&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Example:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- a poor&lt;br /&gt;dry stick given &lt;br /&gt;  one more chance by the whims   &lt;br /&gt;    of swamp water— a bough     &lt;br /&gt;      that still, after all these years,&lt;br /&gt;could take root, &lt;br /&gt;  sprout, branch out, bud—   &lt;br /&gt;    make of its life a breathing     &lt;br /&gt;      palace of leaves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Function:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Mary Oliver's "Crossing the Swamp", the 'poor dry stick' struggling to flourish in the dark swamp symbolizes the typical, simple man trying to achieve success. By using this technique of symbolism, the author was able to create an even deeper relationship between the speaker and swamp.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-3108101113283313383?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/3108101113283313383/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=3108101113283313383' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3108101113283313383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3108101113283313383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/literary-device-symbol.html' title='Literary Device: Symbol'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-5294629568470176050</id><published>2008-09-05T12:48:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T12:54:07.664-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Helpful Link: Punk Pantoum</title><content type='html'>The Pantoum is a vital format to understand if you wish to be successful on the AP Literature and Composition exam in May, or so my teacher says. Here's a link to a pantoum poem you may find helpful. "Punk Pantoum" by: Pamela Stewart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.cs.berkeley.edu/%7Erichie/poetry/html/aupoem149.html"&gt;http://www.cs.berkeley.edu/~richie/poetry/html/aupoem149.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-5294629568470176050?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/5294629568470176050/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=5294629568470176050' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/5294629568470176050'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/5294629568470176050'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/helpful-link-punk-pantoum.html' title='Helpful Link: Punk Pantoum'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-1093980661636162738</id><published>2008-09-05T10:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T12:37:53.030-07:00</updated><title type='text'>AP English: What's the Point?</title><content type='html'>Of the poem. Not the class :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When considering James Wright's "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Lying in a Hammock At William Duffy's Farm in Pine Islands, Minnesota&lt;/span&gt;" without the last line of the poem, the speaker sits placidly in a hammock describing the world around him: a butterfly on a tree trunk, sounds of cowbells, a chicken hawk flying overhead. The speaker seems very &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;observatory&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;attune&lt;/span&gt; to the details such as how butterfly wings are blown by the wind "like a leaf in green shadow". He is a person content, comfortable with him surroundings, which he often describes as "golden", able to "lean back" and fall asleep in his outdoor hammock.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The title alone enforces the relaxed tone of the poem. 'Lying in a Hammock' is a relaxing past-time. The fluid shape, that rocks with the wind, creates the image of a restful afternoon. Farms are often associated with 'simple' ways of life,  men being connected to the earth and land. So, the fact that the speaker is on a farm promotes and earthy, raw, satisfied tone in the poem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although descriptions of different things going on in the farm seem a little disconnected, it just seems the magnify the images of those &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;separate&lt;/span&gt; things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, all of these interpretations are made without considering the very last, and perhaps most vital, line of the poem "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I have wasted my life&lt;/span&gt;". Now let us consider the scene and speaker again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A solitary speaker watches the world around him (a sleeping butterfly, blown by the wind, cows moving with the herd undirected, a lonely hawk) contemplating the waste of his life. He seems to be a lazy individual, as he lays in a hammock from morning, through the afternoon, and into the evening, rocking in the wind. He mentions 'the empty house', highlighting his lonely life style, perhaps he has no family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The title sheds light on his life style: a farmer of Minnesota. It clarifies that all the images the speaker is describing, are being watched from a hammock: an insecure (although comfortable) place of rest. As the poem describes the actions of a day, from morning until dark, perhaps it is a reflection of his life, beginning to end, and the title compares his life to 'lying in a hammock'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of the speaker's descriptions of the natural world are separated, each an individual image, and often presiding an adjective such as 'bronze' or 'gold', lasting metals. As a farmer, he has a certain connection to the land, perhaps he is seeing himself in these small scenes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I see the bronze butterfly, asleep on the black trunk, blowing like a leaf in green shadow&lt;/span&gt;." Like a the sleeping butterfly, he is in a state of rest, blown and control by the wind, 'bronze' lasting, in the shadow of 'life' (green).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The cowbells follow one another into the distances of the afternoon.&lt;/span&gt;" Men, like a herd of cattle, travel undirected, ringing their bells for the world to hear. Perhaps he feels like he too followed others to the end of his life (afternoon) never really going anywhere beyond 'the ravine'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.&lt;/span&gt;" He is the chicken hawk, floats on the winds, looking for his cause, where he belongs, a place to land, a family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like the sun pattern in the course of a day, the poem goes from seemingly warm and open (like the rising sun and 'bronze' butterfly) transferring into a sweating, dreary mood (like the hot summer sun and baking horse manuer) and finally ending in lonely exhaustion (like darkness after the sun has set, a solitary hawk, a wasted life).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lesson of this exercise: Every line in a poem bears significance. If it didn't, the author would not have included it! So consider the importance of every word choice, every statement, especially the note that the author chooses to end on. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-1093980661636162738?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/1093980661636162738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=1093980661636162738' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/1093980661636162738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/1093980661636162738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/ap-english-whats-point.html' title='AP English: What&apos;s the Point?'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-8951741750914697941</id><published>2008-09-04T11:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T19:49:35.305-07:00</updated><title type='text'>La Sestina de Popeye</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;John Ashbery's "Farm Implements and Rutabagas in a Landscape" represents the classic sestina; six stanzas of six lines, with a tercet conclusion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SMA9uvT_bUI/AAAAAAAAAyY/zCmxgmsMUEs/s1600-h/Photo+4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242257839442849090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SMA9uvT_bUI/AAAAAAAAAyY/zCmxgmsMUEs/s400/Photo+4.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;A visual representation by Shelby Surdyk of "Farm Implements and Rutabagas in a Landscape"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The poem itself is based on the characters of the Popeye comic. On the surface, it is a dramatic scene within Popeye's apartment, involving the Sea Hag, Whimpy, Swee'pea, Olive, and Popeye, as represented in the image above. The Sea Hag, a seemingly ugly woman as her cleft chin is described as having a solitary hair, lays on the couch of Popeye's apartment. Whimpy, who seems very concerned with eating spinach, seems to feel constrained by the apartment that the Sea Hag is comfortable in. An unexpected arrival of the character Swee'pea shakes things up a little further, as he has a note 'pinned to his bib'. The note itself seems threatening in nature, perhaps to discourage the sea hags presence there. Suddenly a fourth character, Olive Oyl, enters the apartment via the window. She announces that Popeye 'heaves bolts of loving thunder', which thunder within and around the apartment. Olive threatens the Sea Hag, saying she would only have darkness and thunder to grow old to, then grabs Swee'pea and exits. The Sea Hags seems perturbed at first by the interupption, and even 'fearful', but quickily finds comfort again within the darkness, the thunder, and Popeye's apartment. In the end, it is discovered that Popeye watches from a distance, as thunder overtakes the apartment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, one must assume, by the 'mysterious' nature of the piece, and the technically difficult aspect of creating the sestina, that author intends for the reader to see something deeper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some meaning can be extracted from the title itself: "Farm Implements and Rutabagas in a Landscape". Rutabagas used before pumpkins to create jack-o-lanterns, symbols of trapped souls. Farm Implements could mean techniques, reasoning, and 'laws' of farm life, or equipment needed for farm life, or both. Farm- a symbol for 'rural', 'simple', or perhaps 'uncivilized' life.  So, the title seems to be suggesting that the poem is about trapped souls, the items necessary for 'farm life', and simple-minded reasoning all within one landscape, one scene, the apartment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The repeating words of this poem are (in order of how they are in the first stanza): thunder, apartment, country, pleasant, scratched, spinach.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-8951741750914697941?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/8951741750914697941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=8951741750914697941' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8951741750914697941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/8951741750914697941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/la-sestina-de-popeye.html' title='La Sestina de Popeye'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SMA9uvT_bUI/AAAAAAAAAyY/zCmxgmsMUEs/s72-c/Photo+4.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-1424381087553096389</id><published>2008-09-03T12:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T13:00:52.252-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Villanelle</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;One Art&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;by: Elizabeth Bishop&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The art of losing isn't hard to master;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so many things seem filled with the intent&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;to be lost that their loss is no disaster.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Lose something everyday. Accept the fluster&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The art of losing isn't hard to master.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Then practice losing further, losing faster:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;places and names, and where it was you meant&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;to travel. None of these will bring disaster.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;next-to-last, of three loved houses went.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The art of losing isn't hard to master.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;the art of losing's not too hard to master&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The poem 'One Art' is literally a story of the speaker's lost things in life (items, places, people, etc.). However, in a deeper sense, as the title implies, it draws a connection between the mental control one gains after over coming loss, and what it takes to maintain 'poetic control'. Although the speaker of the poem discusses loss (something normally associated with sadness, depression, negativity) the tone of this villanelle is not mournful or regretful. Rather it has an encouraging and seemily controlled tone (saying that a loss 'wasn't a disaster') like a victim who has now recovered, not forgetting past events, but not letting them dictate the future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Using the format of a villanelle was therefore extremely effective for the author. The repetitive rhyming scheme invokes witty and technically difficult lines. For example&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Lose something everyday. Accept the fluster&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The art of losing isn't hard to master.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This line skillfully capture the 'sing-songy' moral lessons of folk songs and rhymes 'an apple a day, keeps the doctor away', so keeps the light hearted nature of the poem.&lt;br /&gt;The repeating lines emphesize how unavoidable loss is. As you read through the poem, you become accostomed to the repeating lines, the same way one becomes accustomed to loss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-1424381087553096389?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/1424381087553096389/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=1424381087553096389' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/1424381087553096389'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/1424381087553096389'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/villanelle.html' title='The Villanelle'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-5733345227682839339</id><published>2008-09-02T12:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T13:29:35.468-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Traveling Through the Dark</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SL2hoEGRdwI/AAAAAAAAAyI/LEHkJlHPopI/s1600-h/BlackMountainEpic-3FEB02-02-AtSaddleOfBlackCanyonRd-LookingN.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SL2hoEGRdwI/AAAAAAAAAyI/LEHkJlHPopI/s200/BlackMountainEpic-3FEB02-02-AtSaddleOfBlackCanyonRd-LookingN.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241523250996016898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;In William Stafford's "Traveling Through the Dark", the speaker reaches a dilemma. Does he toss the dead doe, swollen with a still alive unborn fawn, into the canyon? Does he leave the 'heap' on the side of the road, because he hasn't the heart to throw an unborn fawn to its death? Or does he take more of his own time, to figure out someway to save it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he sees the dead dear on the of the road, he pulls over to get rid of the dear so that no other cars must swerve for its body, which could potentially cause more deaths. This shows that the speaker is a considerate person. However, he seems disturbed by the idea of 'swerving', which shows that although considerate, he doesn't enjoy throwing himself off track in mercy or attempt to save something else. When he pauses, to give the dilemma more thought, he refers to the moment of reflection as his 'only swerving', before tossing the carcass into the canyon. It was the only time he spent 'swerving' or avoiding his original goal; throw the deer off the road. As 'swerving'  can 'cause more deaths' and is referred to negatively else where in the poem, it seems that is speaker is proud that the pause was his only 'swerving' but disappointed he swerved at all.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SL2heSe3vTI/AAAAAAAAAyA/1IAz92U4B2w/s1600-h/fawn.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SL2heSe3vTI/AAAAAAAAAyA/1IAz92U4B2w/s200/fawn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241523083058593074" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This poem is made of up contrasting imagery: descriptions of the narrow canyon road, the dead doe carcass, the warmth of its living fawn, and the mechanical car in idle. Perhaps the dark, narrow road is symbolic of the narrow passage of life that chasing a career can lead you too. The death-like canyon representing the consequences of 'swerving' from that path. The dead deer; the humanity, pity, mercy that can still exist inside a man driven for corporate power. The car, which is given animal like qualities such as 'purring', is perhaps commenting on the confusion between living and 'artificially life', mechanical life; quality of life vs. corporate success. In the end, the speaker choses to return to his vehicle, after only a slight 'swerve'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As far as structure of the poem goes, there is some rhyming scheme in place. The end words of the second and fourth lines of each stanzas are slightly similar in sound. 'Road' 'Dead', perhaps reflecting the negative perception of the road by the author. 'Killing' 'Belly', the speaker's dilemma is over killing what lies in the belly of the doe. 'Waiting' 'Hesitated', he hesitated for the fawn. 'Engine' 'Listen', in the end, the speaker listened to the call of 'society', returning to the road. It exists between the first and third lines of the second and third stanzas as well. 'Car' 'Cold', again the connection between the cold hearted nature of the mechanical world, driving along the road towards corporate success. 'Reason --' 'Born' this seems to illuminate the speakers more compassionate side, his 'natural instict', reason, is connected to 'birth', he wants the fawn to be born. Also, the sheer contrast between the end words of the first and third lines of the second stanza, versus those of the third stanza seems to bare some importance. 'Cold' and 'Car' draw from the corporate world, and seem negative in their connection. 'Reason' and 'Born' draw from the natural world, using good reaon, natural instinct, and birth, and seem to be positive in their connection. Finally, the last stanza has only two, giving the impression that it is unfinished. Perhaps this is because the speaker was not completely content with his final decision; still uneasy, unsettled about throwing the unborn fawn over the edge.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SL2h00KdBVI/AAAAAAAAAyQ/kCVuBumXTVU/s1600-h/78654331.HjEUlyCM.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SL2h00KdBVI/AAAAAAAAAyQ/kCVuBumXTVU/s400/78654331.HjEUlyCM.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241523470056883538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-5733345227682839339?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/5733345227682839339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=5733345227682839339' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/5733345227682839339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/5733345227682839339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/09/traveling-through-dark.html' title='Traveling Through the Dark'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SL2hoEGRdwI/AAAAAAAAAyI/LEHkJlHPopI/s72-c/BlackMountainEpic-3FEB02-02-AtSaddleOfBlackCanyonRd-LookingN.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-7483815121258644015</id><published>2008-08-29T12:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T10:56:23.990-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Finding Tone</title><content type='html'>With a hastily cut-out image of "Dumbo" taped to my shirt, I stood to begin the class debate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good afternoon. Today, I will be representing the affermative side of the resolve 'Current immigration laws should be enforced.'&lt;br /&gt;Let me first begin by saying what a fine president we have in office today..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By this point, the advantage of my class, as well as my opponent was starting to giggle. How can that be? If we look literally at the situation, I was displaying an elephant (symbol of the republican party) on my outfit and was only starting the introduction of the debate. The key to making that situation funny was the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;tone&lt;/span&gt;. Now, I am by no means a republican, but was assigned to represent the 'conservative' side of an argument for class. So, when speaking of our republican president, I did so with over exaggerated fondness. The &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;tone&lt;/span&gt; of my presentation was in no way serious or in agreement with the resolve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When reading a piece of literature, you must determine what the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;tone&lt;/span&gt; of the piece is, in order to fully appreciate it. Understanding how to identify tone, and how it may change throughout a piece, will help you not only get an 'A' in AP literature, but allow you to have a more memorable experience and develop a deeper bond with that which you read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is my interpretation of 'tone' from three poem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The Telephone" by Robert Frost:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When I was just as far as I could walk&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;From here today, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;There was an hour&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;All still&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;When leaning with my head against a flower&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I heard you talk.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Don't say I didn't, for I heard you say--&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;You spoke from that flower on the windowsill--&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Do you remember what it was you said?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"First tell me what it was you thought you heard."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Having found the flower and driven a bee away,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I leaned my head,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And holding by the stalk,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I listened and I thought I caught the word--&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;What was it? Did you call me by my name?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Or did you say--&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Someone&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; said 'Come'--I heard it as I bowed."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I may have thought as much, but not aloud."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Well, so I came."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is a piece that goes from being very confident in its tone at the beginning, to what seems a little desperate and unsure, but the overall tone of the piece is hopeful. The lead speaker of the poem may have stumbled in his confidence, the energy of the poem remains hopeful at the end.&lt;br /&gt;"..When leaning with my head against a flower, I heard you talk. Don't say I didn't..." This line shows the main speaker's confident attitude&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The Flea" by John Donne:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:Georgia,Book Antiqua;" &gt;M&lt;span style="font-size:0;"&gt;ARK&lt;/span&gt; but this flea, and mark in this,&lt;br /&gt;How little that which thou deniest me is ;&lt;br /&gt;It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,&lt;br /&gt;And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.&lt;br /&gt;Thou know'st that this cannot be said&lt;br /&gt;A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;&lt;br /&gt;Yet this enjoys before it woo,&lt;br /&gt;And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;&lt;br /&gt;And this, alas ! is more than we would do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O stay, three lives in one flea spare,&lt;br /&gt;Where we almost, yea, more than married are.&lt;br /&gt;This flea is you and I, and this&lt;br /&gt;Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.&lt;br /&gt;Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,&lt;br /&gt;And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.&lt;br /&gt;Though use make you apt to kill me,&lt;br /&gt;Let not to that self-murder added be,&lt;br /&gt;And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cruel and sudden, hast thou since&lt;br /&gt;Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?&lt;br /&gt;Wherein could this flea guilty be,&lt;br /&gt;Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?&lt;br /&gt;Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou&lt;br /&gt;Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.&lt;br /&gt;' Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ;&lt;br /&gt;Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,&lt;br /&gt;Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-7483815121258644015?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/7483815121258644015/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=7483815121258644015' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/7483815121258644015'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/7483815121258644015'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/08/finding-tone.html' title='Finding Tone'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-7318626486919989527</id><published>2008-08-28T10:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T10:51:34.278-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I started Early-- Took my Dog</title><content type='html'>Emily Dickinson's poem, "I started Early-- Took my Dog", is a prime example of an allegorical poem. Through a system of related symbols, she transforms a walk to the sea, to an encounter with a man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I started Early- Took my Dog&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And visited the Sea-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Mermaids in the Basement&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Came out to look at me-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And Frigates- in the Upper Floor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Extended Hempen Hands-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Presuming Me to be a Mouse-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Aground- upon the Sands-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;But no Man moved Me- till the Tide&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Went past my simple Shoe-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And past my Apron- and my Belt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And past my Bodice-too-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And made as He would eat me up-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;As wholly as a Dew&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Upon a Dandelion's Sleeve-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And then- I started-too-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And He- He followed- close behind-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I felt His Silver Heel &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Upon my Ankle- Then my Shoes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Would overflow with Pearl-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Until We met the Solid Town-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;No One He seemed to know-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And bowling- with a Mighty look-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;At me- The Sea withdrew-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-7318626486919989527?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/7318626486919989527/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=7318626486919989527' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/7318626486919989527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/7318626486919989527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-started-early-took-my-dog.html' title='I started Early-- Took my Dog'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-7163777781701835708</id><published>2008-08-27T12:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T11:05:54.760-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How Peculiar, are the Nature of Choices</title><content type='html'>Have you ever made a choice you regret? Held  two stones up to the light and compared the way light dances on their surface, only to pocket the one less brilliant?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost, we see the story of a speaker, walking in a yellow wood, who must choose between two paths when arriving at a fork in the road. The speaker chooses one, expecting to come back another day to the other, but realizes that "way leads on to way", and that more choices and forks will arise, she won't be coming back. Later, she will embellish the story of the paths in the woods and tell others that she 'chose the one less traveled by' , although both paths had looked similarly well trod at the time.&lt;br /&gt;As she reflects she 'sighs', signaling the regret she feels for her choice. As the saying goes 'the grass is always greener on the other side', and the speaker desires the possibilities of the 'other path'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is it that a choice between two similar roads would make such a big difference many years later? Although the two paths were worn 'about the same', they take you in different directions. Either choice you make, you will end up in a different location than if you had taken the other. As time passes,  you come to more forks in the paths, are confronted with more choices. Each choice you makes, multiply's the force of the one you made before it. Years later, you have gone so far from the original diversion in the yellow wood, you can only wonder where choice 2 could have taken you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As readers (and hard working AP students!) we are confronted with a diverged path as well: how we &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;choose &lt;/span&gt;to interpret the text. One way you could consider the poem is a young woman's choice to have an abortion...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yellow is the color of cowardice. A young woman pregnat looks at the two 'paths' diverging before her, and fears where either would take her. One, an abortion- destruction of a life. The other, birth- a heavy responsibility, a harder life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And sorry I could not travel both,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And be one traveler, long I stood&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;She is sorry that she can't both save the life of a child, and maintain her same lifestyle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And looked down one as far as I could&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;To where is bent in the undergrowth;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;As she looks down the path of birth, what does she see? Well to a young woman, the path looks bent and dark, like the path in the undergrowth. It would take her away from the life she has now, bring more responsibility and work. Perhaps it would cause negative responses from her peers and society, bringing shame and embarrassment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Then took the other, as just as fair,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;and having perhaps the better claim,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, she chooses the abortion, which doesn't seem so unnormal or wrong. In fact, it may even be better for the child, than to be brought up in a household unfit for raising it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Because it was grassy and wanted wear;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grass is green, the color of life. The choice of abortion would seem to preserve her way of life, and is what seems encouraged by society.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Though as for that the passing there&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Had worn them really about the same,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But although she can tell herself all these things about either choice she makes, she sees that there will be regrets either way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And both that morning equally lay&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;In leaves no step had trodden black.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;And she see how had either choice might benefit her, the joys of raising a child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh, I kept the first for another day!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Yet knowing how way leads on to ways, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I doubted if I should ever come back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;She thought she could save birth for later in life, but sees as the path she has chose leads to new things and further from motherhood; she doubts it is ever a choice she will return to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I shall be telling this with a sigh&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Somewhere ages and ages hence:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh, a signal of regret.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I took the one less traveled by, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And that has made all the difference. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-7163777781701835708?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/7163777781701835708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=7163777781701835708' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/7163777781701835708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/7163777781701835708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/08/how-peculiar-are-nature-of-choices.html' title='How Peculiar, are the Nature of Choices'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-3392303603189571978</id><published>2008-08-27T08:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-27T16:00:34.517-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And Which Road Will You Take?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You have to be careful of that one: it's a tricky poem- very tricky."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;- Robert Frost, on his poem "The Road Not Taken"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even the author of this poem predicted that many people would misinterpret what it means. Here's a great website discussing different ways to interpret the poem. (Make sure to read the comments at the bottom of the page!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://poetry.suite101.com/article.cfm/robert_frost_s_tricky_poem"&gt;http://poetry.suite101.com/article.cfm/robert_frost_s_tricky_poem&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-3392303603189571978?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/3392303603189571978/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=3392303603189571978' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3392303603189571978'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/3392303603189571978'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/08/and-which-road-will-you-take.html' title='And Which Road Will You Take?'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-5584465963184125960</id><published>2008-08-26T12:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-26T13:37:47.808-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Aren't We All Apple-Pickers, After All?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SLRgdbFt0CI/AAAAAAAAAxs/61fWygsVPoI/s1600-h/apples.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SLRgdbFt0CI/AAAAAAAAAxs/61fWygsVPoI/s200/apples.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238918325142933538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;For the speaker of 'After Apple-Picking' by Robert Frost, life revolves around the harvest. The apple trees he is dependent on are dependent on the seasons. So he must pick with the changes natures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He has a great desire to make a good harvest, but as he descends the ladder pointed towards heaven after apple-picking, he sees what little he truly has achieved during the season: the barrels that are left to be filled, and apples left unpicked. When he dreams, the apple-picking is never ending. In nature, winter is the end of the year, the time of rest. As he approaches the end of his apple-picking season, and the beginning of winter, he fears what type of rest awaits him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-5584465963184125960?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/5584465963184125960/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=5584465963184125960' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/5584465963184125960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/5584465963184125960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/08/arent-we-all-apple-pickers-after-all.html' title='Aren&apos;t We All Apple-Pickers, After All?'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/SLRgdbFt0CI/AAAAAAAAAxs/61fWygsVPoI/s72-c/apples.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-5006043190114098520</id><published>2008-08-25T12:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-25T13:31:28.568-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Literary Device: Allusion</title><content type='html'>1548, from L. allusionem (nom. allusio) "a playing with, a reference to," from allus-, stem of alludere (see allude). An allusion is never an outright or explicit mention of the person or thing the speaker seems to have in mind. - &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Online Etymology Dictionary&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Example:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;&lt;br /&gt;Am an attendant lord, one that will do&lt;br /&gt;To swell a progress, start a scene or two,&lt;br /&gt;Advise the prince; do doubt, an easy tool,&lt;br /&gt;Deferential, glad to be of use,&lt;br /&gt;Politic, cautious, and meticulous;&lt;br /&gt;Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;&lt;br /&gt;At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--&lt;br /&gt;Almost, at times, the Fool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Function:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", Prufrock wishes to approach a woman and declare his love for her, but fears being rejected or disturbing the society around him. Seen in the lines above is a reference to William Shakespeare's "Hamlet". Prince Hamlet was an intellectual, passionate character who suffered from internal struggle and who took extreme, hasty action in the end. Eliot employs this reference to show that Prufrock was not a man of action or youthful passion. The reference to 'the fool' Polonius, the father of Prince Hamlet's lover, is further create's the idea that Prufrock is an old man. Perhaps to old to for a passionate act of love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-5006043190114098520?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/5006043190114098520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=5006043190114098520' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/5006043190114098520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/5006043190114098520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/08/device-day.html' title='Literary Device: Allusion'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-4657701773810439186</id><published>2008-08-25T08:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-25T12:13:28.883-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thievery</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Immature poets &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;imitate&lt;/span&gt;, Mature poets steal."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;-T.S. Eliot&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Eliot is a thief. He knows it. He admits it. And he expects his readers to understand it. He expects them to recognize where he has stolen thoughts, lines, and ideas from. He expects you to see the connections between those stolen goods. Poetry is a complex system of symbols and images. If a reader cannot process the allusions created by T. S. Eliot, they miss the meaning of his poetry completely. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;In the case of "The Love Song of J. Alfred &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Prufrock&lt;/span&gt;", here is a great site that points out the allusions within the poem. What? You haven't read Dante's Inferno? Well...better get started. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.geocities.com/athens/acropolis/5616/prufrock.html"&gt;http://www.geocities.com/athens/acropolis/5616/prufrock.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-4657701773810439186?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/4657701773810439186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=4657701773810439186' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/4657701773810439186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/4657701773810439186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/08/thievery.html' title='Thievery'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-392458711161964198</id><published>2008-08-25T07:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-25T08:03:16.548-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Prufrock's Universe</title><content type='html'>As a teenage girl, I've heard about a million love songs (played on the radio, danced to on T.V., and hummed incessantly by many of my friends) but none have been so depressing in their realism, descriptive in their images, or thought provoking in their nature as "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems to me that Prufrock is a man established in society; one who understands social custom and etiquette. He lives in a universe where all actions and thoughts are prescribed, expected, and have their noses powdered. In all of the mannerisms, all of the conformity, Prufrock sees that he is beginning to disintegrate. Love, union with another being, with a woman, seems to be the only thing he truly desires. It would give his life sustenance; protect him from the loneliness of old age. So, this poem is the internal struggle, "Does he dare?" disturb the universe, offer his heart up for a woman, and risk being rejected? "Does he dare?" take no action what so ever, sit and wonder 'what if?', and ultimately end his life as one of those lonely, pipe-smoking men he so despises?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Licked its tongue into the corners of evening,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;And seeing that it was a soft October night,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.&lt;/em&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prufrock is the yellow smoke. Rubbing his back upon the window-panes. Disconnected from the world on the other side, viewing it from behind a glass wall. Like the fog that lingers, Prufrock lingers in indecision and inaction. Like the yellow smoke, Prufrock is only in the present, to fade and disappear in time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Arms that are braceleted and white and bare,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Is it the perfume on the dress&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;That makes me so digress?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;    And how should I then presume?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;    And how should I begin?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This imagery of a woman shows Prufrock's desire for her. His appreciation for her beauty; his distress over how to approach her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"I do not think that they will sing to me, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I have seen them riding seaward on the waves,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Combing the white hair of the wave blown back,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;When the wind blows the water white and black. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;We have lingered in the chambers of the sea&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Till human voices wake us, and we drown."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mermaids are unreal, imaginary, untouchable. Prufrock fears that any spark, attraction he has felt between himself and the woman may have only been imagined. Prufrock decides that 'We' as people of this universe,  let ourselves become lost in these wishful thoughts and games, only to be forced back to reality where we find ourselves not with mermaids, but lost at sea. Prufrock does not approach the woman.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-392458711161964198?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/392458711161964198/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=392458711161964198' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/392458711161964198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/392458711161964198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/08/prufrocks-universe.html' title='Prufrock&apos;s Universe'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718836164486541832.post-7295820591175306849</id><published>2008-08-21T12:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T13:04:12.308-07:00</updated><title type='text'>2008-2009 AP Literature</title><content type='html'>This blog serves to make the work and assignments completed by Shelby Surdyk in &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-size:100%;" &gt;AP Literature and Composition&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;readily available to her classmates and instructor. To see course description and instructor insights, visit &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;http://skagwayap.blogspot.com/&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Please feel free to comment on any work published on this site. I would love to hear your feedback and engage in discussions.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/718836164486541832-7295820591175306849?l=shelbyap.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/feeds/7295820591175306849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=718836164486541832&amp;postID=7295820591175306849' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/7295820591175306849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/718836164486541832/posts/default/7295820591175306849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shelbyap.blogspot.com/2008/08/2008-2009-ap-literature.html' title='2008-2009 AP Literature'/><author><name>Shelby S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17896373891217123396</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_Q83Aunto3_M/R7ehiOhTuqI/AAAAAAAAAKE/KL6PL_EieFU/S220/shelby05.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
