Poem for October : ‘It Was One of Those Fine October Days” by Richard Green

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It Was One of Those Fine October Days

It was one of those fine October days
free from summer’s heat and haze
but not yet gripped by autumn chill.

It was one of those fine October days
when the sky’s so clear
you can see the moon
through the atmosphere
at midday.

It was one of those fine October days
when the trees sport yellow and red
instead of everyday summer green.

It was one of those fine October days
when one draws a deep breath
and is grateful
to be resident on Earth.

Poem by Richard Greene

Poem : The Thanksgivings (an Iroquois Indian Poem of Thanksgiving)

http://poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19276

The Thanksgivings

by Harriet Maxwell Converse

Translated from a traditional Iroquois prayer

We who are here present thank the Great Spirit that we are here
          to praise Him.
We thank Him that He has created men and women, and ordered
          that these beings shall always be living to multiply the earth.
We thank Him for making the earth and giving these beings its products
          to live on.
We thank Him for the water that comes out of the earth and runs
          for our lands.
We thank Him for all the animals on the earth.
We thank Him for certain timbers that grow and have fluids coming
          from them for us all.
We thank Him for the branches of the trees that grow shadows
          for our shelter.
We thank Him for the beings that come from the west, the thunder
          and lightning that water the earth.
We thank Him for the light which we call our oldest brother, the sun
          that works for our good.
We thank Him for all the fruits that grow on the trees and vines.
We thank Him for his goodness in making the forests, and thank
          all its trees.
We thank Him for the darkness that gives us rest, and for the kind Being
          of the darkness that gives us light, the moon.
We thank Him for the bright spots in the skies that give us signs,
          the stars.
We give Him thanks for our supporters, who had charge of our harvests.
We give thanks that the voice of the Great Spirit can still be heard
          through the words of Ga-ne-o-di-o.
We thank the Great Spirit that we have the privilege of this pleasant
          occasion.
We give thanks for the persons who can sing the Great Spirit's music,
          and hope they will be privileged to continue in his faith.
We thank the Great Spirit for all the persons who perform the ceremonies
          on this occasion.

Interesting Sites For Improving Your English : Lit2Go - MP3 Stories and Poems

Downloadable audio books with pdf files of the literature you can use to follow along!!

This is a must for practicing your listening comprehension!!

Visit the site at : Lit2Go: MP3 Stories and Poems

Culture Spot : On This Day – 17 September

There are two important events in American history that took place on this day.

On this day in 1787, the US Constitution was signed and adopted by the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia after a long, hot summer of intense negotiations among the various state representatives. On March 4, 1789 the government under the new Constitution began operations. September 17 is an American federal observance known as Constitution Day. The holiday was created in 2004 and mandated that all publically funded educational institutions provide educational programming on the history of the US Constitution.

The Articles of Confederation and Perpetual Union (America’s first constitution) which had been drafted in 1777 and finally ratified in 1781 was the governing document since Independence but unfortunately, it was a very inefficient document. Under this document, Congress (there was only a legislative body and no president!) was powerless to enforce its decisions and was denied the power of taxation leaving the government and military short of funds. It also left Congress in a weakened position when it came to foreign policy and had no means to regulate commerce. Also, due to its inability to tax, Congress could not pay the debts it owed to countries like France and the Netherlands for their assistance in our struggle for independence from Britain.

In 1786, state representatives convened in Philadelphia to discuss changes to the Articles. However after much discussion and debate, it became clear that an entirely new constitution was need creating a federal system of government. Many states were completely against this idea fearing the loss of state sovereignty. After much debate, a document unlike any other governing document in the world had been born. A document guaranteeing a balance of power between state sovereignty and a central federal government. The wisdom of those delegates has left an enduring document and today the US Constitution is the shortest and oldest written constitution in the world, a document very much cherished by Americans.

In school, children memorize the preamble to the US Constitution which is the following:

“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, ensure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”

Here’s a funny video from the American sitcom, The Andy Griffith Show, where Deputy Barney Fife tries to recite the Preamble to the Constitution from memory! 

For those of you brave enough to read a good history book on how the US Constitution came into being, I very highly recommend the book The Summer of 1787: The Men Who Invented the Constitution by David O. Stewart (ISBN 978-0743286930)

This has become one of my favorite books in my library!!

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Also on this day in 1814, Francis Scott Key finished his poem “The Defence of Fort McHenry” which would become the words for the United States national anthem “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

The poem was written towards the end of the War of 1812 against the British. Key, along with American Colonel John Stuart Skinner, were guests aboard a British ship to discuss a prisoner exchange. However, the British were about to attack Baltimore and could not let Key and Skinner leave the ship before the attack since they knew the strength and position of the British ships. They could do nothing but helplessly witness the bombardment of Fort McHenry. In the morning, Key went out on deck to see if the fort had successfully resisted the attack. Through the smoke he saw that the American flag still waved over the fort! The Americans held!

This vision inspired Key to write a poem and he intended for the words to fit to the rhythm of John Stafford Smith’s song “To Anacreaon In Heaven,” a song from a gentlemen’s club! The melody with Key’s poem added became known as “The Star-Spangled Banner” and was widely popular throughout the United States. However, the song did not become the official anthem of the US until 1931 with a Congressional resolution signed by President Hoover. Before 1931, the United States never had an official anthem!

The flag that inspired Key can still be seen in the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C.

“The Defence of Fort McHenry” (The Star-Spangled Banner)

by Francis Scott Key

O! say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country should leave us no more!
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: 'In God is our trust.'
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

9-11

Remember

by Christina Rossetti*

Remember me when I am gone away,          Gone far away into the silent land;          When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day          You tell me of our future that you plann'd:          Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while          And afterwards remember, do not grieve:          For if the darkness and corruption leave          A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile          Than that you should remember and be sad.

Christina Rossetti (1830-1894) was born in London to an artistic family — her brother was the famous poet and painter Dante Gabriel Rossetti and her house was a regular meeting place for the group of artists later called the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. As a devout Anglican, Rossetti called off a two-year engagement when her fiancé converted to Roman Catholicism. Despite a lifetime of illness, Rossetti continued to write poetry. Today she is best known for her collection Goblin Market and Other Poems.

Poem and biography taken from http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=174266

Culture Spot: Texas Poet Laureate Celebrates Southern Style (VOA News)

http://www.voanews.com/english/2009-06-20-voa13.cfm?rss=topstories

The state of Texas boasts a long line of famous story tellers and poets. The state has also inspired poetry. Each year, the legislature selects a resident bard to serve as Texas Poet Laureate. This year, the honor went to a son of the deep South who came to Texas more than 30 years ago and feels right at home. His name is Paul Ruffin.

FreeVideoCoding.com

VIDEO TRANSCRIPT:

Paul Ruffin may not fit the image many people have of a poet. He's a proud member of the National Rifle Association and he fits right in here in the woods of eastern Texas.

When he is not writing or teaching classes at nearby Sam Houston State University, Ruffin does chores around his home. He prefers a rural life style over city life.

I wanted more land and I wanted out of the city. I am out in the county now where I can be a little more relaxed, I can shoot guns in the back yard if I want to," he said.

Ruffin has a collection of guns that he uses for sport shooting, a popular pastime in rural America.

One of his ancestors fired the first cannon at Fort Sumter in 1861, starting the Civil War. Ruffin says such men and their deeds inspired the first recitations of verse.

"Poetry began in the oral tradition," he explained. "You would have these warriors or hunters come in from a hunt or battle and they would re-enact the hunt or battle and do it in poetic form."

Ruffin grew up around rough rural people often called "rednecks."

He discovered he had a knack for writing poetry as a child. At university, he studied literature. "I know that there are people who, upon encountering me out somewhere, would consider me a redneck - and I can talk the language too - but I am equally capable of sitting down with the most educated people and carrying on a conversation."

Ruffin uses the culture and language of rural southerners to enrich his poems and stories.

"I love writing in the Southern idiom. I love Redneckese, quite frankly," he noted.

Now that he is the Texas Poet Laureate, Ruffin has more opportunities to share his stories with audiences.

Ruffin has published 800 poems, two novels and several collections of essays and short stories.

And he's working on a new book of poems, to be published next year.

Paul Ruffin’s page at Mississippi State University

Paul Ruffin at Amazon.com

Culture Spot: Maple Sugaring Time

Every April, the residents of St. Albans, in far northern Vermont, gather for a celebration that is repeated throughout the late winter and early spring in towns across northern New England: the annual maple sugar festival. There is much to celebrate. Maple sugar gives a boost to the local economy, a sweetness to breakfast tables throughout the country, and a lift to sagging spirits weary of the log, cold, snowy New England winter. In St. Albans, as elsewhere, local residents gather together to taste maple delicacies, to watch the sticky sap boil down to thick, sweet maple syrup, and to declare their faith that spring will arrive, despite the snow – still often measured in feet – and the bare tree limbs against steel gray skies.

Maple sugar festivals offer the chance to taste and rate the year’s crop, and they remind everyone that maple syrup is about more than pancakes: maple muffins, maple gravy, maple candy, and many more special treats featuring the sweet springtime sap are available at every festival. To byway travelers searching for a taste of northern New England, there is no better place than a small-town maple sugar festival.

LINK: Vermont Maple Festival

Maple Muffins Preheat oven to 180°C. Lightly grease 20 muffin cups. Combine 188 g all-purpose flour, 135 g old-fashioned oats, 1 tablespoon cinnamon, 2 teaspoons baking powder, and 1 teaspoon baking soda. Set aside. Combine 2 beaten eggs, 240 ml heavy cream, and 240 ml maple syrup. Add dry mixture to egg mixture, stirring just until combined. Add 150 g chopped dates and 150 g walnuts, if desired. Fill muffin cups with batter. Drizzle an additional 80 ml maple syrup over tops. Bake 20 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into center of muffin comes out dry. Serve warm with butter. Makes 20 muffins.

Maple Cream Candy Place 475 ml maple syrup into a saucepan and boil  over very low heat without stirring until temperature reaches 112°C. Pour into a shallow pan; without stirring, cool to 43°C or until lukewarm. Beat until light in color and creamy in texture. Pour into a greased pan. Let cool; cover tightly to store.

 

Evening in a Sugar Orchard

by Robert Frost

From where I lingered in a lull in March

Outside a sugarhouse one night for choice,

I called the fireman with a careful voice

And bade him leave the pan and stoke the arch:

“O fireman, give the fire another stoke,

And send more sparks up the chimney with the smoke.”

I thought a few might tangle, as they did,

Among the bare maple boughs, and in the rare

Hill atmosphere not cease to glow,

And so be added to the moon up there.

The moon, though slight, was moon enough to show

On every tree a bucket with a lid,

And on black ground a bear-skin run of snow.

The sparks made no attempt to be the moon.

They were content to figure in the trees

As Leo, Orion, and Pleiades.

And that was what the boughs were full of soon.

For vocabulary exercise, use the dictionary links in the right-hand column to look up the words!

Culture Spot: Phyllis Wheatley, Slave and Poet

Phyllis Wheatley, born somewhere near present-day Senegal, was captured into slavery around the age of seven and sold to the Wheatley family in Boston. The Wheatleys taught her to read and write and encouraged her poetry writing. Her writing paid off when in 1773 her work Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral was published. Her writings even caught the attention of General George Washington who praised her. Phyllis Wheatley’s writings helped launch African-American literature.

When the great preacher of the Great Awakening, George Whitfield died, she wrote in his honor the following poem:

On the Death of the Rev. Mr. GEORGE WHITEFIELD. 1770. HAIL, happy saint, on thine immortal throne, Possest of glory, life, and bliss unknown; We hear no more the music of thy tongue, Thy wonted auditories cease to throng. Thy sermons in unequall'd accents flow'd, And ev'ry bosom with devotion glow'd; Thou didst in strains of eloquence refin'd Inflame the heart, and captivate the mind. Unhappy we the setting sun deplore, So glorious once, but ah! it shines no more.      Behold the prophet in his tow'ring flight! He leaves the earth for heav'n's unmeasur'd height, And worlds unknown receive him from our sight. There Whitefield wings with rapid course his way, And sails to Zion through vast seas of day. Thy pray'rs, great saint, and thine incessant cries Have pierc'd the bosom of thy native skies. Thou moon hast seen, and all the stars of light, How he has wrestled with his God by night. He pray'd that grace in ev'ry heart might dwell, He long'd to see America excell; He charg'd its youth that ev'ry grace divine Should with full lustre in their conduct shine; That Saviour, which his soul did first receive, The greatest gift that ev'n a God can give, He freely offer'd to the num'rous throng, That on his lips with list'ning pleasure hung.      "Take him, ye wretched, for your only good, "Take him ye starving sinners, for your food; "Ye thirsty, come to this life-giving stream, "Ye preachers, take him for your joyful theme; "Take him my dear Americans, he said, "Be your complaints on his kind bosom laid: "Take him, ye Africans, he longs for you, "Impartial Saviour is his title due: "Wash'd in the fountain of redeeming blood, "You shall be sons, and kings, and priests to God."      Great Countess,* we Americans revere Thy name, and mingle in thy grief sincere; New England deeply feels, the Orphans mourn, Their more than father will no more return.      But, though arrested by the hand of death, Whitefield no more exerts his lab'ring breath, Yet let us view him in th' eternal skies, Let ev'ry heart to this bright vision rise; While the tomb safe retains its sacred trust, Till life divine re-animates his dust.

To learn more about the life and work of this great American woman, visit the following links:

Phyllis Wheatley, America’s First Black Woman Poet

Download an ebook for free of Phyllis Wheatley’s work

Phyllis Wheatley, Wikipedia article

To His Excellency General Washington by Phyllis Wheatley

Celestial choir! enthron'd in realms of light,
Columbia's scenes of glorious toils I write.
While freedom's cause her anxious breast alarms,
She flashes dreadful in refulgent arms.
See mother earth her offspring's fate bemoan,
And nations gaze at scenes before unknown!
See the bright beams of heaven's revolving light
Involved in sorrows and veil of night!
The goddess comes, she moves divinely fair,
Olive and laurel bind her golden hair:
Wherever shines this native of the skies,
Unnumber'd charms and recent graces rise.
Muse! bow propitious while my pen relates
How pour her armies through a thousand gates,
As when Eolus heaven's fair face deforms,
Enwrapp'd in tempest and a night of storms;
Astonish'd ocean feels the wild uproar,
The refluent surges beat the sounding shore;
Or thick as leaves in Autumn's golden reign,
Such, and so many, moves the warrior's train.
In bright array they seek the work of war,
Where high unfurl'd the ensign waves in air.
Shall I to Washington their praise recite?
Enough thou know'st them in the fields of fight.
Thee, first in peace and honours,—we demand
The grace and glory of thy martial band.
Fam'd for thy valour, for thy virtues more,
Hear every tongue thy guardian aid implore!
One century scarce perform'd its destined round,
When Gallic powers Columbia's fury found;
And so may you, whoever dares disgrace
The land of freedom's heaven-defended race!
Fix'd are the eyes of the nations on the scales,
For in their hopes Columbia's arm prevails.
Anon Britannia droops the pensive head,
While round increase the rising hills of dead.
Ah! cruel blindness to Columbia's state!
Lament thy thirst of boundless power too late.
Proceed, great chief, with virtue on thy side,40
Thy ev'ry action let the goddess guide.
A crown, a mansion, and a throne that shine,
With gold unfading, WASHINGTON! be thine.

This poem was written by a young slave girl from Boston, Phyllis Wheatley. You can learn more about her on Wednesday when there will be a post dedicated to the great African-American poet.

Phillis Wheatley’s poem “To His Excellency General Washington” is as unique as the poet herself. The poem was sent to George Washington, the newly appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Armies of North America, in October of 1775, well before American Independence was declared in 1776. Washington, as busy as he was with organizing the colonies to take on the British, sent a letter back to Wheatley thanking her for the poem and inviting her to visit him if she ever came to Cambridge, Massachusetts. The two did meet in March of 1776, seven years before the war was finished and true independence was declared. Washington was roundly lauded in poems and prose after the successful conclusion of the Revolutionary War in 1783, but Wheatley’s poem was written when the war’s outcome was very uncertain, the British being the obvious favorites to win. It can be said that Wheatley was the groundbreaker in beginning the Washington legend as the “father of our country,” yet she stands as a groundbreaker in even more important ways. In 1773, two years before this poem was written, Phillis Wheatley, a twenty-year-old slave, published her collection of poems entitled Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral, the first book of poetry published by an African American, and only the second book by a woman in what would become the United States. Considering that Ms. Wheatley was bought at a slave auction in 1761, not able to read or write and incapable of speaking English, her book of poems is truly astounding. She was revered in many countries. Benjamin Franklin offered his services to her, as did many other high-ranking men in America. In April of 1776, the author and political philosopher Thomas Paine published Wheatley’s poem to Washington in The Pennsylvania Magazine. The central theme of this poem is “freedom’s cause,” the colonies’ struggle for freedom from England, which General Washington was assigned to lead. Like many other residents of Boston, Wheatley’s feelings for the British regime turned from obedient admiration to mild admonition, and finally, to support of the revolution. The poem anticipates the future for the new republic, and praises the efforts of its military leader and first president.

To learn more about his poem, go to the Study Guide.

Shakespeare Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

- William Shakespeare

thee	-	(forme archaïque anglaise de “toi”)
thou art	-	(forme archaïche anglaise de “tu es”)
temperate	-	modéré
rough	-	violent
bud	-	le bouton, le bourgeon
lease	-	le bail
hath	-	(forme archaïque pour la 3ème personne du singulier “has”)
eye of heaven		le soleil
complexion	-	le teint
dimmed	-	diminué
fair	-	tout ce qui est beau
to decline	-	être sur le déclin

changing course untrimmed	-	sont incontrôlable
to fade	-	se faner, s’effacer, s’estomper
ow’st = ownest	-	(forme archaïque pour la 2ème personne du singulier “own”)
wand’rest = wanderest	-	(forme archaïque pour la 2ème personne du singulier “wander) errer, se promener
in eternal lines	-	les lignes/les vers de ce poème
grow’st=growest	-	(forme archaïque pour la 2ème personne du singulier “grow”)

Learn more about the archaic English form “thou”

Christmas in America - A Visit from Saint Nicholas by Clement Clarke Moore

This 1823 poem is also know as T'was the Night Before Christmas and is the poem that largely created the American conception of Santa Claus. This poem created many of the myths surrounding Santa Claus: his flying sleigh and reindeer (all named!), his appearance, the nightly Christmas Eve visit and the placing of toys in stockings.

The poem was published anonymously in the New York Sentinal in December of 1823 and was frequently republished in the following years with an author's name. Though most scholars today attribute the poem to Clement Clarke Moore, the contraversy still continues on the true authorship. The family of Henry Livingston, Jr. also claimed that he was the author.

A Visit from Saint Nicholas by Clement Clarke Moore

’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap;

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of toys, and Saint Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney Saint Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

For a side-by-side translation of the poem in French, go to http://www.lexilogos.com/saint_nicolas_conte.htm

For an explanation of some of the difficult terms in English, go to http://esl.about.com/library/weekly/aa121497.htm