redwaldo
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I've taught Dawe to High School kids;the reaction is generally "That's boring" unfortunately, Perhaps they will appreciate war poetry when the get older. Reply #21. Feb 14 10, 10:16 PM |
Arpeggionist
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We never had to memorize poetry in school in Israel. Makes me feel like I was left out. It was only after I graduated high school and began writing vocal music that I started memorizing poetry on my own. I was always on the lookout for good song texts, but unfortunately my literary memory never matched my musical skill. For some of the more classic poems I set to music I had to call on my brother's memory, and he never ceases to impress me. With his help I've set music to some of the greatest poetry in Hebrew and in English. Thank God he has the same opinion of the greatest literature as I have. For the most part he's helped me with settings of poems by Yehudah Halevi and biblical verse, but occasionally he helped me with some Frost. (I haven't yet been able to come up with a proper setting for Jabberwocky, which he can also recite by heart.) Reply #22. Feb 16 10, 7:40 PM |
lesley153
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Redwaldo, I hadn't heard of Dawe - I have now - a list of poetry awards as long as your arm, but I've only been able to find the text of Homecoming. Have you tried "Dulce et Decorum est" on them yet? If they don't react to this, at least with cries of horror and revulsion, ideally with nightmares, they're a lost cause! DULCE ET DECORUM EST Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind. Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; But someone still was yelling out and stumbling, And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . . Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori. http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen1.html Reply #23. Feb 16 10, 8:31 PM |
Lochalsh
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Arpeggionist, I guess some of your teachers might have considered memorizing poetry a rote activity, a mechanical exercise of little practical value. I'm not of that mind myself. I'm a foreign-language prof, and I've always asked my students to memorize poetry in the target language. It helps them to practice pronunciation, intonation, and vocabulary, as well as verbal and nonverbal expression, and they then have a bit of "portable" culture to bank on. (I've used songs in the classroom for similar motives.) "Jabberwocky" set to music? Scott Joplin comes to mind, for some reason, but I don't have a tuneful imagination. Reply #24. Feb 16 10, 9:03 PM |
Lochalsh
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Are students required to memorize poetry these days? My daughter, born in the 1970s, was not asked to, but she's not a good example: she was always off writing her own verse. Maybe a poem is so easy to access on the Internet, there's no use carrying it around in one's little noggin? Reply #25. Feb 16 10, 9:08 PM |
redwaldo
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Yes lesley153 I taught that WW1 poem to 14 year old students. Overall the reaction was mixed, one student understood the horror of war as his grandfather was a Japanese P.O.W. in WW2. Reply #26. Feb 16 10, 9:18 PM |
lesley153
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So that's probably the answer then. The one person who understood it knew someone who had experienced it. The ones who couldn't may be lacking in imagination but are ultimately really just like the rest of us who haven't experienced it - we haven't the first idea what these people went through. The image, of a soldier dying from gas before he could get his helmet on, is a horrendous snapshot and probably the nearest you can get to conveying the sheer horror, because it's impossible to convey the relentless, exhausting, daily horror. And with that I have gone from memorising to impressing - several miles off topic! Reply #27. Feb 16 10, 9:30 PM |
Cymruambyth
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In my early schooldays, we learned a lot of things by memory, not just poems. Do children still learn their times tables? I was never very good at more absrtract mathematics like geometry and algebra (although, surprisingly, I aced my trig courses in my RCAF training because I was applying trig practically and not in the abstract) but I can still tell you what 12 x 9 is without hesitation, and I learned my times tables almost 70 years ago! Memorization also helps to jeep one's memory intact - more or less - in one's later years. Reply #28. Feb 16 10, 9:42 PM |
xbunny
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yes, we had to memorize everything,poems,religion(prayers) science procedures, plays,everything seem to stem from memorizing it,I really don't remember any of the poems,just faintly. Reply #29. Feb 17 10, 12:40 AM |
tezza1551
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Another powerful anti-war poem - by WW1 poet Wilfred Owen. Futility Move him into the sun - Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields unsown. Always it woke him, even in France, Until this morning and this snow. If anything might rouse him now The kind old sun will know. Think how it wakes the seeds - Woke, once, the clays of a cold star. Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides Full-nerved, - still warm, - too hard to stir? Was it for this the clay grew tall? - O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break earth's sleep at all? Wilfred Owen Reply #30. Feb 17 10, 1:41 AM |
mjws1968
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We had to translate and learn the Anglo-Saxon poems Wanderer and Seafarer for our Mediaeval Studies degree, at over 100 lines each it was not easy, and we got marked down for an atrocious accent, like how would they know apart from the rolled "r"s lol. They were good poems though. Reply #31. Feb 17 10, 6:16 PM |
Lochalsh
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I wasn't required to memorize any poetry for my degrees, but I did learn long passages of the Cantar de Mío Cid for my own pleasure. Some of us are just gluttons for medieval torture, I guess! (Um, that would be delightful torture, of course, considering the interest of the texts we studied.) I will never, ever forget the lines about the Cid's taking leave of his family to go to do battle in Valencia. The poet describes the pain the hero felt as akin to the "parting of nail from finger." Reply #32. Feb 17 10, 6:52 PM |
Lochalsh
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To make it more nearly clear: The poet was referring to the tearing away of the fingernail from the flesh. Either way, it's a gruesome image, and apt. Reply #33. Feb 17 10, 7:01 PM |
lesley153
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It's OK, it was clear the first time. No, really, perfectly clear. Aargh. **shudder** Reply #34. Feb 17 10, 7:09 PM |
Lochalsh
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Hey, Lesley, I owe you one of these from the dentist-dread thread: (((((((((((Lesley))))))))))) Reply #35. Feb 17 10, 7:30 PM |
lesley153
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Ooh thank you. Hugs accepted happily - your timing is immaculate - I'm seeing mine tomorrow! Reply #36. Feb 17 10, 7:35 PM |
Cross36
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The only poem I still recall from High School, is a small piece by Jose Marti. Spanish class. Haha. Reply #37. Feb 18 10, 6:04 PM |
Lochalsh
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Cross, could that poem be either 1) "Yo soy un hombre sincero / de donde crece la palma..." (I'm a sincere man from where the palm tree grows...) or 2) "Cultivo una rosa blanca" (I grow a white rose...) ? Reply #38. Feb 18 10, 7:14 PM |
EmmaF2008
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I recall a lot of the poetry I studied in school, probably because I enjoyed it. One has always stood out for me, because when I read it, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and they still do. It's by Seamus Heaney (love his work) and it's called 'Mid Term Break'. This is it. I sat all morning in the college sick bay Counting bells knelling classes to a close. At two o'clock our neighbours drove me home. In the porch I met my father crying - He had always taken funerals in his stride - And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow. The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram When I came in, and I was embarrassed By old men standing up to shake my hand And tell me they were 'sorry for my trouble' Whispers informed strangers that I was the eldest, Away at school, as my mother held my hand In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs. At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses. Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops And candles soothed the bedside I saw him For the first time in six weeks. Paler now, Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple. He lay in a four foot box, as in his cot. No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear. A four foot box, a foot for every year Reply #39. Mar 12 10, 7:07 AM |
jolana
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I, as a teacher, make students to learn some poems by heart. My Nr 1 hits are Blake´s Tiger and Lorelei by Goethe. The students moan, groan and sulk, but when I meet them many years later, they admit they have forgotten much of high school stuff, but they still remember: Tiger, tiger, burning bright... and Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten, dass ich so traurig bin... Reply #40. Mar 13 10, 7:40 PM |
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