Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Look into my eyes

This poem was written by a Palestinian teenager and was later made into a song by Outlandish(which you can listen to on the internet).It is a very emotional poem and leaves you thinking about others less fortunate than ourselves.

Look into my eyes
Tell me what you see
You don't see a damn thing
'cause you can't relate to me
You're blinded by our differences
My life makes no sense to you
I'm the persecuted one
You're the red, white and blue

Each day you wake in tranquility
No fears to cross your eyes
Each day I wake in gratitude
Thanking God He let me rise
You worry about your education
And the bills you have to pay
I worry about my vulnerable life
And if I'll survive another day
Your biggest fear is getting a ticket
As you cruise your Cadillac
My fear is that the tank that has just left
Will turn around and come back

Yet, do you know the truth of where your money goes?
Do you let the media deceive your mind?
Is this a truth nobody, nobody, nobody knows?
Has our world gone all blind?

Yet, do you know the truth of where your money goes?
Do you let the media deceive your mind?
Is this a truth nobody, nobody, nobody knows?
Someone tell me ...

Ooohh, let's not cry tonight
I promise you one day it's through
Ohh my brothers, Ohh my sisters
Ooohh, shine a light for every soul that ain't with us no more
Ohh my brothers, Ohh my sisters

See I've known terror for quite some time
57 years so cruel
Terror breathes the air I breathe
It's the checkpoint on my way to school
Terror is the robbery of my land
And the torture of my mother
The imprisonment of my innocent father
The bullet in my baby brother
The bulldozers and the tanks
The gases and the guns
The bombs that fall outside my door
All due to your funds
You blame me for defending myself
Against the ways of my enemies
I'm terrorized in my own land (what)
And I'm the terrorist?

Yet, do you know the truth of where your money goes?
Do you let the media deceive your mind?
Is this a truth nobody, nobody, nobody knows?
Has our world gone all blind?

Yet, do you know the truth of where your money goes?
Do you let the media deceive your mind?
Is this a truth nobody, nobody, nobody knows?
Someone tell me ...

Ooohh, let's not cry tonight, I promise you one day it's through
Ohh my brothers, Ohh my sisters,
Ooohh, shine a light for every soul that ain't with us no more
Ohh my brothers, Ohh my sisters,

American , do you realize that the taxes that you pay
Feed the forces that traumatize my every living day
So if I won't be here tomorrow
It's written in my fate
May the future bring a brighter day
The end of our wait

Ooohh, let's not cry tonight, I promise you one day it's through
Ohh my brothers, Ohh my sisters,
Ooohh, shine a light for every soul that ain't with us no more
Ohh my brothers, Ohh my sisters,

Ohh let's not cry tonight I promise you one day is through
Ohh my brothers! Ohh my sisters!
Ooh shine a light for every soul that ain't with us no more
Ohh my brothers! Ohh my sisters!

The Brief Facts; Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows.


Everyone has been waiting for the arrival of Harry's final journey, and sicne I woke up at 7o'clock in the morning on Saturday the 21st to get this book, I thought I might as well share my views on how brilliant Harry's ending was.

This is not a fully pledged review like your average one.
I have chosen to make it very thin, as not to reveal too much. I am sure people who have read it will agree with me.
I am only just giving you the facts that may help you understand the story. It took me a while to fully understand the many plots and twists. Once you do, you will also feel the way I do.

If the Half Blood Prince left you with many questions, be sure that your answers will be revealed.
The wonder of the Horcruxes has been enbedded in many minds, including my own. Know very well that the magnificent story plots reveal these. We were left with the knowledge of seven horcruxes. This was revealed very thoroughly by Dumbledore before his death.
The Horcruxes played a huge part throughout this book.
A Horcrux being this; An object that gave Voldemort the capability to place part of his soul into safe keeping. The horcruxes were mostly valuable items to Voldemort. Whether they were entwined in his life as a young student at Hogwarts, or something that was somehow involved with him deeply.
They could be hidden, anywhere. As we found out in book six.
I am only giving clues/facts that we already know from the past books, for I want to give a chance for those who haven't finished it yet.

Slytherin's Locket (enclosed) is the first locket that Harry destroys in this book, since it was left off from the last book. But with what I am not saying.
During the last six books, two of the horcruxes were already destroyed. Tom Riddle's Diary (Chamber of Secrets) and Graunt's Ring (Half Blood Prince), the one Dumbledore had the pleasure of wearing.
The remaining four will slowly reveal themselves, one clue to help solve some; Hufflepuff.

The idea of the Hallows intrigued me very much, it proved that J K Rowling was more intelligent than I thought she was. Clever enough to place side by side this one question; Hallows or Horcruxes? I will not explain the Hallows, for I believe it is one of the more important sides of the story, and it is for you to unveal.
The clue for this one; The cover. At the very top of the spine. That is all I will say.

Two deaths? J K Rowling knew that these deaths would effect us all. It shocked me also when one of my friends told me before I had read the part. It seems sad, that we all suspect the main characters, who I will not announce, to die. But it is even more upsetting when we find out the people who did die, who gave their life to save one person. Prepare yourselves, death may mourn your minds as well as the characters.

Despite all of these large plots, the journey that Harry, Ron, Hermione and co. go on is the best. Love, tradgedy, failure, sucession, just some of the things you will feel.
You will truly feel the power of Lord Voldemort, and the hate and anger he brings to the world of magic. You will see the mind of the 'boy who lived' and understand why his journey has been such a long and tiring one.
I enjoyed it so very much. More than I imagined. I plunged my heart this book for three whole days just to find out the glorious ending that came across Harry. It does also upset me, that there will not be another story to intrigue me anymore. I feel a sense of loss, for over these past ten years or so, I have always had something to look forward to.
I give my praise to J K Rowling, a brilliant author and one that we should all praise for years to come. This is by far the best book, the one that carries the answers and the burden to our questions and hopes.
I do hope you all love this book, for one thing can be sure; Harry is truly, the boy who lives.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Even teachers need a holiday...

I will not be posting on this blog again until the end of August.
But that does
NOT mean it NEEDS to remain EMPTY...

Why not post a BOOK REVIEW of one of the books I have recommended during the year. Click on 'Recommended Reading' in the bar on the right to go back over all the books I have suggested to you.

Or why not post a FILM REVIEW, of one of the many movies I have urged you to see over the past few months. Click on 'Film and Television' to remind yourself.

Or perhaps you could post some of YOUR FAVOURITE POEMS - maybe even by some of the poets I have recommended in the various 'Poem of the Week' posts. Or, better still, post some of your OWN poems instead - and see what some of the other bloggers say about what you have written. Click on 'Student Writing' to read some students' work from a few months ago to inspire you!

All I am saying is that this BLOG belongs to ALL of you, just as much as it does to me. So if the long summer holidays start to drag, there are worse ways to pass the time than to BLOG. :)

And if that is not enough, you can always browse some of the amazing work being produced by students in the English Workshop at wordvoodoo.blogspot.com...

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Movies for your Summer Holiday

Fill your summer with films!

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Website
Review
Trailer



The Simpsons Movie
Website
Review
Trailer



Transformers
Website
Review
Trailer



Breach
Website
Review
Trailer



The Bourne Ultimatum
Website
Trailer




Evan Almighty
Website
Review
Trailer



1408
Website
Review
Trailer

I used to be a book burner...

Zembla, Zenda, Xanadu:
All our dream-worlds may come true.

Fairy lands are fearsome too.

As I wander far from view

Read, and bring me home to you.
This poem was written by Salman Rushdie as the dedication at the beginning of his novel, Haroun and the Sea of Stories. Highly recommended itself (see the previous blog entry here), the novel is particularly relevant now, in the light of all the furore over Rushdie's knighthood.

Notice the acrostic in the poem, which spells the name of Rushdie's son, to whom the novel (and the poem) were directed. In both, he is trying to explain to his only child the madness which erupted around him after the fatwa was announced, and the enduring power of stories to transcend political or religious ideologies.

Why not read more about the furore surrounding Rushdie's knighthood at The Guardian's blog (commentisfree):
Freedom to Offend and I used to be a book burner (both by Inayat Bunglawala, Assistant Secretary-General at the Muslim Council of Britain)

Tender is the Knighthood
Unhelpful Outrage
Sir Salman's Long Journey
He should have realised...

Brick Lane

Mymensingh District, East Pakistan, 1967

An hour and forty-five minutes before Nazneen's life began - began as it would proceed for quite some time, that is to say uncertainly - her mother Rupban felt an iron fist squeeze her belly. Rupban squatted on a low three-legged stool outside the kitchen hut. She was plucking a chicken because Hamid's cousins had arrived from Jessore and there would be a feast. 'Cheepy-cheepy, you are old and stringy,' she said, calling the bird by name as she always did, 'but I would like to eat you, indigestion or no indigestion. And tomorrow I will have only boiled rice, no parathas.

She pulled some more feathers and watched them float around her toes. 'Aaah,' she said. 'Aaaah. Aaaah.' Things occurred to her. For seven months she had been ripening, like a mango on a tree. Only seven months. She put those things that had occurred to her aside. For a while, an hour and a half, though she did not know it, until the men came in from the fields trailing dust and slapping their stomachs, Rupban clutched Cheepy-cheepy's limp and bony neck and said only coming, coming to all enquiries about the bird. The shadows of the children playing marbles and thumping each other grew long and spiky. The scent of fried cumin and cardamom drifted over the compound. The goats bleated high and thin. Rupban screamed white heat, red blood.

Hamid ran from the latrine, although his business was unfinished. He ran across the vegetable plot, past the towers of rice stalk taller than the tallest building, over the dirt track that bounded the village, back to the compound and grabbed a club to kill the man who was killing his wife. He knew it was her. Who else could break glass with one screech? Rupban was in the sleeping quarters. The bed was unrolled, though she was still standing. With one hand she held Mumtaz's shoulder, with the other a half-plucked chicken.

Mumtaz waved Hamid away. 'Go. Get Banesa. Are you waiting for a rickshaw? Go on, use your legs.'

Nazneen is a teenager forced into an arranged marriage with a man considerably older than her - a man whose expectations of life are so low that misery seems to stretch ahead for her. Fearfully leaving the sultry oppression of her Bangladeshi village, Nazneen finds herself cloistered in a small flat in a high-rise block in the East End of London. Because she speaks no English, she is obliged to depend totally on her husband. But it becomes apparent that, of the two, she is the real survivor: more able to deal with the ways of the world, and a better judge of the vagaries of human behaviour. She makes friends with another Asian girl, Razia, who is the conduit to her understanding of the unsettling ways of her new homeland.

To read a review of Brick Lane by Monica Ali, click here.

Saturday, July 07, 2007

Fighting baddies, aliens, thieves... and yourself

In cinemas this week:
Die Hard 4.0 - Bruce is back, as John McClane gets his own back. Again.






Out on DVD this week:

Them - Terrifying French thriller that will put everyone off buying a nice place in the country...
Flags of our Fathers - Award-winning war movie, in which director Clint Eastwood explores both sides of WW2 in Japan.



And on TV this week...

Fight Club (Today, 11.30pm, BBC2) - Seminal, disturbing movie which explores the dark underside of the modern male psyche.






Open Range (Tuesday, 10.35pm, BBC1) - Beautiful, epic, Kevin Costner western.
The Pink Panther (Tuesday, 6.50pm, Film4) - Hilarious original version of Inspector Clouseau's first accident-ridden outing.
Panic Room (Tuesday, 9.00pm, FiveUS) - Gripping thriller in which Jodie Foster and her daughter are trapped in their own house.


Jean de Florette and Manon Des Sources (Wednesday, 6.40pm & Thursday, 6.50pm, Film4) - Epic and beautiful pair of French films about a precious spring and how it divides and destroys a rural community.
Election (Wednesday, 9.00pm, ITV2) - Satirical high-school movie about a group of teenagers fighting to be school president.
Men in Black II (Thursday, 9.00pm, FiveUS) - Back in black: Will Smith returns to fight lots of slimy aliens.

The Hole in the Sum of my Parts

'The Hole in the Sum of my Parts'
by Matt Harvey

Part of me is punctual - it turns up right on time
Part of me is functional - though slightly past its prime
Part of me is criminal - it's quite against the law
Part of me's subliminal - and kind of either/or
Part of me is lowly - it lows just like a cow
Part of me is holy - at least holier-than-thou
Part of me is actual - ly more solid than it seems

And part of me is factual
But most of me is dreams

Part of me is truculent: don't look that way at me
Part of me is succulent - suck it and you'll see
Part of me's detestable - or so people have said
And part of me's suggestible - or so people have said
Part of me's competitive - it only wants to win
And part of me's repetitive - or so people have said
Part of me's interminable - it goes on and on and on

And on and on and on and on and on and on (and on)
This part of me's prolific - it writes reams and reams and reams
And part of me's terrific
But most of me is dreams

Parts of me are distant - and yet can seem so near
Parts of me are whispers - which the other parts can't hear
Parts of me are broken - and tremble to the touch

And these parts can be spoken - but I don't speak them much
Part of me is pensive. - I think. But I don't know.
Part of me's defensive .......... so?
Part of me's celestial - it gleams and beams and gleams
And part of me is bestial (grrrrrr)
But most of me is dreams

Part of me is tiny - but not the part you think
Part of me is shiny - and a pleasing shade of pink

Part of me is laudable - it's for a worthy cause
And part of me's inaudible - (like imaginary gorse*) *mouthed silently
Part of me is hairy - to be honest not a lot !
Part of me's contrary - No it's not
Part of me's co-operative - it plays so well in teams
And part of me's inoperative
But most of me is dreams

Parts of me are latent - lurking dormant underneath
Parts of me are blatant - for some reason they're called Keith

Parts of me have stamina - because I do Chi Gung
And part of me's my anima - according to the psychology of Carl Gustav Jung
Part of me is piddling - yet full of cosmic yearning
And part of me is fiddling - while the rest of me is burning
Part of me is fluent - it flows as sure as streams
While part of me plays truant
But most of me - as I've tried to emphasise here - is dreams

To visit the poet's website, click here.

Martyn Pig

'Did I hate him? Of course I hated him. But I never meant to kill him.' With his father dead, Martyn has a choice. Tell the police what happened - and be suspected of murder. Or get rid of the body and get on with the rest of his life. Simple, right? Not quite. One story leads to another. Secrets and lies become darker and crazier. And Martyn is faced with twists and turns that leave him reeling. Life is never easy. But death is even harder.

To download a free extract from this Carnegie and Branford Boase prize winner, click
here.

To find out more about the author, click here.