_________________________________________________________
ENGLISH 1001
NAME(S): Cameron Schneider and Kathleen Cronin
– AN INTRODUCTION TO LITERARY GENRES
Submit your assignment in print or post to your blog.
Bring a print copy of this document to our next class.
Rick Najera – Captured by Feministas AND You Know How to Whistle, Don’t You?
1) What genre is each play? Explain why.
· Captured by Feministas =
Tragicomedy: It ends abruptly with no absolutes which means in this case we don’t know if he got shot, but it was hilarious.
· You Know How to Whistle, Don’t You? =
Melodrama: She is complaining about how guys treat her, and she is a slut.
2) How does his choice of diction affect your reading of the plays? Be specific in your response. Use examples as support.
He uses a lot of very common speech that can be understood by a variety of people. The words are descriptive so you know that the person who is talking is passionate about what they are saying.
3) What is the theme for each play? Provide reasons to support your answer.
~Captured by Feministas: Reformation
~You Know How to Whistle, Don’t You? Desperation and longing for attention.
4) Define the antagonist and protagonist in each play. Explain how you know.
Antagonist: Girls
Protagonist: Guy
Antagonist: Guy
Protagonist: Girl
5) What is your opinion of each play?
This guy is kind of an ass he does not even believe the things that he is saying and he is just trying to get away from the girls and not get shot. It is a funny play though and resembles guys actual thoughts. We really liked the play
She is degrading women. It was not a happy play and we really didn’t enjoy it very much.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Music
Is music Poetry?
The Way she moves: this song i think would be considered poetry becasue it has a lot of elements of fiction. it has rhyme, repetition of words, denotation when he is talking abotu her whipping the sleep from her eyes.
The Way She Moves"It's getting lateYour eyes are closed and mine are wide awake(But still)I can never go onI can never go on, like(Just like)I'm begging just to see your eyes againI can never go on(I can never go on)Should I even care that you didn't say anything?I tried to do my bestShould have given her better thingsLike rings and rosesNever do reply when I hint the messageI try to smell my best with a bottle of essenceGet to the point, style and romanceAnd I could never go onI could never go onThe way she moves away, ohI wanted her to stay a whileDon't go home away, ohThe way she moves away, ohI wanted her to stay a whileDon't go homeAway, oh, whoaShe's showing signs of motionAs she wipes the sleep awayI can get through thisI can get through this rideYou gotta give a littleBut it takes a lot to get over you'Cause it makes no sense to be permanentIf I can't feel, right, right, rightThe way she moves away, ohI wanted her to stay a whileDon't go home away, ohThe way she moves away, ohI wanted her to stay a whileDon't go homeAway, oh, whoaIt's a terrible thing to know what you wantAnd to know you can't have it at allAll I wanted was to let you know how I...It's a terrible thingIt's a terrible, it's a terrible thingA terrible, terrible thingThe way she moves away, ohI wanted her to stay a whileDon't go home away, ohThe way she moves away, ohI wanted her to stay a whileDon't go homeAwayThe way she movesThe way she movesThe way she movesThe way she movesThe way she moves
~Paparazzi: I Do not thin that this would be considered poetry, but i guess if thasts what she wasnted to call it then it would be considered poety. of course it had rythem because it is a song but that does not make it poetry.
~We are the crowdWe're coming outGot my flash on it's trueNeed that picture of youIt's so magicalWe'd be so fantastic, ohLeather and jeansGarage glamorousNot sure what it meansBut this photo of usIt don't have a priceReady for those flashing lights'Cause you know that baby I-I'm your biggest fanI'll follow you until you love mePapa-PaparazziBaby there's no other superstarYou know that I'll be your-Papa-PaparazziPromise I'll be kindBut I won't stop until that boy is mineBaby you'll be famousChase you down until you love mePapa-PaparazziI'll be your girl backstage at your showVelvet ropes and guitarsYeah cause you know I'm starting between the setsEyeliner and cigarettesShadow is burnt, yellow dance and returnMy lashes are dry - purple teardrops I cryIt don't have a priceLoving you is Cherry Pie'Cause you know that baby II'm your biggest fanI'll follow you until you love mePapa-PaparazziBaby there's no other superstarYou know that I'll be yourPapa-PaparazziPromise I'll be kindBut I won't stop until that boy is mineBaby you'll be famousChase you down until you love mePapa-paparazziReal good, We're dancing in the studioSnap-snap, to that shit on the radioDon't stop, for anyoneWe're plastic but we still have funI'm your biggest fanI'll follow you until you love mePapa-PaparazziBaby there's no other superstarYou know that I'll be yourPapa-PaparazziPromise I'll be kindBut I won't stop until that boy is mineBaby you'll be famousChase you down until you love mePapa-paparazzi
I think that these songs are very different, " the way she moves tells a stoy its about something in his life that ment something. paparazzi has no point and she is just saying it to say something.
Rap Music:
Yes rap music a poetic expession. Rap has a lot of emotion in the songs, or it tells a story about that persons life and they just chose to put it to music insted of just saying it.
Thematic critic: i think that i am a theamatic critic becasue i know that words can mean anything and that often the real meaning is hidden. i wish that i knew what every song really ment to that person because it means something different to everyone.
Hip Hop
"Throwing out the wicked like God did the devil,/ funky like your grandpa's drawers, don't test me,/we're in like that, you're dead like Presley." - Q-Tip on “Steve Biko”, Midnight Marauders (Conotation, Personification)
"Like Slick Rick the Ruler I'm cooler than a ice brick,/ got soul like those afro picks, with the black fist, and leave a crowd dripping like John the Baptist," - Black Thought on “Mellow My Man”, Do You Want More?!??!!! (Consonance, Personification, Alliteration, Simile)
“See, I drop the greats like clumsy waiters drop plates." - Mr. Man on “Fortified Live”, Fortified Live (Denotation, Consonance, simile)
"RRRRROAW RRRROAW like a dungeon dragon,/ change your little drawers because your pants are saggin'." - Busta Rhymes on “Scenario”, Low End Theory (Conconance, Imagery, denotation, Simile)
“I treat this like my thesis/ well-written conflict broken down in to pieces. I introduce and produce words so confused.” – Lauryn Hill on “Final Hour”, Miseducation of Lauryn Hill ( Consonance, Personification)
The Way she moves: this song i think would be considered poetry becasue it has a lot of elements of fiction. it has rhyme, repetition of words, denotation when he is talking abotu her whipping the sleep from her eyes.
The Way She Moves"It's getting lateYour eyes are closed and mine are wide awake(But still)I can never go onI can never go on, like(Just like)I'm begging just to see your eyes againI can never go on(I can never go on)Should I even care that you didn't say anything?I tried to do my bestShould have given her better thingsLike rings and rosesNever do reply when I hint the messageI try to smell my best with a bottle of essenceGet to the point, style and romanceAnd I could never go onI could never go onThe way she moves away, ohI wanted her to stay a whileDon't go home away, ohThe way she moves away, ohI wanted her to stay a whileDon't go homeAway, oh, whoaShe's showing signs of motionAs she wipes the sleep awayI can get through thisI can get through this rideYou gotta give a littleBut it takes a lot to get over you'Cause it makes no sense to be permanentIf I can't feel, right, right, rightThe way she moves away, ohI wanted her to stay a whileDon't go home away, ohThe way she moves away, ohI wanted her to stay a whileDon't go homeAway, oh, whoaIt's a terrible thing to know what you wantAnd to know you can't have it at allAll I wanted was to let you know how I...It's a terrible thingIt's a terrible, it's a terrible thingA terrible, terrible thingThe way she moves away, ohI wanted her to stay a whileDon't go home away, ohThe way she moves away, ohI wanted her to stay a whileDon't go homeAwayThe way she movesThe way she movesThe way she movesThe way she movesThe way she moves
~Paparazzi: I Do not thin that this would be considered poetry, but i guess if thasts what she wasnted to call it then it would be considered poety. of course it had rythem because it is a song but that does not make it poetry.
~We are the crowdWe're coming outGot my flash on it's trueNeed that picture of youIt's so magicalWe'd be so fantastic, ohLeather and jeansGarage glamorousNot sure what it meansBut this photo of usIt don't have a priceReady for those flashing lights'Cause you know that baby I-I'm your biggest fanI'll follow you until you love mePapa-PaparazziBaby there's no other superstarYou know that I'll be your-Papa-PaparazziPromise I'll be kindBut I won't stop until that boy is mineBaby you'll be famousChase you down until you love mePapa-PaparazziI'll be your girl backstage at your showVelvet ropes and guitarsYeah cause you know I'm starting between the setsEyeliner and cigarettesShadow is burnt, yellow dance and returnMy lashes are dry - purple teardrops I cryIt don't have a priceLoving you is Cherry Pie'Cause you know that baby II'm your biggest fanI'll follow you until you love mePapa-PaparazziBaby there's no other superstarYou know that I'll be yourPapa-PaparazziPromise I'll be kindBut I won't stop until that boy is mineBaby you'll be famousChase you down until you love mePapa-paparazziReal good, We're dancing in the studioSnap-snap, to that shit on the radioDon't stop, for anyoneWe're plastic but we still have funI'm your biggest fanI'll follow you until you love mePapa-PaparazziBaby there's no other superstarYou know that I'll be yourPapa-PaparazziPromise I'll be kindBut I won't stop until that boy is mineBaby you'll be famousChase you down until you love mePapa-paparazzi
I think that these songs are very different, " the way she moves tells a stoy its about something in his life that ment something. paparazzi has no point and she is just saying it to say something.
Rap Music:
Yes rap music a poetic expession. Rap has a lot of emotion in the songs, or it tells a story about that persons life and they just chose to put it to music insted of just saying it.
Thematic critic: i think that i am a theamatic critic becasue i know that words can mean anything and that often the real meaning is hidden. i wish that i knew what every song really ment to that person because it means something different to everyone.
Hip Hop
"Throwing out the wicked like God did the devil,/ funky like your grandpa's drawers, don't test me,/we're in like that, you're dead like Presley." - Q-Tip on “Steve Biko”, Midnight Marauders (Conotation, Personification)
"Like Slick Rick the Ruler I'm cooler than a ice brick,/ got soul like those afro picks, with the black fist, and leave a crowd dripping like John the Baptist," - Black Thought on “Mellow My Man”, Do You Want More?!??!!! (Consonance, Personification, Alliteration, Simile)
“See, I drop the greats like clumsy waiters drop plates." - Mr. Man on “Fortified Live”, Fortified Live (Denotation, Consonance, simile)
"RRRRROAW RRRROAW like a dungeon dragon,/ change your little drawers because your pants are saggin'." - Busta Rhymes on “Scenario”, Low End Theory (Conconance, Imagery, denotation, Simile)
“I treat this like my thesis/ well-written conflict broken down in to pieces. I introduce and produce words so confused.” – Lauryn Hill on “Final Hour”, Miseducation of Lauryn Hill ( Consonance, Personification)
Monday, October 5, 2009
"Do not go gentle into that good night"
1. it made me think about death and how some people look at it in a terrible way and are scared of it.
2. this shows that someone is dead or is dying and they have a very sad look on there face but the man has a look of security and is ok.
"I felt a funeral in my brain"
1. this was a sad poem, it just made me think about how sad a funeral is.
2. this shows people very sad about the death of someone.
"We real cool"
1. I feel sorry for these kids.
2. this image shows that these kids are having fun now, but they will soon regret their decision.
Poems
1. Poetry is someones emotions combined with their thoughts written down in a certain format.
2.I think that they way that the poem is expressed determines if it is a poem or not.
3. Robert Frost: He was born in San Francisco on March 26, 1874. From there he moved to New England where he was enrolled at Dartmouth and then Harvard, never earning a degree from either. Frost's first professional poem, "My Butterfly," was published on November 8, 1894, in the New York newspaper The Independent. he married Elinor Miriam who was an incredible influence for his poetry. the coupled moved to England in 1912 and later returned in 1915 after publishing two full length collections, a boys will and north of Boston.
~A Lone Striker:
The swinging mill bell changed its rateTo tolling like the count of fate,And though at that the tardy ran,One failed to make the closing gate.There was a law of God or manThat on the one who came too lateThe gate for half an hour be locked,His time be lost, his pittance docked.He stood rebuked and unemployed.The straining mill began to shake.The mill, though many-many-eyed,Had eyes inscrutably opaque;So that he couldn’t look insideTo see if some forlorn machineWas standing idle for his sake.(He couldn’t hope its heart would break.)
And yet he thought he saw the scene:The air was full of dust of wool.A thousand yarns were under pull,But pull so slow, with such a twist,All day from spool to lesser spool,It seldom overtaxed their strength;They safely grew in slender length.And if one broke by any chance,The spinner saw it at a glance.The spinner still was there to spin.That’s where the human still came in.Her deft hand showed with finger ringsAmong the harplike spread of strings.She caught the pieces end to endAnd, with a touch that never missed,Not so much tied as made them blend.Man’s ingenuity was good.He saw it plainly where he stood,Yet found it easy to resist.
He knew another place, a wood,And in it, tall as trees, were cliffs;And if he stood on one of these,‘Twould be among the tops of trees,Their upper branches round him wreathing,Their breathing mingled with his breathing.If---if he stood! Enough of ifs!He knew a path that wanted walking;He knew a spring that wanted drinking;A thought that wanted further thinking;A love that wanted re-renewing.Nor was this just a way of talkingTo save him the expense of doing.With him it boded action, deed.
The factory was very fine;He wished it all the modern speed.Yet, after all, ‘twas not divine,That is to say, ‘twas not a church.He never would assume that he’dBe any institution’s need.But he said then and still would say,If there should ever come a dayWhen industry seemed like to die Because he left it in the lurch,Or even merely seemed to pineFor want of his approval, why,Come get him---they knew where to search.
~Farewell
Farewell to the bushy clump close to the river
And the flags where the butter-bump hides in forever;
Farewell to the weedy nook, hemmed in by waters;
farewell to the miller’s brook and his three bony daughters;
Farewell to them all while in prison I lie—
In the prison a thrall sees naught but the sky.
Shut out are the green fields and birds in the bushes;
In the prison yard nothing builds, blackbirds or thrushes.
Farewell to the old mill and dash of the waters,
To the miller and, dearer still, to his three bonny daughters.
In the nook, the larger burdock grows near the green willow;
In the flood, round the moor-cock dashes under the billow;
To the old mill farewell, to the lock, pens, and waters,
To the miller himsel’, and his Three Bonny Daughters
Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston, Massachusetts, on January 19, 1809. his mother and father died before he was three years old and he was raised by John and Frances Allan. in 1827 he enlisted in the army and wrote his first collection of poems,Tamerlane, and Other Poems. After selling his poems and short stories he became the editor of Southern Literary Messenger in 1835. he moved to richmond with his aunt and his cousin. he wrote many works from then till he died in 1849.
~A Dream
In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed—But a waking dream of life and lightHath left me broken-hearted. Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are castOn things around him with a ray Turned back upon the past? That holy dream—that holy dream,While all the world were chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam,A lonely spirit guiding. What though that light, thro' storm and night, So trembled from afar—What could there be more purely bright
~Eulaie
I dwelt aloneIn a world of moan,And my soul was a stagnant tide,Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride—Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride. Ah, less—less brightThe stars of the nightThan the eyes of the radiant girl!And never a flakeThat the vapor can makeWith the moon-tints of purple and pearl,Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curl—Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless curl. Now Doubt—now Pain Come never again,For her soul gives me sigh for sigh,And all day longShines, bright and strong,Astarté within the sky,While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye—While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.
All four of these peoms show my meaning of peoty by shoing emotion. They show a lot of emotion and what that peorson is thinking and feeling to a situation. it doesnt matter if they did not actually livwe through that situation they show how they would react to that situation.
2.I think that they way that the poem is expressed determines if it is a poem or not.
3. Robert Frost: He was born in San Francisco on March 26, 1874. From there he moved to New England where he was enrolled at Dartmouth and then Harvard, never earning a degree from either. Frost's first professional poem, "My Butterfly," was published on November 8, 1894, in the New York newspaper The Independent. he married Elinor Miriam who was an incredible influence for his poetry. the coupled moved to England in 1912 and later returned in 1915 after publishing two full length collections, a boys will and north of Boston.
~A Lone Striker:
The swinging mill bell changed its rateTo tolling like the count of fate,And though at that the tardy ran,One failed to make the closing gate.There was a law of God or manThat on the one who came too lateThe gate for half an hour be locked,His time be lost, his pittance docked.He stood rebuked and unemployed.The straining mill began to shake.The mill, though many-many-eyed,Had eyes inscrutably opaque;So that he couldn’t look insideTo see if some forlorn machineWas standing idle for his sake.(He couldn’t hope its heart would break.)
And yet he thought he saw the scene:The air was full of dust of wool.A thousand yarns were under pull,But pull so slow, with such a twist,All day from spool to lesser spool,It seldom overtaxed their strength;They safely grew in slender length.And if one broke by any chance,The spinner saw it at a glance.The spinner still was there to spin.That’s where the human still came in.Her deft hand showed with finger ringsAmong the harplike spread of strings.She caught the pieces end to endAnd, with a touch that never missed,Not so much tied as made them blend.Man’s ingenuity was good.He saw it plainly where he stood,Yet found it easy to resist.
He knew another place, a wood,And in it, tall as trees, were cliffs;And if he stood on one of these,‘Twould be among the tops of trees,Their upper branches round him wreathing,Their breathing mingled with his breathing.If---if he stood! Enough of ifs!He knew a path that wanted walking;He knew a spring that wanted drinking;A thought that wanted further thinking;A love that wanted re-renewing.Nor was this just a way of talkingTo save him the expense of doing.With him it boded action, deed.
The factory was very fine;He wished it all the modern speed.Yet, after all, ‘twas not divine,That is to say, ‘twas not a church.He never would assume that he’dBe any institution’s need.But he said then and still would say,If there should ever come a dayWhen industry seemed like to die Because he left it in the lurch,Or even merely seemed to pineFor want of his approval, why,Come get him---they knew where to search.
~Farewell
Farewell to the bushy clump close to the river
And the flags where the butter-bump hides in forever;
Farewell to the weedy nook, hemmed in by waters;
farewell to the miller’s brook and his three bony daughters;
Farewell to them all while in prison I lie—
In the prison a thrall sees naught but the sky.
Shut out are the green fields and birds in the bushes;
In the prison yard nothing builds, blackbirds or thrushes.
Farewell to the old mill and dash of the waters,
To the miller and, dearer still, to his three bonny daughters.
In the nook, the larger burdock grows near the green willow;
In the flood, round the moor-cock dashes under the billow;
To the old mill farewell, to the lock, pens, and waters,
To the miller himsel’, and his Three Bonny Daughters
Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston, Massachusetts, on January 19, 1809. his mother and father died before he was three years old and he was raised by John and Frances Allan. in 1827 he enlisted in the army and wrote his first collection of poems,Tamerlane, and Other Poems. After selling his poems and short stories he became the editor of Southern Literary Messenger in 1835. he moved to richmond with his aunt and his cousin. he wrote many works from then till he died in 1849.
~A Dream
In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed—But a waking dream of life and lightHath left me broken-hearted. Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are castOn things around him with a ray Turned back upon the past? That holy dream—that holy dream,While all the world were chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam,A lonely spirit guiding. What though that light, thro' storm and night, So trembled from afar—What could there be more purely bright
~Eulaie
I dwelt aloneIn a world of moan,And my soul was a stagnant tide,Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride—Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride. Ah, less—less brightThe stars of the nightThan the eyes of the radiant girl!And never a flakeThat the vapor can makeWith the moon-tints of purple and pearl,Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curl—Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless curl. Now Doubt—now Pain Come never again,For her soul gives me sigh for sigh,And all day longShines, bright and strong,Astarté within the sky,While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye—While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.
All four of these peoms show my meaning of peoty by shoing emotion. They show a lot of emotion and what that peorson is thinking and feeling to a situation. it doesnt matter if they did not actually livwe through that situation they show how they would react to that situation.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)