If you plan on taking the AP Lit and Comp exam...

I will hold a review/practice session after April break. During that practice session we will review strategies for taking the written portion of the test, and I will go over the sample multiple choice questions available at the College Board site: https://apstudent.collegeboard.org/apcourse/ap-english-literature-and-composition/exam-practice

permission slip for Crash

                                                     
Print and have a parent sign!!!!

As part of our study of and literary theories and how they can be applied, the Advanced Placement Literature and Composition classes will be watching the film Crash. The film is rated R for language and violence. A synopsis of the film follows. If you object to your senior watching the film an alternative will be provided.

 

I give my student, ____________________________, permission to view Crash in class.

 

_______________________________________________ (parent’s signature)

 

 

 

 

I would prefer that my student, _______________________, complete the alternative project for this English assignment. ____________________________________ (parent’s signature)

 

Synopsis from Rotten Tomatoes: A Brentwood housewife and her DA husband. A Persian store owner. Two police detectives who are also lovers. A black television director and his wife. A Mexican locksmith. Two car-jackers. A rookie cop. A middle-aged Korean... A Brentwood housewife and her DA husband. A Persian store owner. Two police detectives who are also lovers. A black television director and his wife. A Mexican locksmith. Two car-jackers. A rookie cop. A middle-aged Korean couple… They all live in Los Angeles. And in the next 36 hours, they will all collide… A provocative, unflinching look at the complexities of racial conflict in America, CRASH is that rare cinematic event - a film that challenges audiences to question their own prejudices. Diving headlong into the diverse melting pot of post-9/11 Los Angeles, this compelling urban drama tracks the volatile intersections of a multi-ethnic cast, examining fear and bigotry from multiple perspectives as characters careen in and out of one another's lives. No one is safe in the battle zones of racial strife. And no one is immune to the simmering rage that sparks violence - and changes lives... Funny, powerful, and always unpredictable, CRASH boldly explores the gray area between black and white, victim and aggressor…and finds no easy solutions. The dynamic feature directing debut of Emmy Award-winning writer/producer Paul Haggis, CRASH stars Sandra Bullock, Don Cheadle, Matt Dillon, Jennifer Esposito, William Fichtner, Brendan Fraser, Terrence Howard, Chris "Ludacris" Bridges, Thandie Newton, Ryan Phillippe and Larenz Tate, from a story by Paul Haggis and a screenplay by Haggis and Bobby Moresco. CRASH is produced by Cathy Schulman, Don Cheadle, Bob Yari, Mark R. Harris, Bobby Moresco and Paul Haggis. [  

 

Reading schedule Rand G are Dead

Block 1- finish the play for Monday

Block 2- Act I due for Friday. Acts II and III due for Tuesday.

Happy Reading!

Block 2 Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.

The books will be available in C246 by Tuesday for those who are interested.

Remember, graded discussion on "Prufrock" on Wednesday. Act I of Rand G are Dead is due on Friday, and Acts II and III for the following Tuesday. Happy reading!

Block 2 homework

Complete at least one additional set of boxes on the Vendler chart. We will continue our exploration of Prufrock on Monday. Have a fabulous weekend. I'm really looking forward to reading the blog comments :)

Block 2 "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

Please post you comments below. Remember the question is: What is the most signficant quotation in the poem and why? Post by 7pm on Wednesday. Be sure to also write 2 comments in response to your classmates's thoughts. Happy posting!

1. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse   A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,   Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.   Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo   Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,   Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.         LET us go then, you and I,   When the evening is spread out against the sky   Like a patient etherised upon a table;   Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,   The muttering retreats         5 Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels   And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:   Streets that follow like a tedious argument   Of insidious intent   To lead you to an overwhelming question …         10 Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”   Let us go and make our visit.       In the room the women come and go   Talking of Michelangelo.       The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,         15 The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes   Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,   Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,   Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,   Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,         20 And seeing that it was a soft October night,   Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.       And indeed there will be time   For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,   Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;         25 There will be time, there will be time   To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;   There will be time to murder and create,   And time for all the works and days of hands   That lift and drop a question on your plate;         30 Time for you and time for me,   And time yet for a hundred indecisions,   And for a hundred visions and revisions,   Before the taking of a toast and tea.       In the room the women come and go         35 Talking of Michelangelo.       And indeed there will be time   To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”   Time to turn back and descend the stair,   With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—         40 [They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]   My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,   My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—   [They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]   Do I dare         45 Disturb the universe?   In a minute there is time   For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.       For I have known them all already, known them all:—   Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,         50 I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;   I know the voices dying with a dying fall   Beneath the music from a farther room.     So how should I presume?       And I have known the eyes already, known them all—         55 The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,   And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,   When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,   Then how should I begin   To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?         60   And how should I presume?       And I have known the arms already, known them all—   Arms that are braceleted and white and bare   [But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]   It is perfume from a dress         65 That makes me so digress?   Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.     And should I then presume?     And how should I begin?       .      .      .      .      .   Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets         70 And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes   Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…       I should have been a pair of ragged claws   Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.       .      .      .      .      .   And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!         75 Smoothed by long fingers,   Asleep … tired … or it malingers,   Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.   Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,   Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?         80 But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,   Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,   I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;   I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,   And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,         85 And in short, I was afraid.       And would it have been worth it, after all,   After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,   Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,   Would it have been worth while,         90 To have bitten off the matter with a smile,   To have squeezed the universe into a ball   To roll it toward some overwhelming question,   To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,   Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—         95 If one, settling a pillow by her head,     Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.     That is not it, at all.”       And would it have been worth it, after all,   Would it have been worth while,         100 After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,   After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—   And this, and so much more?—   It is impossible to say just what I mean!   But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:         105 Would it have been worth while   If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,   And turning toward the window, should say:     “That is not it at all,     That is not what I meant, at all.”       .      .      .      .      .         110 No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;   Am an attendant lord, one that will do   To swell a progress, start a scene or two,   Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,   Deferential, glad to be of use,         115 Politic, cautious, and meticulous;   Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;   At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—   Almost, at times, the Fool.       I grow old … I grow old …         120 I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.       Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?   I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.   I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.       I do not think that they will sing to me.         125     I have seen them riding seaward on the waves   Combing the white hair of the waves blown back   When the wind blows the water white and black.       We have lingered in the chambers of the sea   By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown         130 Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

 

 

Block 1 Homework and reminders

Directions:
1. Before 7pm on Tuesday evening, read "The Love song of J. Alfred Prufrock" several times. Then post the lines you believe are the most significant in the poem and explain why the lines are significant. In addition, please comment on 2 of your peer's posts. (In case you couldn't guess, the opening lines of the poem are from Dante.....)

1. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse   A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,   Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.   Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo   Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,   Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.         LET us go then, you and I,   When the evening is spread out against the sky   Like a patient etherised upon a table;   Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,   The muttering retreats         5 Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels   And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:   Streets that follow like a tedious argument   Of insidious intent   To lead you to an overwhelming question …         10 Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”   Let us go and make our visit.       In the room the women come and go   Talking of Michelangelo.       The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,         15 The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes   Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,   Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,   Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,   Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,         20 And seeing that it was a soft October night,   Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.       And indeed there will be time   For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,   Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;         25 There will be time, there will be time   To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;   There will be time to murder and create,   And time for all the works and days of hands   That lift and drop a question on your plate;         30 Time for you and time for me,   And time yet for a hundred indecisions,   And for a hundred visions and revisions,   Before the taking of a toast and tea.       In the room the women come and go         35 Talking of Michelangelo.       And indeed there will be time   To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”   Time to turn back and descend the stair,   With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—         40 [They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]   My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,   My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—   [They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]   Do I dare         45 Disturb the universe?   In a minute there is time   For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.       For I have known them all already, known them all:—   Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,         50 I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;   I know the voices dying with a dying fall   Beneath the music from a farther room.     So how should I presume?       And I have known the eyes already, known them all—         55 The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,   And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,   When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,   Then how should I begin   To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?         60   And how should I presume?       And I have known the arms already, known them all—   Arms that are braceleted and white and bare   [But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]   It is perfume from a dress         65 That makes me so digress?   Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.     And should I then presume?     And how should I begin?       .      .      .      .      .   Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets         70 And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes   Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…       I should have been a pair of ragged claws   Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.       .      .      .      .      .   And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!         75 Smoothed by long fingers,   Asleep … tired … or it malingers,   Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.   Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,   Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?         80 But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,   Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,   I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;   I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,   And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,         85 And in short, I was afraid.       And would it have been worth it, after all,   After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,   Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,   Would it have been worth while,         90 To have bitten off the matter with a smile,   To have squeezed the universe into a ball   To roll it toward some overwhelming question,   To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,   Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—         95 If one, settling a pillow by her head,     Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.     That is not it, at all.”       And would it have been worth it, after all,   Would it have been worth while,         100 After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,   After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—   And this, and so much more?—   It is impossible to say just what I mean!   But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:         105 Would it have been worth while   If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,   And turning toward the window, should say:     “That is not it at all,     That is not what I meant, at all.”       .      .      .      .      .         110 No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;   Am an attendant lord, one that will do   To swell a progress, start a scene or two,   Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,   Deferential, glad to be of use,         115 Politic, cautious, and meticulous;   Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;   At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—   Almost, at times, the Fool.       I grow old … I grow old …         120 I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.       Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?   I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.   I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.       I do not think that they will sing to me.         125     I have seen them riding seaward on the waves   Combing the white hair of the waves blown back   When the wind blows the water white and black.       We have lingered in the chambers of the sea   By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown         130 Till human voices wake us, and we drown.