The Son is in Secondary School by Affran Sa'at
My badge has a Latin motto
Hope for the future
The future is hope
Or something
At times black crows try to interrupt
When we sing the National Anthem
It is difficult to maintain
The whiteness of my shoes
Especially on Wednesdays.
I must admit there is something quite special
About the bare thighs of hardworking scouts
The Malay chauffeurs
Who wait for my schoolmates
Sit on the car park kerb
Telling jokes to one another
Seven to the power of five is unreasonable.
On Chinese New Year
Mrs Lee dressed up
In a sarong kebaya
And sang Bengawan Solo
The Capital of Singapore is Singapore.
My best friend did a heroic thing once
Shaded all A's
For his Chinese Language
Multiple-choice paper
In out Annual Yearbook
There is a photograph of me
Pushing a wheelchair and smiling
They caught me
At the exact moment
When my eyes were actually closed.
The poem above has 31 lines, organised into stanzas. Its a free verse, with no rhyme of regular rhythm. There is personification, as the poet describes the crows as interrupting the National Anthem. The author describes his best friend's foolish act as heroic, and tried to get you to see failing his Chinese as a heroic thing. The sarong Kebaya dressed by Mrs Lee on Chinese New Year symbolises Singapore's Racial Harmony. The Malay Chauffeurs symbolise the number of children born with a silver spoon in their mouth, afterall, not everybody has chauffeurs. This poem gives readers a glimpse into the life of a secondary school child. His blunders and the cliques that are present in Secondary School ( Rich kids). Also suggesting that sometimes during at school, you have to get down and dirty. (maybe Physical Education).
MY POEM
The Good Old Days
It was just over a year ago.
When i was still in primary school.
Canteen food tasted like rubber.
It was likea mini-heaven we all lived in.
Free from the horrors of the modern world.
Our ignorance was our shield.
Throngs of students would rush out
Everyday when school ended.
It was a tsunami of bodies,
hot, sticky and restless.
The library was never quiet.
People talking like it was their living room.
It was a warzone.
Every few minutes you would see a pillow fight.
All in the name of fun.
Thus were the good old days.
When i was still in primary school
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Lesson 2: Favourite poet
POET: Henry Charles Bukowski (August 16 1920- March 9 1994 )
HENRY Charles Bukowski was a German-American poet, novelist and short story writer. His writing was heavily influenced by the geography and atmosphere of his home city, Los Angeles. He writes mainly about the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing itself, alcohol, relationships with women, and the drudgery of work. Charles wrote thousands of poems, hundreds of short stories and six novels, having over 60 books in print.
AT 24, Charles' short story "Aftermath of a lengthy rejection slip" was published in Story magazine. Two years later, another of his short stories "20 Tanks from Kesseldown" was published in Portfolio III's broadside collection. His failure to break in the literary world resulted in him quitting writing for almost a decade, a time which he referred to as "ten-year drunk". These years formed the basis of his later autobiographical chronicles.
IN 1955, he was hospitalised for a bleeding ulcer which was nearly fatal. When he left the hospital, he began to write poetry and pick up writing again. To support his writing, he worked a wide variety of jobs. The jobs included being a dishwasher, a gas station attendant, stock boy, truck driver and loader, mail carrier, guard, warehouse worker, shipping clerk, post office clerk , parking lot attendant, red cross orderly and elevator operator.
IN 1966, Charles accepted an offer from Black Sparrow Press and quit his post office job to dedicate himself to full-time writing. With growing fame, Charles embarked on a series of one-night stands and love affairs. His most important relationship was with Linda King a poet and sculptress, Liza Williams, a recording executive, and Pamela O' Brien, a red-headed single mother. All these relationships provided material for his stories and poems.
CHARLES was a man who devoted his entire life to writing. Though he might have stopped writing before, he managed to pick it up again, and he never stopped. His works reflected his life, as those were the easiest things a man could write. He was willing to support his writing by doing all sorts of low-paying jobs, giving up whatever hopes of being a millionaire to literature. I believed he enjoyed writing for what is was. He understood writing as not just a mean of communication, but expressing his feelings and ideas.
His Theme: relationships with women, his own personal experiences
Some of his works:
Poems
ANOTHER BED
from :Love is a Mad Dog from Hell
Another bed
Another women
More curtains
Anotherbathroom
Anotherkitchen
Other eyes
Other hair
Other feet and toes
Everybodys looking.
The eternal serach.
You stay in bed
She gets dressed for work
And you wonder what happened
to the last one
and the one after that...
It's all so comfortable-
this love making
this sleeping together
the gentle kindness...
AFter she leaves you get up and use her
bathroom,
It's all so intimate and strange.
You go back to bed and
sleep another hour.
When you leave its with sadness
but you'll see her again
whether it works or not
you drive down to the shore and sit
in your car. It's almost noon.
-another bed, other ears, other earrings,
other mouths, other slippers, other dresses.
Colors, doors, phone numbers.
You were once strong enough to live alone.
For a man nearing sixty you should be more sensible.
You start the car and shift,
thinking, i'll phone Jeanie when i get in,
I haven't seen her since Friday.
NIGHT SCHOOL
from: Dangling In the Tournefortia
In the drunk driver's class
Assigned there by division 63
We are given tiny yellow pencils
to take the test
to see if we have been listening
to the instructor.
Questions like: the minimum sentence for a
2nd drunk driving conviction is:
A)48 days
B) 6 months
C) 90 days
There are 9 other questions.
After the instructor leaves the room
the students begin asking the questions:
"Hey, how about question 5? That's a tough one!"
"Did he talk about that?"
"I think its 48 days."
"Are you sure?"
"No, but that's what i'm putting down."
One woman circles all 3 answers on all questions
even though we've been told to select only one
On our break i go down and
drink a can of beer
outside a liquor store.
I watch a black hooker
on her evening stroll.
A car pulls up.
She walks over and they talk.
The door opens.
She gets in and they drive off.
Back in class
the students have gotten to know each other.
They are a not-very-intersting
bunch of drunks.
I visualise them sitting in a bar.
And i remember why i started drinking alont.
The class begins again.
It is discovered that i am
the only one to have gotten
100 percent on the test.
I slouch my back in my chair
with my dark shades on.
I am the class
intellectual.
THE ALIENS
from: The Last Night Of the Earth Poems
You may not believe it
But tehre are people
who go through life with very little
friction of distress.
They dress well, sleep well.
They are contented with
their family
life.
They are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
And when they die
it is an easy death, usually in their sleep.
You may not believe
it
but such people do exist.
But i am not one of them.
Oh no, i am not one of them,
I am not even near to being one of them.
But they are there
and i am here.
HENRY Charles Bukowski was a German-American poet, novelist and short story writer. His writing was heavily influenced by the geography and atmosphere of his home city, Los Angeles. He writes mainly about the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing itself, alcohol, relationships with women, and the drudgery of work. Charles wrote thousands of poems, hundreds of short stories and six novels, having over 60 books in print.
AT 24, Charles' short story "Aftermath of a lengthy rejection slip" was published in Story magazine. Two years later, another of his short stories "20 Tanks from Kesseldown" was published in Portfolio III's broadside collection. His failure to break in the literary world resulted in him quitting writing for almost a decade, a time which he referred to as "ten-year drunk". These years formed the basis of his later autobiographical chronicles.
IN 1955, he was hospitalised for a bleeding ulcer which was nearly fatal. When he left the hospital, he began to write poetry and pick up writing again. To support his writing, he worked a wide variety of jobs. The jobs included being a dishwasher, a gas station attendant, stock boy, truck driver and loader, mail carrier, guard, warehouse worker, shipping clerk, post office clerk , parking lot attendant, red cross orderly and elevator operator.
IN 1966, Charles accepted an offer from Black Sparrow Press and quit his post office job to dedicate himself to full-time writing. With growing fame, Charles embarked on a series of one-night stands and love affairs. His most important relationship was with Linda King a poet and sculptress, Liza Williams, a recording executive, and Pamela O' Brien, a red-headed single mother. All these relationships provided material for his stories and poems.
CHARLES was a man who devoted his entire life to writing. Though he might have stopped writing before, he managed to pick it up again, and he never stopped. His works reflected his life, as those were the easiest things a man could write. He was willing to support his writing by doing all sorts of low-paying jobs, giving up whatever hopes of being a millionaire to literature. I believed he enjoyed writing for what is was. He understood writing as not just a mean of communication, but expressing his feelings and ideas.
His Theme: relationships with women, his own personal experiences
Some of his works:
Poems
ANOTHER BED
from :Love is a Mad Dog from Hell
Another bed
Another women
More curtains
Anotherbathroom
Anotherkitchen
Other eyes
Other hair
Other feet and toes
Everybodys looking.
The eternal serach.
You stay in bed
She gets dressed for work
And you wonder what happened
to the last one
and the one after that...
It's all so comfortable-
this love making
this sleeping together
the gentle kindness...
AFter she leaves you get up and use her
bathroom,
It's all so intimate and strange.
You go back to bed and
sleep another hour.
When you leave its with sadness
but you'll see her again
whether it works or not
you drive down to the shore and sit
in your car. It's almost noon.
-another bed, other ears, other earrings,
other mouths, other slippers, other dresses.
Colors, doors, phone numbers.
You were once strong enough to live alone.
For a man nearing sixty you should be more sensible.
You start the car and shift,
thinking, i'll phone Jeanie when i get in,
I haven't seen her since Friday.
NIGHT SCHOOL
from: Dangling In the Tournefortia
In the drunk driver's class
Assigned there by division 63
We are given tiny yellow pencils
to take the test
to see if we have been listening
to the instructor.
Questions like: the minimum sentence for a
2nd drunk driving conviction is:
A)48 days
B) 6 months
C) 90 days
There are 9 other questions.
After the instructor leaves the room
the students begin asking the questions:
"Hey, how about question 5? That's a tough one!"
"Did he talk about that?"
"I think its 48 days."
"Are you sure?"
"No, but that's what i'm putting down."
One woman circles all 3 answers on all questions
even though we've been told to select only one
On our break i go down and
drink a can of beer
outside a liquor store.
I watch a black hooker
on her evening stroll.
A car pulls up.
She walks over and they talk.
The door opens.
She gets in and they drive off.
Back in class
the students have gotten to know each other.
They are a not-very-intersting
bunch of drunks.
I visualise them sitting in a bar.
And i remember why i started drinking alont.
The class begins again.
It is discovered that i am
the only one to have gotten
100 percent on the test.
I slouch my back in my chair
with my dark shades on.
I am the class
intellectual.
THE ALIENS
from: The Last Night Of the Earth Poems
You may not believe it
But tehre are people
who go through life with very little
friction of distress.
They dress well, sleep well.
They are contented with
their family
life.
They are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
And when they die
it is an easy death, usually in their sleep.
You may not believe
it
but such people do exist.
But i am not one of them.
Oh no, i am not one of them,
I am not even near to being one of them.
But they are there
and i am here.
Lesson 1: Figurative Language
Where the sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white.
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight,
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow.
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
Hyperbole: all these words exaggerate how dark it is.
Metaphor: to emphasise on the cooling effect of the wind.
Why i like the poem:
It begins highly descriptively, describing the street where the sidewalk ends. Her description of the sidewalk is as if its decayed, diseased. With flowers the colour of asphalt in pits, and black smoke. She is showing how she feels about living on the sidewalk, and how she would prefer to progress to the street. Even though the street is unknown and perhaps full of danger, its better than to life on the sidewalk. This poem encourages people to step out into the street, and not hide in darkness.
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white.
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight,
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow.
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
Hyperbole: all these words exaggerate how dark it is.
Metaphor: to emphasise on the cooling effect of the wind.
Why i like the poem:
It begins highly descriptively, describing the street where the sidewalk ends. Her description of the sidewalk is as if its decayed, diseased. With flowers the colour of asphalt in pits, and black smoke. She is showing how she feels about living on the sidewalk, and how she would prefer to progress to the street. Even though the street is unknown and perhaps full of danger, its better than to life on the sidewalk. This poem encourages people to step out into the street, and not hide in darkness.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Scales of Justice
Accused.
Guilty.
Charged first degree murder.
All forensic evidence against him.
He stands no hope against the tendrils of fate.
Punishment- death by lethal injection.
Day before trial.
Accused asked for an audience.
Agreed.
A private chat between judge and accused.
Very pleased.
Result: Accused not guilty.
My pockets, filled with money.
The fallen
At the park bench.
Eyeing my prey.
Today was a fine day.
Nice weather.
Rich people were out to play.
Each had their valuables.
I wanted them all.
Knife in hand.
Stalking.
Giving in to the desire.
We are the fallen,
men who have lost their leash on their inner monsters.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
THE MERCURIAL TOM
Waiting.
By the Tomb.
Shovel in hand
Funeral.
Touring the cemetery.
On top of the world
Making many rounds
Thus is my fate.
Ogres live better lives
Money is my only friend
"Hey, a fresh one!"
Removing slab.
Digging...
Digging...
We can make a profit of this one.
We, the Tomb robbers.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Book Review: Prelude to Foundation
To all fans of Asimov. This is another great book. Simply said, it has such an epic plot that it JUST has to be good. How can you resist the bait of a plot involving a simple mathematician with a theory to predict the future. The possibilities are endless. The people that crave his knowledge are innumerable.
When you look at the book. It looks just like the others. But the content in it is very different. When you first read the book. You can already feel Asimov's world enshrouding you. Like a cloud of wonder, it grasps you. Even though you can always just blow the cloud away (by putting down the book and stop reading), you won't want to. It is just so captivating that you can't stop reading. This book, has single-handedly rekindled my love for literature, dormant under the winter of a "MASSIVE"workload. Now, i swore to return to the library to borrow the rest of the series.
**SPOILER**
Hari Seldon, a not-so-famous mathematician who shows up in a decennial convention on the capital of the Galactic Empire, Trantor to present his theory on psychohistory( a mathematical way to predict the future). After his theory is made famous, so is he. The Empire wants his predictive powers, Hummin a reporter and the Mayor of Wye, a rival of the emperor. These cause a chain of events so abstract and interesting that you just have to read on.
**SPOILER OVER**
This book is fantastic. Even though it isn't really the newest book in the market, it still upholds Asimov's reputation as being one of the most impressive writers of the 21st century. I just love it. I know, this review seems very one-sided and in praise of the story. But don't worry, i have not been bribed by Asimov. IT IS JUST THAT GOOD.
All i can say now is, grab it from the library. Read it over a day or two, and start borrowing the rest of the series. BUT!!! Leave at least one book for me.
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