Big Yellow Taxi Printer-friendly version of this lyric
by Joni Mitchell
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
With a pink hotel, a boutique
And a swinging hot spot
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
They took all the trees
Put 'em in a tree museum
And they charged the people
A dollar and a half just to see 'em
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
Hey farmer farmer
Put away that DDT now
Give me spots on my apples
But leave me the birds and the bees
Please!
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
Late last night
I heard the screen door slam
And a big yellow taxi
Took away my old man
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
Assignment:
Goggle this song of Joni Mitchell's.
1. Find out why she wrote the song. Write a paragraph describing why she wrote the song.
2. Each verse seems to refer to an event or activity of some kind. Choose one of these events (verses) and explain what she is protesting.
3. I have always been confused by the title. How does the title add ambiguity to the song?
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
Youth by Joseph Conrad
Hello Class,
Since the boys will be leaving us for the island on Tuesday after school, I thought it a good idea to publish the assignment for this week so everyone has access to it for at least a day. On page 33 and 34 of the story there is listed a number of questions that help with understanding what the narrator of the story was saying.
1. As a group discuss the first question.
2. Since you boys are all stuck in the school van with nothing to do but discuss English short stores, talk together about question #3.
3. Read question 4. It struck me as I read this aloud to you that each of the people around the table was described very precisely. Why do you think this is?
4. Read question 5. How was the voyage a symbol of existence?
5. Read question #8. How would you, a Christian, respond to that question?
6. Write a paragraph trying to copy Conrad's style.
Post your comments on the blog. Boys, you can post a group blog for us to discuss in class next week, Monday.
There is something about a volleyball game that is symbolic of life as well, I am sure. Not just that there are a lot of ups and downs, some settings that are easily bumped, some smashing spikes that cause one to look inward and upward. Where did that come from, Lord? You never know what He will serve up to you, so you have to be prepared for anything. One thing about God though, He always serves up something good. Make sure you make the best of what he serves you.
Have fun, class!
Since the boys will be leaving us for the island on Tuesday after school, I thought it a good idea to publish the assignment for this week so everyone has access to it for at least a day. On page 33 and 34 of the story there is listed a number of questions that help with understanding what the narrator of the story was saying.
1. As a group discuss the first question.
2. Since you boys are all stuck in the school van with nothing to do but discuss English short stores, talk together about question #3.
3. Read question 4. It struck me as I read this aloud to you that each of the people around the table was described very precisely. Why do you think this is?
4. Read question 5. How was the voyage a symbol of existence?
5. Read question #8. How would you, a Christian, respond to that question?
6. Write a paragraph trying to copy Conrad's style.
Post your comments on the blog. Boys, you can post a group blog for us to discuss in class next week, Monday.
There is something about a volleyball game that is symbolic of life as well, I am sure. Not just that there are a lot of ups and downs, some settings that are easily bumped, some smashing spikes that cause one to look inward and upward. Where did that come from, Lord? You never know what He will serve up to you, so you have to be prepared for anything. One thing about God though, He always serves up something good. Make sure you make the best of what he serves you.
Have fun, class!
Friday, November 14, 2008
November 17, 2008 Assignment
Poem of the Week
I introduced John Donne to you briefly la few weeks ago. He and George Herbert were contemporaries with William Shakespeare. Though George Herbert was a devout priest, seldom if ever questioning that faith, Donne was a different character. Though he eventually became a great pastor in London, he was not always such a decent fellow. As I mentioned, he had two separate eras in his life and poetry. The first era is what has become known as his ‘Jack’ Donne era. He wrote very sensual and sometimes erotic poetry. After he was set up as a priest in London by the king, King James I, he wrote only devotional and religious poetry. This week’s sonnet is one of these.
John Donne
74. "Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, you"
BATTER my heart, three person'd God; for, you
As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee,'and bend
Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt towne, to'another due,
5
Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue.
Yet dearely'I love you,'and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie:
10
Divorce mee,'untie, or breake that knot againe;
Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I
Except you'enthrall mee, never shall be free,
Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee.
This poem is incredibly violent. There are a number of images that Donne uses to describe his relationship with God. For your assignment this week explain one image that Donne uses. Explain how it portrays his relationship with God.
I introduced John Donne to you briefly la few weeks ago. He and George Herbert were contemporaries with William Shakespeare. Though George Herbert was a devout priest, seldom if ever questioning that faith, Donne was a different character. Though he eventually became a great pastor in London, he was not always such a decent fellow. As I mentioned, he had two separate eras in his life and poetry. The first era is what has become known as his ‘Jack’ Donne era. He wrote very sensual and sometimes erotic poetry. After he was set up as a priest in London by the king, King James I, he wrote only devotional and religious poetry. This week’s sonnet is one of these.
John Donne
74. "Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, you"
BATTER my heart, three person'd God; for, you
As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee,'and bend
Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt towne, to'another due,
5
Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue.
Yet dearely'I love you,'and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie:
10
Divorce mee,'untie, or breake that knot againe;
Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I
Except you'enthrall mee, never shall be free,
Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee.
This poem is incredibly violent. There are a number of images that Donne uses to describe his relationship with God. For your assignment this week explain one image that Donne uses. Explain how it portrays his relationship with God.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
In Class Assignment - Wednesday November 12
The Brown Paper Bag
His hands trembled as he lifted the bottle in its brown bag to his lips. He toasted the bridge he lived under, and took another swig. Leaning back on the pilings of the bridge, he listened to the cars and trucks whooshing over his head. He raised his bottle and proposed a toast to the traffic. The bottle did not feel as full as it once did. “Shomebodyshbeendrinkin’mymechcine.” He hiccupped. He gave his bottle another shake, holding onto it tightly so it would not slip out of his hand, on to the rocks below. Through blood shot eyes, he followed the river as it flowed to the ocean. His hand shook as he lifted his bottle again. He didn’t toast anything this time. He chug-a-lugged his wine as he tried to quench his thirst. His Adam’s apple bopped as the red sweet liquid flowed down his throat. A chill wind blew under the bridge so he pulled the remains of his coat around him and flipped the collar up to give his ears a little more warmth. His matted, greasy dirty blonde hair fell around the collar like the spider webs under the bridge. `Ishneedanewcoat.` he muttered to the wind. Holding his bottle with both hands he rubbed the four-day growth on his chin. He wondered if he could walk to Sally Ann for a new coat. They might even give him a bit of food. On shaky, wobbly legs, he got to his feet. He looked at his feet. `Whershmyshoes?’ he thought. He wiggled his toes and rubbed his foot on the rocks. He looked at them as if they were not attached to his body but some dismembered parts that had washed ashore with the tide. The cold of the rocks slowly penetrated his soles and he involuntarily shivered, reminding him that those toes and feet were actually part of his broken inebriated body. He lifted the bag and bottle again – a little too quickly. Wine spilled over his chin, creating little red rivulets that twisted their way through his beard, and trickled down his dirty shirt, finally soaking into the rags of his tattered brown coat. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He tried to take a step but the unevenness of the ground and the wasted condition of his brain combined forces against him. He fell hard on the rocks a crumpled, twisted bit of broken humanity, his ugly dirty coat thrown over him.
Early morning sunrays reflected off the river and shimmered on the underside of the bridge. The dirty overcoat groaned in his agony. A family that had ventured down to the river’s edge looked up, startled to realize that they were not alone. He moved from under his dirty brown coat and noticed the youngest of the family. Looking through his bleary eyes, he saw only the gold of her hair. He could make out nothing else. His mind played tricks on him sometimes. He rubbed his eyes. His hands shook as he rubbed. His throat was dry. He needed something to drink real badly. He reached out a hand to free himself so that he could look for his bottle. He could not take his eyes off her as he felt around himself and under himself. He finally found the familiar shape and gripped it tightly. Lifting it to his chapped and bleeding lips, he tried to eke out just another drop.
He noticed movement around the yellow hair. Someone else was there. He felt someone was looking at him.
“Can ya spare a toonie, mate?” he asked of the golden hair.
“Come on, Jennifer. Leave the man alone.”
“He needs a toonie, Dad. Can’t we give him a toonie?”
“Jennifer, come on. Leave the man alone.”
“Yousureareanicegirl,” He slurred.
He could not take his eyes off the young girl. Something in his mind told him there was something about the gold hair that he should know about. He rubbed his face with a trembling hand. Whatwasithewashewassushposhedtoremember? He wondered.
Gold hair. Gold hair. He knew his mom had gold hair. But that was not it. Gold hair.
“Jennifer, we have to go. Come on.”
Jennifer, gold hair. Jennifer, gold hair. There was a connection there.
He tried to get a little more wine out of his bottle. It was empty. The brown paper bag it had been in, was damp and ripped. Useless. Both the bottle and the bag.
“But Dad, the man needs a toonie.”
“Jennifer. That’s enough. If we give him the toonie, he will just spend it on more booze.”
“Thashnottrue.” He said. “I’ll shpenditonfoodatShallyAnn.”
The words did not come out very clear but he hoped they would give him the toonie. He was getting desperate for a drink, now.
Jennifer, gold hair. He could not help thinking there had to be a connection. He wished he had a drink to clear his head a bit so he could think. He squeezed his eyes shut so he could think better. Besides the bright sun was hurting his eyes.
“Mister. Mister. My dad has a toonie for you.”
He opened his eyes and the shiny gold of the hair blended in with the sunlight. He could not tell which was which anymore. He leaned against the bridge piling and looked up into the face of the gold hair. He looked and he remembered. The cloudiness of his mind lifted like the fog on the river and he saw and remembered his own sweet girl, looking down at him so many years before.
She pressed the toonie into his hand. The touch of her hand and the gentleness in her voice was too much for him and he wept. Gold hair touched his face and he wept even harder. She turned and left him.
The brown paper bag lay flattened, damp and broken.
Assignment: WORK IN GROUPS OF THREE OR FOUR TO EDIT THIS PIECE
1. Read through the story, making corrections along the way.
2. Read through the story one paragraph at a time and edit it. Do not hesitate to cross out whole sections that you believe should not be in there.
3. Read through the story again. Is the title appropriate? What other changes would you make? How would your changes affect the theme of the story? Is there a theme?
4. Can you tell that the person who wrote this is a Christian? If you were going to make it so that it was a true slice of life, yet Christian, how would you change it?
His hands trembled as he lifted the bottle in its brown bag to his lips. He toasted the bridge he lived under, and took another swig. Leaning back on the pilings of the bridge, he listened to the cars and trucks whooshing over his head. He raised his bottle and proposed a toast to the traffic. The bottle did not feel as full as it once did. “Shomebodyshbeendrinkin’mymechcine.” He hiccupped. He gave his bottle another shake, holding onto it tightly so it would not slip out of his hand, on to the rocks below. Through blood shot eyes, he followed the river as it flowed to the ocean. His hand shook as he lifted his bottle again. He didn’t toast anything this time. He chug-a-lugged his wine as he tried to quench his thirst. His Adam’s apple bopped as the red sweet liquid flowed down his throat. A chill wind blew under the bridge so he pulled the remains of his coat around him and flipped the collar up to give his ears a little more warmth. His matted, greasy dirty blonde hair fell around the collar like the spider webs under the bridge. `Ishneedanewcoat.` he muttered to the wind. Holding his bottle with both hands he rubbed the four-day growth on his chin. He wondered if he could walk to Sally Ann for a new coat. They might even give him a bit of food. On shaky, wobbly legs, he got to his feet. He looked at his feet. `Whershmyshoes?’ he thought. He wiggled his toes and rubbed his foot on the rocks. He looked at them as if they were not attached to his body but some dismembered parts that had washed ashore with the tide. The cold of the rocks slowly penetrated his soles and he involuntarily shivered, reminding him that those toes and feet were actually part of his broken inebriated body. He lifted the bag and bottle again – a little too quickly. Wine spilled over his chin, creating little red rivulets that twisted their way through his beard, and trickled down his dirty shirt, finally soaking into the rags of his tattered brown coat. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He tried to take a step but the unevenness of the ground and the wasted condition of his brain combined forces against him. He fell hard on the rocks a crumpled, twisted bit of broken humanity, his ugly dirty coat thrown over him.
Early morning sunrays reflected off the river and shimmered on the underside of the bridge. The dirty overcoat groaned in his agony. A family that had ventured down to the river’s edge looked up, startled to realize that they were not alone. He moved from under his dirty brown coat and noticed the youngest of the family. Looking through his bleary eyes, he saw only the gold of her hair. He could make out nothing else. His mind played tricks on him sometimes. He rubbed his eyes. His hands shook as he rubbed. His throat was dry. He needed something to drink real badly. He reached out a hand to free himself so that he could look for his bottle. He could not take his eyes off her as he felt around himself and under himself. He finally found the familiar shape and gripped it tightly. Lifting it to his chapped and bleeding lips, he tried to eke out just another drop.
He noticed movement around the yellow hair. Someone else was there. He felt someone was looking at him.
“Can ya spare a toonie, mate?” he asked of the golden hair.
“Come on, Jennifer. Leave the man alone.”
“He needs a toonie, Dad. Can’t we give him a toonie?”
“Jennifer, come on. Leave the man alone.”
“Yousureareanicegirl,” He slurred.
He could not take his eyes off the young girl. Something in his mind told him there was something about the gold hair that he should know about. He rubbed his face with a trembling hand. Whatwasithewashewassushposhedtoremember? He wondered.
Gold hair. Gold hair. He knew his mom had gold hair. But that was not it. Gold hair.
“Jennifer, we have to go. Come on.”
Jennifer, gold hair. Jennifer, gold hair. There was a connection there.
He tried to get a little more wine out of his bottle. It was empty. The brown paper bag it had been in, was damp and ripped. Useless. Both the bottle and the bag.
“But Dad, the man needs a toonie.”
“Jennifer. That’s enough. If we give him the toonie, he will just spend it on more booze.”
“Thashnottrue.” He said. “I’ll shpenditonfoodatShallyAnn.”
The words did not come out very clear but he hoped they would give him the toonie. He was getting desperate for a drink, now.
Jennifer, gold hair. He could not help thinking there had to be a connection. He wished he had a drink to clear his head a bit so he could think. He squeezed his eyes shut so he could think better. Besides the bright sun was hurting his eyes.
“Mister. Mister. My dad has a toonie for you.”
He opened his eyes and the shiny gold of the hair blended in with the sunlight. He could not tell which was which anymore. He leaned against the bridge piling and looked up into the face of the gold hair. He looked and he remembered. The cloudiness of his mind lifted like the fog on the river and he saw and remembered his own sweet girl, looking down at him so many years before.
She pressed the toonie into his hand. The touch of her hand and the gentleness in her voice was too much for him and he wept. Gold hair touched his face and he wept even harder. She turned and left him.
The brown paper bag lay flattened, damp and broken.
Assignment: WORK IN GROUPS OF THREE OR FOUR TO EDIT THIS PIECE
1. Read through the story, making corrections along the way.
2. Read through the story one paragraph at a time and edit it. Do not hesitate to cross out whole sections that you believe should not be in there.
3. Read through the story again. Is the title appropriate? What other changes would you make? How would your changes affect the theme of the story? Is there a theme?
4. Can you tell that the person who wrote this is a Christian? If you were going to make it so that it was a true slice of life, yet Christian, how would you change it?
November 12, 2008
Good afternoon class,
There is no poem of the week due to the truncated nature of the week.
Some rules need to be in place for this blogspot:
1. We have to use this blog for English assignments and discussing English homework.
2. Our comments when commenting on another person's blog must remain upbuilding to all those who access the blog.
3. We have to try to keep our comments to a maximum of 100 words.
4. Your English mark will be based on your ability to convey your thoughts through the blog in an intelligible manner.
5. Are there other things that I have missed.
6. Yes, your parents are welcome to comment, blog or read this at any time.
7. Another thing make sure you read through your comments before posting them. Make sure what you are saying is really what you want said.
I am excited about this since I am very new to blogging.
Mr. Siebenga
There is no poem of the week due to the truncated nature of the week.
Some rules need to be in place for this blogspot:
1. We have to use this blog for English assignments and discussing English homework.
2. Our comments when commenting on another person's blog must remain upbuilding to all those who access the blog.
3. We have to try to keep our comments to a maximum of 100 words.
4. Your English mark will be based on your ability to convey your thoughts through the blog in an intelligible manner.
5. Are there other things that I have missed.
6. Yes, your parents are welcome to comment, blog or read this at any time.
7. Another thing make sure you read through your comments before posting them. Make sure what you are saying is really what you want said.
I am excited about this since I am very new to blogging.
Mr. Siebenga
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