¡Feliz Día del Libro!

Poems in English for My Students

So, one of my colleagues at school has asked me to bring in several poems or short plays to practice rhythm and intonation in English. I also was asked to look for poems expressing different emotional states as well...regret, fear, anger, happiness, elation, etc. Seems like perfect timing since this month is National Poetry Month...at least in the U.S. If you know of or have a favorite poem that I could use please let me know!!!

One of my favorite poems is

The Road Not Taken

by Robert Frost:

Two roads diverged in a yellow road,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, long I stood

And looked down as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence;

      Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I-

          I took the one less travelled by,

        And that has made all the difference.

But, perhaps, its a little too long for my students. I want each student to recite a poem at least twice. Another great poem that would work well, is Dreams, by Langston Hughes because it is not too long and flows well:

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken winged-bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow

Now, if you know of any poems in iambic pentameter that would be great too because it naturally captures the rhythm of English. Shakespeare was and is famous for it. The first line of one of his most famous sonnets is analyzed below:

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Shall (-) I (+) com (-) pare (+) thee(-) to(+) a(-) sum(+)mer's(-) day(+)

(-) for unstressed, (+) for stressed.

Now, I'm not keen on finding poems with the verboseness of Shakespeare exactly. I need something more understandable and relatable like Hughes' poem above. Also, if anyone knows of Dr. Seuss material that is free on the internet, let me know.

Thank you!

The First Penélope Cruz: Sara Montiel

Amid the media storm of Thatchermania, two giants of Spanish history, Sara Montiel and José Luis Sampedro, passed away this week (this article will be focusing on Montiel). I wonder whether news of their departure has reached North American shores. Unfortunately, even Montiel had to compete, so it seemed, with Thatcher here in Spain as they both died on the same day. When I walked in the teacher's lounge that morning my eye zeroed in on a newspaper laying on one of the tables. It was El País and on the front cover was a massive black and white photo of Margaret Thatcher on the front page. It was a surprise to say the least. If it hadn't been for watching The Iron Lady last February or watching my Dad's Reagan videos a few years back, I probably wouldn't have realized how important she was (U.S./World history when I was in high school never went past World War II. Sad, I know). Then again, as one of the most prominent figures of the 20th century, it would have been hard not to know of her "legacy".

At the top right corner, underneath the title, was a small picture of Sara Montiel with the corresponding page numbers hinting at her legacy. I asked one colleague that if Sara Montiel was one of the most important Spanish actresses ever, why wasn't she on the front page instead? She responded, "In my humble opinion, in history, Margaret Thatcher was a much more important person." I can agree with that. Another colleague, however, put it differently and said, "They should have put the Angel on the front page instead of the Demon". After listening to his spiel, I think he had a point.

Sara Montiel was born in 1928 near Ciudad Real, Spain and made her way into acting, like many actors do today, through singing first. She was apparently discovered after singing at a high school event by a local patron. At the age of 16 she made her first movie in Barcelona, Empezó con boda which launched her career in Spain. After making a few films with moderate success, she moved to Mexico in 1950 at the height of its Golden Age where her career took off at lightning speed. She was featured in the box office hits Cárcel de mujeres, Furia roja and three hugely popular films with the great Mexican actor Pedro Infante, Necesito dinero, Ahí viene Martín Corona, y El enamorado where her indomitable spirit tested the "macho" character.  After leaving her mark on Mexican Cinema, she made the leap to Hollywood where she attracted the attention of directors and actors. Her Hollywood debut was in the legendary 1955 western Vera Cruz where she played a supporting role alongside actors Gary Cooper and Burt Lancaster. Her second Hollywood film was the musical Serenade with tenor Mario Lanza, and stars Joan Fontaine and Vincent Price.

According to one of my colleagues, it was on the set of Serenade, which was being filmed right next to Giant (starring Elizabether Taylor and James Dean), where Sara Montiel and James Dean began their affair. In fact, the last photograph showing James Dean alive and well is the one where he is next to Sara Montiel; they're both laughing histerically about something. Its a beautiful photo, really. My colleague added that apparently they were supposed to leave together the day that Dean died, but a last minute job conflict stopped her from going with him. Had she left with him she might have died in that accident as well. Who knows? Years later, Montiel would say she noticed that Dean appeared to need glasses, but probably never got them because it would have hurt his image. Nevertheless, Montiel eventually married the director of Serenade, Anthony Mann in 1957.

Like so many Spanish artists at the time and due to the Franco dictatorship, Montiel had to find success abroad before she would earn star status in her native Spain. She returned in 1957 and starred in El Último Cuplé (The Last Couplet) which was an instant box office hit across Europe and Latin America. On top of that, it became one of the highest grossing movies in Spanish Cinema History. The movie also showcased her singing ability and because of it she immortalized many couplets (a light and popular musical style; a sung monologue). It would be the first of many successful films in Spain.

In the end, Sara Montiel's beauty and voice captured audiences around the world. Had she not crossed the pond to spread her wings, her fame might not have been what it is today, Spanish cinema might not be what it is today. She was the first Spanish actress to make in Hollywood; she was the first "Penélope Cruz". And although in today's world of angels and demons where demons usually win out on publicity, there are those that like to pay homage to angels regardless.

Resumen Del Mes de Marzo

March went by like a rollercoaster; "montaña rusa" in Spanish, which translates to Russian Mountain. I wonder why that is? We have a new flat mate from Moldova. Interestingly, she speaks Russian, not Moldovan, which is, in reality, a dialect of Romanian. As I was saying, March was so jam-packed with events that, well, a lo mejor sería más fácil si os lo cuento en español? Yes, I think I should. Tengo que escribir en español, o sea, castellano. Me hace mucha falta. Y, al parecerse raro, a veces es easier. Perdón. O sea, a veces te sale como un chorro de agua. El inglés, como un drenaje atascado. El castellano es mucho mas flexible; se puede cambiar el orden del sintáxis. En inglés, no tanto. Es un gran tema. Casi igual a lo del Gurtel.

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El primer finde de Marzo nos fuimos, quatro miembros del coro y yo, a Córdoba. Como ciudad, es preciosa, y como gente, majísima. Encima de eso, las chicas, divinas. Hasta las feas son guapas. Bueno, en cuanto a la comida ni lo cuento...se come bien y demasiado hasta que te revientas. Te lo juro. La Mezquita, impresionante como siempre. La judería y los alrededores, un laberinto pintoresco. El sentimiento que te sientes que estás reviviendo siglos y siglos de historia, no tiene precio. En fin, fuimos a cantar el Requiem de Gabriel Fauré (debe ser listening obligatorio para todos) y fue como si estuviera cantando con un coro de ángeles. En realidad, habíamos juntado fuerzas con dos coros de Córdoba y la orquesta de allí en una iglesía al norte. Por primera vez, aunque no deberia hacerlo, tomé undescancito de unos segundos durante el concierto para escucharles a los demás y era, como he dicho, voces angélicas.

Al regresar, trabajé mucho. Murió Chávez. Hubo nuevo Papa. Argentino además y todos los medios del mundo se pusieron locos. Pero se notó un timbre de sarcasmo en las voces de los españoles. Tiene que ver con el complejo de inferioridad que tienen hacian los Argentinos. Claro, ¿a quién no? Tienen Mate, Maradona, Tango, y Borges. 

Hubieron más manifestaciones y huelgas. ¡Huelgas universitarias primero y luego huelga de Metro. ¡Madre mía! ¿Que ocurrería si esto occuriera en mi pais?

Salí varias veces con mis amigos, claro. Es necesario después de enfrentar mucho chaval y chavala de instituto. Lo que destaca es un restaurante griego en Huertas y pasadas noches en Il Morto Qui Parla en Lavapiés. Y, por su puesto, una noche estupenda en el bar James Joyce para el Día de San Patricio.

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Pronto llegó Semana Santa y me fui pa Barcelona. ¡Pero que ciudad tan preciosa! Me quedé enamorado de los edificios de Gaudía: La Casa Millá, La Casa Batlló (el Passeig de Gràcia es como la Gran Vía pero menos claustrofóbico y más verdoso), y sobre todo La Sagrada Familia. La fachada principal parcecía pierda combada. En fin, un edificio ecéntrico y misterioso a la vez. El hecho de que tengan animales por toda la superficie me encanta. Un himno a la naturaleza. Desafortunadamente no pude entrar asi que me toca volver cuando venga mi hermano.

El segundo o tercer dia que estuve, alquilé una bicicleta y hice un recorrido de la ciudad. Es la mejor forma de descubrir una ciudad te lo digo. Y en Barcelona se mueve súper bien en bici. Subí desde el Barrio Gótico donde me quedaba en un alberque (¿cómo es posible que el Barrio Gótico pueda ser tan precioso y sucio a la misma vez) hasta el Parc Güell. La entrada al parque es estupendo. Subes y las vistas de la ciudad y la costa es magnífica. Pero luego el parque te parece sobrevalorado. Yo esperaba mas escultura con azulejos.

En fin, había tanta gente, pero tanta gente que habría sido imposible que no te encontrases con algún conocido. Efectivamente es lo que pasó. Me encontré con un amigo de una amiga y nos fuimos al barrio Born donde los pijos de Barcelona van a hacer farra. Fuimos a un lugar de crepes y cócteles. A la persona que le surgió esa idea es un genio. Pero, en fin, como de día había gente "coming out of the wood work", de noche habían tres o cuarto gatos. La vida noctura allí no tiene nada que ver con la vida nocturna de Madrid. Lo siento.

Luego mi amigo me mandó un mensaje pidiéndome un favor que me fuera a La Central Del raval para encontrar un libro desconocido que solo se encontraba en esa librería de todas las librerías de españa. Entonces acepté la misión. Subí por Las Ramblas y giré a la izquierda en calle Bon Success. Era una callejuela prácticamente que zigzagueaba por una zona del Barrio Gótico que no había conocido. Estaba salpicada por tiendas hipster y cafés bohemios. Cuando entré a la librería su carácter de laberinto me ahogó. Pero pronto lo superé y me fui explorando el lugar hasta que encontré la sección de cómics y me quedé allí no sé cuanto tiempo. En fin, me acordé de la razón por la cual había venido y me fui a la seccón de literatura Hispanoamericana. No estaba. Le pregunté al tio detrás de las mesa. Se fue y en diez minutos volvió. Misión completada o como se diga.

Me fui el día siguiente con prisas añorando los batidos y fruta fresca de la Boquería. En un parpado de ojo estaba en el tren con rumbo a Madrid. Intenté dormír pero era imposible. El rio Ebro me distraía a veces. Era hermoso, mucho mas un rio que el Tajo que es feo. Leí un poco del Great Gatsby y por fin pude cerrar ojo. En nada estaba de vuelto a Madrid.

Hasta luego.