poems 10a
DESCRIPTION
(11 September 1885 – 2 March 1930) was an English writer.He is also an important novelist as well as a critic. He was a writer of all genres. The fiction that he uses for his works is a reflection of his personal life. http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Travel/Pix/pictures/2008/03/10/LawrenceBettmannCorbis4.jpgTRANSCRIPT
David Herbert Richards Lawrence
http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Travel/Pix/pictures/2008/03/10/LawrenceBettmannCorbis4.jpg
(11 September 1885 – 2 March 1930) was an English writer.He is also an important novelist as well as a critic. He was a writer of all genres. The fiction that he uses for his works is a reflection of his personal life.
STORM IN THE BLACKFOREST
Now it is almost night, from the bronzey soft sky
jugfull after jugfull of pure white liquid fire, bright white tipples over and spills down,
and is gone and gold-bronze flutters beat through the thick upper air.
And as the electric liquid pours out, sometimes
a still brighter white snake wriggles among it, spilled and tumbling wriggling down the sky :
and then the heavens cackle with uncouth sounds.
And the rain won’t come, the rain refuses to come! This is the electricity that man is supposed to have mastered
chained, subjugated to his own use! supposed to!
Derek Walcott
http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1992/walcott.jpg
He was born in 1930 in the town of Castries in Saint Lucia, one of the Windward Islands in the Lesser Antilles. Derek got the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1992. He became a theatre and art critic, and taught in schools in the Caribbean until 1957, year in which he became a journalist.
A CITY'S DEATH IN FIRE
After that hot gospeller has levelled all but the churched sky, I wrote the tale by tallow of a city's death by fire;
Under a candle's eye, that smoked in tears, I Wanted to tell, in more than wax, of faiths that were snapped like wire.
All day I walked abroad among the rubbled tales,
Shocked at each wall that stood on the street like a liar; Loud was the bird-rocked sky, and all the clouds were bales
Torn open by looting, and white, in spite of the fire.
By the smoking sea, where Christ walked, I asked, why Should a man wax tears, when his wooden world fails?
In town, leaves were paper, but the hills were a flock of faiths;
To a boy who walked all day, each leaf was a green breath Rebuilding a love I thought was dead as nails, Blessing the death and the baptism by fire.
Jane Yolen
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New York, February 11th – 1939. Author of fantasy and science fiction’s book. She is also a poet and a reviewer of children’s literature. She writes beautiful poems about different matters.
THE EARTH
I am the Earth
And the Earth is me. Each blade of grass,
Each honey tree, Each bit of mud,
And stick and stone Is blood and muscle,
Skin and bone.
And just as I Need every bit Of me to make My body fit,
So Earth needs Grass and stone and tree
And things that grow here Naturally.
That's why we
Celebrate this day. That's why across The world we say:
As long as life, As dear, as free, I am the Earth
And the Earth is me.
Compilations made by:
Nebai León Najera
Daniel Ricardo Rodríguez Gómez
Laura Botero Gorzón
Laura Parra Daza
Sources:
English for Students website
Nobel Prize website
Poems About website
Jane Yolen website