Saturday, October 5, 2013

Playing with poems

"The Poetry of Buildings: Using the names of buildings to teach language and culture as well as raising awareness of students' linguistic landscapes."

Thinking about images related to poems, looking for buildings that can remind you´s a beautiful way to learn English and to "dive" into Art and Architecture as well.

Can you imagine a landscape illustrating a song or a poem? Look for the next examples. Which is your favourite?

Soul Mate

© Jacob Pagan
Inquisitive I view, the couples everywhere;
Peaceful and glee, as both lives are shared.
When will it be my turn, I start to ponder;
Deeper into thought I begin to wander.

Burning like wildfire, love will always spread;
The greatest of feelings, at least that’s what I've read.
Giving everything I’ve got, I willingly dare;
So why am I empty, with no one to care?

As time trickles by, and my faith depletes;
I have to stand strong, resist conceding defeat.
I’ve heard of ‘the soul mate’, the one, the only;
Although hope is restored, I am still so lonely.

You’re what I pray, before bed and meal;
That promised emotion, you’ll grant me to feel.
Night after night, I know you are out there;
A bond like ours is most certainly rare.

As doubt as my enemy, I know I can beat;
Until the day we are destined to meet.
Eternally loyal, eternally true;
My tears will freeze, before I stop waiting for you.


CXV: Spring     Alfred Lord Tennyson                                

Now fades the last long streak of snow,
Now burgeons every maze of quick
About the flowering squares, and thick
By ashen roots the violets blow.

Now rings the woodland loud and long,
The distance takes a lovelier hue,
And drowned in yonder living blue
The lark becomes a sightless song.

Now dance the lights on lawn and lea,
The flocks are whiter down the vale,
And milkier every milky sail,
On winding stream or distant sea;

Where now the seamew pipes, or dives
In yonder greening gleam, and fly
The happy birds, that change their sky
To build and brood, that live their lives

From land to land; and in my breast
Spring wakens too: and my regret
Become an April violet,
And buds and blossoms like the rest.
© Alfred Lord Tennyson. All rights reserved, 8 years ago extracted from
Dylan Thomas (1914-53)                                                                   
Poem in October
It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second In the still sleeping town and set forth.

My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In rainy autumn
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.

A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.

Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
With its horns through mist and the castle
Brown as owls
But all the gardens
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
There could I marvel
My birthday
Away but the weather turned around.

It turned away from the blithe country
And down the other air and the blue altered sky
Streamed again a wonder of summer
With apples
Pears and red currants
And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
Through the parables
Of sun light
And the legends of the green chapels

And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.
These were the woods the river and sea
Where a boy
In the listening
Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.
And the mystery
Sang alive
Still in the water and singingbirds.

And there could I marvel my birthday
Away but the weather turned around. And the true
Joy of the long dead child sang burning
In the sun.
It was my thirtieth
Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
O may my heart's truth
Still be sung
On this high hill in a year's turning.


Bob Dylan Ballad Of A Thin Man            Lyrics

You walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, "Who is that man ?"
You try so hard
But you don't understand
Just what you'll say
When you get home.

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

You raise up your head
And you ask, "Is this where it is ?"
And somebody points to you and says
"It's his"
And you says, "What's mine ?"
And somebody else says, "Where what is ?"
And you say, "Oh my God
Am I here all alone ?"

But something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

You hand in your ticket
And you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you
When he hears you speak
And says, "How does it feel
To be such a freak ?"
And you say, "Impossible"
As he hands you a bone.

And something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

You have many contacts
Among the lumberjacks
To get you facts
When someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect
Anyway they already expect you
To all give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations.
You've been with the professors
And they've all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have 
Discussed lepers and crooks
You've been through all of
F. Scott Fitzgerald's books
You're very well read
It's well known.

But something is happening here
And you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you
And then he kneels
He crosses himself
And then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice
He asks you how it feels
And he says, "Here is your throat back
Thanks for the loan".

And you know something is happening 
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

Now you see this one-eyed midget
Shouting the word "NOW"
And you say, "For what reason ?"
And he says, "How ?"
And you say, "What does this mean ?"
And he screams back, "You're a cow
Give me some milk
Or else go home".

Because something is happening 
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

Well, you walk into the room
Like a camel and then you frown
You put your eyes in your pocket
And your nose on the ground
There ought to be a law
Against you comin' around
You should be made 
To wear earphones.

Does something is happening 
And you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?                               from

SONNET 4  -William Shakespeare

Was I never yet of your love greved, Nor never shall while that my liff doeth last ; But of hating myself that date is past, And teeres continuell sore have me weried. I will not yet in my grave be buried ; Nor on my tombe, your name yfixed fast, As cruell cause that did the sperit son haste Ffrom thunhappy bonys, by great sighes sterred. Then if an hert of amourous faith and will May content you, withoute doyng greiff, Please it you so to this to doo releiff Yf, othr wise, ye seke for to fulfill Your disdain : ye erre : and shall not as ye wene ; And you yourself the cause thereof hath bene.
Was I never yet of your love grieved, Nor never shall while that my life doth last; But of hating myself, that date is past, And tears continual sore have me wearied. I will not yet in my grave be buried ; Nor on my tomb, your name yfixed fast, As cruel cause that did the spirit soon haste From th'unhappy bones, by great sighs stirred. Then if an heart of amorous faith and will May content you, without doing grief, Please it you so to this to do relief If, otherwise, ye seek for to fulfil Your disdain: ye err, and shall not as ye ween, And you yourself the cause thereof hath been.