Activity Planner: Bukhari and Farhana
Student level: 6
Number of Participants: 5 students in a group
Objectives:
(i) To visualise the contents of a chosen poem in the form of a poster.
(ii) To analyse poetry through the use of literary devices.
Applications needed/ Web Platforms:
Canva/Youtube/ Google Meet
Description: Students are required to illustrate the contents of the selected poem through a clever use of colour and images in the form of a poster. The poster should capture the essence and gist of the poem chosen. Completed works need to be explained, presented and uploaded on YouTube.
How to participate:
1. Each group must consist of 5 students.
2. Each group needs to choose ONE (1) poem from the given list.
3. Each group is required to produce a digital poster using Canva. The poster should contain a clever use of colours and incorporate either live or abstract images. Each group can highlight on a powerful word/phrase/sentence for impact in their poster.
4. The presentation of the completed work can be recorded using Google Meet. The completed work is to be discussed in terms of the chosen poetry (relevance), the choices of colours and images.
5. The video then, needs to be uploaded on YouTube.
6. Duration of the video: 7-10 minutes.
7. All students are encouraged to join. However, only one poster is chosen from each class to compete against the other entries.
8. The due date of submission (YouTube link and digital poster) to the READING teacher @ C1 teacher is 23rd December, 2020 before 12 noon.
9. The reading teachers are to share the links of students work to Br Bukhari or Sr Farhana.
1.Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
BY ROBERT FROST
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
BY ROBERT FROST
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one 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 wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Charles Bukowski
we had goldfish and they circled around and around
in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
covering the picture window and
my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
to be happy, told me, ‘be happy Henry!’
and she was right: it’s better to be happy if you
can
but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while
raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn’t
understand what was attacking him from within.
my mother, poor fish,
wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
week, telling me to be happy: ‘Henry, smile!
why don’t you ever smile?’
and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the
saddest smile I ever saw
one day the goldfish died, all five of them,
they floated on the water, on their sides, their
eyes still open,
and when my father got home he threw them to the cat
there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother
smiled
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.