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Sunday, September 21, 2008
To Kill a Mockingbird Play Review {6:23 AM}
The atmosphere of the much-anticipated play was somber, hushed, quiet. A lone light haloed the stage; an adult Jean Louise, known in her younger days as Scout, steps forward. Her eyes glimmered with soulful emotions, her hands quavered and shook; with her poignant body posture you would almost expect to hear the sound of wistful violins starting to play.
Strangely though, in the play, there doesn’t seem to have much room for wistful violins, nor for Scout’s weird, emotional body posture. A load of farmers marched about Maycomb County aimlessly, looking for all the world like an army Resident Evil zombies. Jean Louise than began a monologue – emotionally, like everything else she does – trying to cram the all background information you would probably find on a TKAM jacket blurb into the audience in as short a time as possible. After hearing her sketchy outline of the first part of the original texts’ plot, I was praying as hard as I could that Harper Lee would not have the misfortune to see her story packaged and delivered as conscientiously as Ronald MacDonald packages and delivers a Happy Meal.
As the play progressed, I prayed harder than ever. My friends and I all got a shock when we saw how the younger Scout was portrayed in the play – a whiny, shrilly girl who screams and throws tantrums impertinently. I was horrified and my friend SiYu put my feelings into words perfectly – ‘In the book,’ he said, ‘Scout was a tomboy and very individualistic. Now look at her! She’s portrayed as nothing but a stereotypical immature child and sounds like a brainless bimbo. The directors,’ he pronounced solemnly, ‘sucked.’
The judge Taylor was also subjected with much controversy. ‘I have nothing against women judges in particular,’ SiYu said, ‘but this judge, ugh. I mean, she looks like one of those actors in a cheap Chinese drama play. Her screechy voice, her self-righteousness, her grand waving hand gestures…ugh.’ SiYu was quite good at summing up, I think.
The worst part in the play, I think, was Miss Maudie. Originally a thoughtful, helpful and insightful woman, she now looks like the lead actress in ‘My Sassy Neighbour’. The Atticus in the play was not bad, mainly because he was so forgettable. I mean, five minutes after the play, I couldn’t even recall his face, much less his acting. The only thing I could associate him to, in my mind now, was that he radiates a plain, mundane mediocrity, personified by the dramatic anticlimax when he shot Tom Johnson. ‘Pop! goes the gun-shot!’
The only actor I consider good was Robert Ewell, who happens to sound so much like an outraged Leonard when he raved and declaimed against Atticus and Judge Taylor I could not help but chuckle. I think the actress for Mayella was okay too, though she didn’t really express the calculating slyness I imagined novel's Mayella to have
What a play, what a night. As I stepped out of the theatre to the warm night air, I reflected to myself that TKAM is not the first novel to be destroyed by bad acting; after all, there was always that Eragon movie. I shall have to wait for the sixth Harry Potter movie installment in order to convince myself that there are worse acting and worse plots in this world than the one I just saw. And, do you know, the Harry Potter actor wants to dress up as a drag queen? Honest!
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
{7:08 AM}
Ken, look here. Go copy this then edit. Is there a max word limit? Me not sure. P.S. Will you send me your email?
The rest of you who are looking, go away and play DOTA.
YiHua
The trial scene in the Merchant of Venice reveals the conflict between mercy and justice in a very subtle, nuance way, and let the readers think about this conflict for themselves. Mercy would oblige Shylock, arguably one of the most important characters in the play, to spare the life of his enemy and long-time tormentor, Antonio, as Portia, Bassanio and the rest would desire. Justice, which is clearly what Shylock wants, would require him to legally extract his due from Antonio’s bond – a pound of flesh removed from the chest, which is tantamount to murder. However, through much trials and deliberations, mercy and justice were finally able to come together and conclude the play happily-ever-after, through the subtle intelligence of Portia and the compassion of Antonio.
Shylock, merciless in his goal of achieving Antonio’s death, unhesitatingly chose justice over mercy, and was ready to kill his enemy. Portia, posing as a male judge, intervened on behalf of Antonio, and pleaded with Shylock to release Antonio from his fatal bond, as could be seen from the line, ‘Be merciful:/ Take thrice thy money; bid me tear this bond’ (4.1.229 – 30). Shylock rejected this offer, for his hatred of Antonio, disguised as pursuing justice, blinded him to the conscience of mercy. Portia than offered him a compromise, that he should ‘Have by some surgeon…to stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death’ (4.1.254 – 5). Shylock still rejected her proposal, and this was the start of the play’s conflict of its two major themes.
As she had no choice, Portia, in order to save the life of her lover’s best friend, intervened yet again, and this time drastically, with her famous ‘Tarry a little’ speech. Here, she makes it clear to Shylock that if he so much as ‘One drop of Christian blood’ (4.1.306), his ‘lands and goods/ Are by the laws of Venice confiscate/ Unto the state of Venice’ (4.1. 306 – 9). As it was next to impossible for Shylock to cut off flesh without spilling blood, he could only grudgingly accept his principal. But Shylock was not the only victim of vindictive hate; Portia could stop the trial there and then, and that would be the fairest outcome. But she insisted that Shylock should not have his principal, as he had ‘refused it in open court’ (4.1.334). Instead, using her knowledge of Venetian Law, she tried to confiscate all of Shylock’s wealth and properties and leave his life to the mercy of the Duke, as could be seen from the lines
‘The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive
Shall seize one half his goods; the other half
Comes to the privy coffer of the state;
And the offender's life lies in the mercy
Of the duke only.’
As of yet, no compromise of mercy and justice was accepted by either the Jew or the Christians. But fortunately for Shylock, Antonio decided to be magnanimous in the final scenes of the cour episodes.
Antonio asked the Duke to cede his share of Shylock’s properties, so that Shylock can still live with reasonable means, and Antonio would dedicate his half of Shylock’s property to Shylock’s daughter, Nerrisa, and her suitor, Lorenzo, in return for Shylock to ‘become a Christian’ (4.1.383) and also ‘of all he dies possessed/ Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.’ Antonio is not demanding much from Shylock in return for giving him back his lifeline, so in this case, at last, justice and mercy are reunited. We have proven so far that in the play, there is a distinct conflict between justice and mercy, and discussed it at length; we have also illustrated in the final paragraph how their conflict is resolved. This positive outcome would not have been able without Protia’s timely interference and the forgiving nature of Antonio. But despite these characters’ best efforts, the journey to reach this affirmative conclusion is marred by the flaws of both the villain and the main characters, that the nature of the conflict between justice and mercy took quite a long time to be resolved.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead (Poem Analysis) {8:12 AM}
When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead
by Charles Hamilton Sorley
POEM ANALYSIS by Ng Xuan Ru (15) 2i
The poem is made up of only one stanza. The fact that it is written in one large block emphasises the poet’s point that death is overwhelming. Thousands of pitiful soldiers were killed and left to rot and this gruesome content is evident throughout the whole of the poetry.
The poem rhymes on the last syllable on every 4 lines, except for the case which the last 6 lines all rhyme together.
This poem does not have any significant use of any sound features whatsoever.
The poem has a slow rhythm, which makes it sound like it is lecturing a soldier of lower rank about what he should do when he encounters the fallen soldiers.
The poem records a war, where the poet is showing a first-hand experience as he describes the scenery and landscape of the battlefield accurately with details. Also, from “when you see”, I can deduce that the poem is being told to a soldier who survived the war and it tells him to think of those who have died at war as heroes. However, the poem also states that he should not grieve for the dead, because in their death, mourning means nothing to them, as they cannot feel it.
The poet highlights how pointless war can be. They are recognized as heroes and defenders of the country but it is all pointless to them because they will never see the difference they made in the world.
The poet’s disapproval of the authoritative figures involved in the war is also highlighted. From “Their blind eyes see not your tears flow” highlights that the people who started the war, sitting behind their desks, do not show any trace of pity in the sacrifice that the soldiers they dispatched made.
The poet seeks to evoke sorrow and grief to the reader. Also, the first two lines, "When you see millions of the mouthless dead, across your dreams in pale battalions go", suggest that the poet is haunted by horrific and gory images of the war. He says that he can "see" the dead across his dreams. It suggests that he is so much affected by it that ghosts appear in his sleep in their "pale battalions".
The poet emphasizes on the scale of how many people were killed because of the war initially. The poet’s purpose, which is to state that we must all simply acknowledge the fact that these people have died, and that even those who you loved and knew well can never be brought back, is successfully conveyed to the reader through his point-blank delivery of words.
I would describe the poet’s use of words as grave, serious and sombre. Short sentences such as “It is a spook”, “Not tears” and “Not honour” further emphasises that the poet is using a very pessimistic and solemn tone to present the poem.
The most significant usage of metaphors is the phrase “mouthless dead”. This phrase conveys that the soldiers cannot talk when they are dead, and illustrates the scene where the soldiers were mutilated, deformed and maimed to the extent that the face was unrecognisable. It appeals to two of the five senses by painting the picture of the gruesome side of war and introduce the bone-tingling sensation of warfare.
Ng Xuan Ru (15) 2i
Labels: Ng Xuan Ru (15) 2i
Friday, June 20, 2008
Talent Show {5:38 AM}
“Friends, families, boys and girls! Tonight, I once again have the honour to proudly bring you…the Community Youth Talent Showtime!” With a hop and a skip, the round, sweaty face of Jonathan Quentin grinned inanely at the audience. “Let’s all give a warm hand to our young performers!” he enthused. Even though this was a monthly routine all parents had to endure, shadowy hands nevertheless politely clapped from the dark recesses of the audience seats.
“For our first performance, we have Ms Aria Jones, who shall dazzle us tonight with her beautiful songs!” Playing the role of a overenthusiastic talk-show host perfectly, Quentin waved a vicarious arm towards Aria, as if he was granting her a great favor by doing so. Aria smiled, perhaps a little uneasily at all the attention focused on her, and took a short bow. I was faintly surprised that none of the audience reached for an earmuff upon hearing the news.
“Next,” Quentin said, “Mr. Trevor will be sparring against Ms. Aria in an exciting martial arts performance entitled ‘The Lion and the Unicorn Fight for the Crown’!” Trevor raised his right fist proudly in the air in a gesture of manly salute. I found his stance disturbingly similar to a Nazi propaganda poster of an Aryan soldier marching off to war.
“And then,” Quentin continued, “Ms Selena shall perform a stunning set of acrobatics!” Selena, a willowy girl who never took off the gently smiling mask on her face, bowed deeply. She had never let her emotions show. If Isaac Asimov were to tell me one day that a robot had penetrated Earth’s defenses and is now impersonating under the guise of one Selena McMillan, I would not have been the least surprised.
“Last but not least,” Here Quentin abruptly lost his enthusiasm and spoke quite flatly, his voice starkly contrasting the statement he made above, “we have Amrys, who…” While the audience had only displayed a slight, tolerating disinterest in the proceedings up till now, it suddenly woke into life. A gaggle of surprised voices interrupted the announcement. Surely not? The audience whispered amongst themselves. Surely that anti-social, recluse, hermit of a child, surely the Badger of the Forty-Second Community District, is not going to perform tonight, along with the Mole, the Otter, and the Water Rat? Is it true? Can it really be him? Is Judgment Day coming down at last? From where I was standing, I could hear my mother shushing the others in embarrassment.
I closed my eyes and wondered how I was ever talked into this.
* * *
It had been a normal Friday afternoon, just like any other Friday afternoons, when the tragedy occurred. I was just finishing off the last few chapters of The Subtle Knife, around the part where some guy discovered who his father was, only I hadn’t realize that the guy in question was very important to the storyline at first and didn’t really pay much attention to who he was, and what he did, until now, thus I was quite clueless how some sort of dagger suddenly wound up in his hands, and what significance it was…well, you get the gist of it. So ergo I was in a somewhat irritated mood when my mother botched one of the most sensitive subjects in the house, ever.
“Amrys,” she told me, “if you don’t plan to go for next week’s Community Youth Talent Show, again, you would be the only person who hadn’t attended for six months in a row.”
“Oh, what a great honour,” I replied. “See, I told you I could be the first in something if you waited long enough.”
My mother sighed. “This time, you are going to attend, whether you like it or not. If you were to suddenly catch a cold on that day, I’ll make sure you don’t go to the library for a month.”
“No, please!” I pleaded with her. “You know that I can’t go to the Talent Show! You do realize that I can’t sing, can’t dance, can’t tell jokes and can’t do magic tricks? What on earth should I possibly do when I get on stage?”
“True enough,” my mother agreed. She frowned pensively for a moment, and said, “But you can write, can’t you? I know, you’ll write a wonderful drama play as a finale to conclude the Talent Show! I’ll ask your friends if they agree to act in it!”
And that’s what she did. She invited the three kids in the block over and asked them what they thought of her idea over a cup of tea. “Wonderful,” Aria declared. “Better than him slacking again,” Trevor grunted. “I think that will do Amrys lots of good,” Selena pronounced.
I fixed them all with a baleful glare. “Et tu, Brutus?” I asked sardonically.
“Then fall, Caesar!” Aria replied, grinning.
It was not fair, I reflected to myself that night while chewing a pencil into shreds. At least Caesar had a weird soothsayer to warn him of his impending doom. But nobody did warn me.
* * *
It was this and other equally inconsequential thoughts that chased each other around my head while Quentin finished his less-than-glowing resume on what I was going to do for the night. “Let the Showtime begin!” he declared quickly, as though impatient to do away with any subject concerning yours truly.
“Ms Aria Jones,” Quentin said, handing over the mike. Aria received the mike with a small smile, cleared her throat, which created a noise over the microphone like the magnified screaming of an angry banshee, and said, “The first song I am going to sing for today would be Yesterday Once More.” I remembered yesterday quite clearly, with its triple Maths–Science–English tests, and wondered why on Earth would she want to sing that particular song. Nevertheless, sing it she did, and it was not so badly done. Trevor was sitting up straight, eyes wide, listening attentively. Selena closed her eyes and swung her body in tune to the lyrics. I got off my seat and snuck towards the exit.
“Where are you going, young man?” a voice asked behind me. I jumped. Darn it, I had forgotten all about Quentin.
“Um, a drink at the water cooler?” I replied. Quentin gave me a withering glare, went out, came back, and thrust a bottle of mineral water in my hand. “You’re welcome,” he assured me.
I moved regretfully back to my seat.
Aria ended off her performance, as always, with the song ‘Home on the Range’. In fact, for some obscure reason, all concerts or musical performances played in the Community Districts had to be ended off with the song ‘Home on the Range’, despite the fact that with the fast-growing modernization, ranges were almost nonexistent, while deer and antelopes mostly live side-by-side in the same plane as the dodos.
Next was the martial arts performance. Aria returned behind stage only for short change of clothing before joining Trevor for the sparring. She was armed with a plastic sword and he with a tin pole, both pretending to be master duelists. They spun round and round each other, weaving complex patterns with their weapons, leaping high, ducking low, probably using cut-and-paste choreography adapted from some Star Wars movie. It was quite an effort of will, but, using all my well-learned politesse, I actually managed to refrain from mouthing off the dozen sarcastic comments that popped into my mind while I watched the pointless fighting match.
After that was Selena’s turn, and she went into the fray fearlessly. But all in all hers was the easier act. She switched between cart wheeling around the stage to contorting about in a way that stretched her limbs abnormally, which looked rather uncomfortable to me, though I suppose that’s one explanation how she got her height. She then balanced on her hand and rounded off by doing a few backflips before bowing a finish. The audience clapped, the curtains went down. I was feeling a bit nervous. The next one was my show.
* * *
Mine was a rather straightforward play, really. It starts off when this young man, who don’t know nothin’ from nothin’, got told by a strange old mystic that he had a glorious destiny awaiting him, yadda, yadda, blah and blah. So he gets this magic sword, goes around making friends and beating up minions of evil, faces daunting moral challenges before killing the diabolical Tyrant, finally finding out that he was actually a long lost prince – well, you know, the usual stuff, none of which you can’t find in the self-respecting Tor book. Or, at least, that was my plan.
The drama started out fine, with Trevor looking heroic and stupid in some loose-fitting shirt and trousers dyed brown (tunic and breeches they were supposed to be, whatever those were). He actually managed not to burst out laughing when he was told, by our local ancient dentist, how he was the Chosen One and had to free the oppressed land from some evil or another. Then he received his enchanted sword (the one Aria had been using an hour ago) and set off on his journey.
On his way to the neighboring town, he was ambushed by six goons dressed in black (enterprising young fellows who didn’t mind an easy task at the Showtime and volunteered themselves out as secondary characters). Declaring themselves loudly to all and sundry that they were bandits, they engaged Trevor in a breathtaking minute of hand-to-hand combat. Trevor kicked one bandit to the conveniently placed exit at the right side of the stage, than elbowed another into the left side. Oh, no, he was still outnumbered! Never fear! Armed with some improvised rubber darts, Aria shot down the remaining villains with a bow from a branch of a concealed tree, leapt down and, upon hearing Trevor’s worthy quest, and joined the hero. The curtains fell. The audience even gave a sympathetic round of applause.
The next part of the drama starred my favourite character: me. I gave myself, obviously, the easiest job. I was a magician’s apprentice who rescued the two main characters from some feathery avians, then tagged along them, making sarcastic jokes on the way. I prepared myself for an amusing night. I thought nothing could go wrong.
Then, naturally, everything went wrong.
“Watch out, Aria!” Trevor yelled as they ran from the six ex-bandits now dressed up in glued plastic feathers. I was sitting in my ‘study’ waiting for the pair to intrude into my little haven of peace – but, they didn’t.
To my bewilderment, Aria turned suddenly and shot one avian, which promptly collapsed. The others let out hideous screeches and fled, with Aria and Trevor in pursuit.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
The wounded avian continued making horrible noises so loudly that I had no choice but to venture outside, trying to bring the storyline back on course.
“Er…what manner of foul creature are you?” I asked. I felt it best to start off with a question which everyone knew the answer to.
“I am an Avian,” the actor croaked harshly. “I am bound to my Master, and must serve him regardless of my will.”
“Um, really?” I asked. I did not know what I was supposed to say.
“I am too weak to fly at the moment, but as soon as I regain my strength I must go back to the Night Castle to report to the Dark Lord,” the avian said. “And I must tell him of the rebellion’s plan, even though I do not wish to.” I floundered for a moment, but luckily, I was not expected to say anything.
“Will you slay me to aid the forces of Light?” the avian asked. I started; that was the line Trevor was supposed to answer! That was one of the ‘daunting moral challenge’ he had to face! I frowned slightly, wondering what other changes Aria and the rest made upon my script.
“I, uh,” I replied. “I shall not kill an unarmed creature.” I was not too sure what the answer should be, so I tried the safest one.
Then Aria and Trevor suddenly appeared out of nowhere. “Avian,” Trevor declared, “by using the Ring of Virtue we recovered from the bandit loot, I shall break you for your vile Master’s hold!” He then started waving a fake ring about. Following that, the Avian shook itself vigorously, and behold, black feathers dropped off to be replaced by white ones, and the avian’s plumed, silver wings made it look like an angel. The audience clapped warmly at this marvelous twist, while I wondered if all humans were inherently racists.
I was slightly puzzled by this plot twist, and wondered how much more of my script was changed. It couldn’t be a lot, I decided. I was very wrong.
What followed after that relatively simple confrontation was me being plunged into a messy, impenetrable fog of confusion, as scene after scene I was forced to answer questions that bore in no way any similar aspect to the original script. Sometimes, I answered correctly and the storyline, which was a faint cameo of what I wrote at first, progressed. Sometimes I answered wrongly and was awarded a dozen minute’s worth of red herring, which was filled with yet more questions.
I heard someone in the audience whisper quite audibly to my mother, “What a wonderful actor your son is! He seems as though he was really in a dilemma all the while!” I snuck a glance at Trevor, Aria and Selena. They looked as if they were barely choking back their giggles.
After an hour’s worth of real-life MMORPG type of quest, we finally made it to the Dark Lord’s Castle, with me barely conscious and swooning with relief. The Dark Lord, dressed in a menacing black cardboard armor and holding black warhammer (painted styrofoam block stuck on the tin pole which Trevor had used), threatened the party with horrific fates of tortures and hangings. We fought the Dark Lord bravely and lost, but, with heroic inspiration at the last possibly minute, Trevor took out a plastic ring, necklace, and ping pong ball (which was supposed to be an orb, but due to the lack of materials…). Brandishing those around, he called forth the Spirits of Light from the Three Ancient Artifacts to destroy the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord in question stumbled a bit and collapsed, snatching defeat right out of the jaws of victory (ah well, don’t they all?).
“My son…” the Dark Lord said to Trevor brokenly with his final breaths. My son? I wondered to myself. Huh? Apparently, the audiences were just as perplexed.
“You…you cannot be my father!” Trevor stuttered. The two then began engaging each other in a long and dull soliloquy. At the end Trevor mourned, “Oh, but you are my father, and I really am the Prince of Tera! Alas, by the Spirits of the Bithia Ring, what shall I do?”
“Smite him for what he did to our people,” Aria suggested.
“Spare his life,” Selena supplied. “He was driven crazy after his wife died,”
“No, Luke, I am your father,” I commented snidely. I should have known better than to draw attention to myself, because at the very next moment, Trevor turned to me and asked, “Esteemed friend, tell me; what must I do?”
To smite or not to smite, that is the question, I thought. All our viewers drew a collectively breath as they waited for my reply.
With my brain missing in action, my mouth appointed itself as second-in-command and took over.
* * *
“Was that really the best answer you could think of?” Selena asked me when the Showtime was over.
I glowered at her. “Why didn’t you tell me you changed my script?” I demanded. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”
“Well, it was funny,” Selena replied. “At least to us,” she added quickly.
“What would happen if I gave an answer which you couldn’t continue the play with?” I asked.
“We remodeled your whole play into a choose-your-own-adventure type of book,” Selena replied. “After we took a look at your original script, we thought it was pretty superficial, and felt that modifying it wouldn’t be too hard. Besides, all the questions we posed to you were the yes/no ones, and all your responses were anticipated.”
“Then,” I sniffed, “my last answer served you right” The whole of the audience were torn between laughter and rage when I had replied, without thinking, “Well, just put him in the old folk’s home and get it done over with.”
“Actually,” I admitted, “I’m still pretty curious about what would have happened had I chosen differently from what I did. Something tells me that the storyline would have been much different, were it so.”
Selena turned serious. “It’s just like life,” she mused, half to herself. “Every choice you make affects the entire outcome, and each path you take leads you down an infinitely different road of the Wyrd. Life is full of choices, and one must be very careful to pick out the right path from the wrong ones.”
“How very profound,” I replied, and bade her goodbye. Despite my sarcastic tone, I gave her words some thought as I went on my way home.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
--
Robert Frost
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Leaders and Losers 2 {7:22 AM}
Just to give this topic another perspective.
In every age and time,
There are leaders.
Yet even more losers.
That is the way of life.
In every age and time,
There are masterminds.
Yet even more workers.
That is the way things work.
In every age and time,
There are the rich.
Yet even more poor.
That is the way of people.
In every age and time,
There are the popular.
Yet even more neglected.
That is the way social circles are.
In every age and time.
There are those who are better, smarter, stronger,
Yet they are only so,
Due to the existence of those who are lousier, dumber and weaker.
Ken Oung
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Poem, Poetry, Poet {8:27 AM}
Well, I got another one here...
This just came to my mind when we were doing the poems on "War" and its analysis...
Btw, the previous poem (the one right underneath this post) is also written by me.
Life and DeathIn Life,
We face terrible and numerous problems and challenges,
Find danger and peril in every move,
Yet find joy in success and find sadness in failures.
We would meet new people, who come with new troubles,
And soon enough, we find ourselves growing old.
However, when death comes around,
We are afraid of it,
And thus sprint towards the nearest hospitals,
Grab the poor doctors,
Scream and beg them for help.
We may live for a bit longer,
And we may again escape death’s scythe,
But who are we to dodge it forever?
Gil Seob (23) 2I
Another poem {8:25 AM}
Well, here is just another poem from me...
Um, not to be super-critical, but in reality, i think this portrays clearly what goes on in our lives... (I'm not being specific to anything)
Leaders and LosersIn our history,
Leaders were born,
They started new generations,
Began new things,
And now they are gone, back to where they were born.
In this world,
Lies many talents,
Many people,
Many leaders,
Yet even more failures.
The leaders are overwhelmed,
The losers win the fight,
Great leaders will no longer shine,
As losers lead people into deep abyss.
In the future,
New leaders will be ignored of their existence,
Losers will outshine them
And leaders will soon follow them,
As people are blinded by the darkness controlling them.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
{6:19 AM}
One poem I spent quite a lot of time (almost two weeks) doing. I hope you'll like it. It's about war (I like stating the obvious cuz it's easy). The Titans and the Olympians is actually a reference to Greek mythology where, due to complicated family problems, the Titans started a war with the Olympians. These two names were used to invoke a sense of ultimate power. And then at the last stanza, the 'badgers' and the 'reptiles' refers to the Titans and the Olympians and how they were actually like the animals in a way that...well, just read and find out, why dontcha.
The smoky, colourless grey dawn
Dazedly comes to consciousness
Like a bar of writhing metallic haze
Dry wind shrieks and scours pass
The shards of parched and shattered earth
Razing the lichens and insects
That infests the ground
Distant thunders rumble
In noxious black clouds
Where lightning-forks taste the arid air
Like tongues of storm-drakes they flicker and play
Glorious had this field been where
The Titans and the Olympians had struggled
For domination, in many years past:
Where flaming bazooka like comets trailed
Streaks of burning fires across the sky
Machine guns yammered and cannons roared
Planes shrieked as they let rockets fly
Humans scream in agony while they die
And then the war moved on,
From one indistinguishable terrain to another
Leaving the battlefield deformed and scarred.
But yet not dead:
Reptiles in their scale armor
Continue waging their eternal war
Against the night-furred badgers
Fighting over scraps of beetles and worms:
Trembling they huddle beneath bare shattered trees
Intent in their inconsequential grievances
Passing each day like crabs trading blows
Living, as they had, and living, as they will
Bickering over nothing, until
Again does a thoughtless hand
Brush them away from the living land
OOPS I FORGOT EDIT EDIT EDIT: Wang YiHua (28)
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
A Poem {4:25 AM}
Since it had been quite a while since I'd last done a ryhming poem, I thought I should give it a try.
Welcome to the enchanted glade
Where shadows lurk in darkling shade
Where upon the hue of velvet night
Soars the stars of dreams in flight
Where below the glow of early dawn
Burns the flames of wishes born
And beyond the mountains, upon the world-rim
Dances the auroras of hopes and dreams
Across the endless, lifeless dunes
Where dust-wind howls its mournful tunes
Beneath the billowing sandy plumes
A desert flower tenderly blooms
When in crimson dusk, towards the setting sun
Weary after the day’s work’s finally done
Step into my dreamscape deep
To rest in your eternal sleep
OOPS I FORGOT EDIT EDIT EDIT: Wang YiHua (28)
Labels: poetry
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Stolen Child {4:47 AM}
Yes. I know this won't be counted. And I know I'm probably wasting my time. But I reallydo like this poem, and, since I've really got nothing else better to do (yes, SiYu, I think dragonfable's lame too) I'll post it up anyway.
Stolen Child by William Butler Yeats
WHERE dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scare could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand
OOPS I FORGOT EDIT EDIT EDIT: Wang YiHua (28)
Friday, May 9, 2008
War {6:03 AM}
This is the poem my group and I came up with during the English lessons.
The War
The war rages on
Sowing destruction and mayhem
Death and pandemonium
Burning, without mercy,
The suffering people
The war rages on
Its seeds leech the fertile earth
Of people’s hatred
And then, at one sudden hour,
It blooms, resplendent in its terrible beauty
The war rages on
Everyone is dragged into its swirling maelstrom
The devils heartlessly beat their drums
Summoning children
To die in their battlefields
The war rages on
When can it end?
When will we have peace on earth?
How many deaths must it take
To appease that gods of destruction?
The war rages on
The tears and spilt blood irrigate the earth
The stench of death dominates the air
Continuous and everlasting
Over a land forever dead
'The War' Poem Analysis:
Emphasis is put on each stanza the recurring the message of ‘war’, which lets the audience experience an inveterate sense of ominous chaos at the start of every stanza. The word ‘sowing’ used in the second line is a wordplay on the phrase ‘sowing crops’, but, instead of crops, in this case, war sows ‘destruction’ and ‘mayhem’ and waits for these seeds to grow. War ‘burns’ not only the people ‘mercilessly’ and also resources, to give an impression that war is waste.
The second stanza described war as ‘leeching’. War leeches on the people’s ‘hatred’, which is a ‘fertile earth’. This is to show how politicians manipulate the people’s emotions to their own ends. The ‘crops’ sown by the war ‘blooms’ in one sudden hour – everything, even war, has its own unique style of exquisiteness, but the beauty of war is terrible
‘Devils summoning’ is a description of evil politicians conscripting ‘children’, a symbol of innocence, to die in ‘their’ battlefield. The word ‘their’ puts emphasis on how the war is not of ordinary people’s choosing, but rather, is the result of a selfish group of individuals. ‘Devils summoning’ is yet another wordplay; normally, it is magicians that summon devils to work for them. Now the devils are summoning the people as a payback.
The phrase ‘How many deaths must it take' is actually a quote from the song ‘The answer is blowing in the wind’. The gods of destruction refers to those who perpetrated the war and profits from it – politicians, warmongers and arms sellers come to mind.
In the last stanza, ‘tears and ‘blood’, the fruits of tragedy, ‘irrigates the earth’. One final ironic wordplay: in lakeside areas, irrigation is a long-waited for period which brings fertility for the crops. Strong words like ‘dominate’, ‘continuous’ and ‘everlasting’ is used to show the dire, serious and most of all instill upon the reader a permanent sense of the consequences of war. ‘A land forever dead’ both represents the literal land (wars calls for much scorch-earth tactics) and also the lives and hopes of the people living there that were shattered by war.
Group Members
Lionel Goh
Ng Jie Hui
Roy Soon
Song Gil Seob
Wang YiHua
Labels: poetry
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
A Poem {5:06 AM}
Some are born bored, some achieve boredom, and some have boredom thrust upon them. Such is the case when I find myself lying on my bed, waiting for my fever to return. So - what to do, what to do? In my case, write a poem! But since I'm so bedridden, how can I possibly find inspiration for a poem? That's easy - I don't have to.
The following poem is and ode to a scene I witnessed one recess.
Dash of the Sec 2 Cohort
Half a square, half a square
Half a square forward
All in the canteen at Recess
Dashed the two hundred
“Forward, the Sec 2 cohort
Charge for the stalls!” he roared
All in the canteen at Recess
Dashed the two hundred
“Forward the Sec 2 cohort!”
Was there a student bored?
Not though the students knew
Long queues awaited
Theirs not to make reply
Theirs not to question why
Theirs but to queue and buy
Into the canteen at Recess
Dashed the two hundred
Rain to the right of them
Rain to the left of them
Rain in front of them
Showered and splattered
Sprayed at with watery mud
Boldly they out-dashed the flood
Into the canteen’s jaws
Into the Café’s yard
Dashed the two hundred
Flashed all their wallets bare
Flashed as their coins tossed in air
Paying the stall-holders there
Charging a cohort, while
All the school wondered
Plunged into cooking-grease
Right thro’ the line they breezed
Students and teachers
Reeled as though struck by disease
Shuddered and stuttered
Then they queued back, but not
Not the two hundred
Rain to the right of them
Rain to the left of them
Rain behind them
Showered and splattered
Sprayed at with watery mud
They that had dashed so hard
Came thro’ the canteen’s jaws
Back from the Café’s yard
Gourmet two hundred
When will they be civilized, then?
O the wild dash they went!
All the school wondered
Ponder the dash they went
Ponder the Sec 2 band
Peculiar two hundred
And, before you ask: Yes, I
am that bored.
YiHua
Labels: poetry
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Boo Radleys {9:15 PM}
The Boo Radleys were a 90s British band named after, well, Boo Radley! :) Their big hit was a song called "Wake Up, Boo!"
Looking at the lyrics, would you say the song is also about TKAM's Boo Radley? - I don't think it is ... but there are just some elements in the song which make me think about the character for some reason (besides the obvious fact that it has the word "Boo" in the title and lyrics!)
Wake up, Boo!
Summer's gone, day's spent with the grass and sun,
I dont mind, to pretend I do seems really dumb.
I rise as the morning comes, crawling through the blinds,
I shouldn't be up at this time, but I canit sleep with you there by my side.
Wake up, it's a beautiful morning,
Feel the sun shining for your eyes.
Wake up, it's so beautiful,
For what could be the very last time.
Twenty five, don't recall a time I felt this alive,
So wake up, Boo, there're so many things for us to do.
It's early so take your time, don't let me rush you please,
I know I was up all night, I can do anything, anything, anything.
Wake up, it's a beautiful morning,
Feel the sun shining for your eyes.
Wake up, it's so beautiful,
For what could be the very last time.
Wake up (x8)
But you can’t blame me
Not for the death of summer
No, you can’t blame me
Not for the death of summer
But you’re gonna say what you wanna say
You have to put the death in everything
Wake up, it's a beautiful morning,
Feel the sun shining for your eyes.
Wake up, it's so beautiful,
For what could be the very last time.
Wake up, it's a beautiful morning,
Feel the sun shining for your eyes.
Wake up, it's so beautiful,
For what could be the very last time.
riexco2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
One Fine Day {5:58 AM}
A little something I wrote.
p/s Elton. Wat poems??!!
One Fine Day
It was a bright and sunny day. The unblemished Sun peeked through the cotton-fluffy clouds in rays of brilliant golden hues, while the vast azure sky spread across the emerald fields like a benevolent guardian deity. Trees smooth of bark and rich of leaves bloomed tender white flowers, drawing doves the colour of snow to make themselves home upon the branches and sing sweet songs, paying the highest of tributes to the bounty and beauty of Nature.
In short, the day was so happy-happy perfect, it was enough to drive anyone insane.
But then again, I always thought that sanity was for the weak.
I was walking in the park with a girl named Aria. We were doing research for a project, which was something about the friendliness and camaraderie of the locals. It was a Community Get-Together Movement that for some unfathomable reasons parents wanted their children to join. So that was why I was walking about in the park when I could be reading, or playing computer games.
Aria was a girl with the face to launch a thousand ships, it being the approximate size and shape of a French champagne bottle. She was as slender as a twig and has immensely attractive hair. Attractive to earthworms, that is, since it bore the fetching colour of mud.
Enough descriptions already. Time to move on with the story.
In order to immerse ourselves deeper and thus understand to a more profound level the friendliness of the locals, we decided to join in with the proletariats, um, I mean, the Citizens of the Community, bathing in the sunshine. Aria went off in a game of soccer with a group of children about my age whom I did not know, and cared even less, while I sat under a towering tree to meditate. The cheerful, idyllic atmosphere created an ideal environment to harness my karma to its fullest extent, and I did so gladly. Within no time I surrendered to the pulling forces of my self-energy, and fell blissfully into my inner peace.
Aria suddenly and rudely shook me out of my meditation. ‘Wake up,’ she told me. ‘You’re drooling.’ Well. Inner peace, quick nap. What’s the difference?
As Aria was thirsty after her game of soccer, we decided to head to the nearby café, which was, unfortunately, quite a long way away from the park. So we took a short cut instead. Yes, a short cut, through – you guessed it – an old, abandoned alleyway, one of the last that survived the Community’s slum clearance measures. It was a relic from the past, mostly untouched, so that people can gawk at how backward things used to be, and how good things now are.
As it was not a dark and stormy night, and lightning didn’t flash as thunder didn’t roar, we felt moderately secure. So we strolled casually through the alleyway, which was decorated cheerfully with dust and cobwebs. Despite its eye-catching décor, the alleyway was still bustling with activity: various tribes of mold and fungus battled keenly for the walls while senates of rats held discussion in their forums. Occasionally, a rat would be tossed off their version of the Tarpeian Rock (it was a drain pipe) and its body would then be carried off by a legion of ants using tiny, rolling toothpicks. I had the sudden feeling that I was walking into an entirely different world, one that was not human, but was nevertheless as multifaceted and intricate as our own.
Just when I was thinking such deep and weighty thoughts, I suddenly had the unexpected feeling that I was being watched. Evidently, Aria must have felt it too, because when I quickened my footsteps, she followed me without asking. But however fast I walked, the malevolent feel of watching eyes behind my back grew stronger, not weaker, with every step.
Without warning I felt a cold, sharp thing pressed against my nape. I started, and saw Aria turn, look at me, her eyes widening with shock. Suddenly a frightening thought dawned upon me.
‘Don’t tell me,’ I thought with uncomprehending horror, ‘don’t tell me that this is another one of those cheesy, mass produced and clichéd piece of rubbish wherein I would be ambushed by a vile robber, fought against the villain bravely and finally triumphing against all odds? Oh no, this is too awful to contemplate!’
Sure enough, the vile robber started talking.
‘Drop…drop all your va…valuables.’ Here, after this long and complex speech, the voice broke into a respite of uncontrollable coughing. ‘If your friend…runs, you die.’ I almost pitied the poor sod, hearing that terrible wheezing.
However, in spite of the villain’s awe-inspiring respiratory system, there was still an inconvenient piece of metal pressed against my throat that I had to consider.
I’d very much liked to say that, at this point of the story’s climax, what followed after the speech was pregnant with suspense. In fact, I would love to say that I was battling with my conscience, and, finally, without the slightest regard for personal safety, leaping valiantly at the robber in my selfless desire to protect Aria. I’d absolutely loved to say that.
I dropped my wallet, handphone and pointed to Aria. ‘She’s the rich one,’ I told my unseen acquaintance. ‘Thirty-first Maple Street, condominium. Big and very nice; you can’t miss it.’
‘My knight in shining armor,’ Aria muttered sourly.
‘Pardon? What did you say just now? I didn’t hear,’ I replied, listening to the faint sound of scrabbling as the unknown person picked up my belongings.
The sound of scrabbling stopped. The cold metal was lifted off my neck. I heard footsteps shuffling from me towards Aria.
‘Drop…drop all your va…valuables.’ The voice repeated, this time to Aria. ‘If your friend…’
Before the robber could finish the speech, I took off immediately, running as fast as I could. Behind me I heard a thump, a shout, and then the sound of a body falling onto the wet pavement. I ran on faster.
After that I heard a shout: ‘Oi, Mr Valiant, it’s okay now! The bandit’s down!’
I turned back and, to my disbelief, I saw Aria standing triumphant over the robber. The robber was knocked out cold before she could utilize her weapon, as a result to Aria’s fortunate skill in martial arts. But as I looked at the robber that Aria took out, I felt my delight slipping away. Our vile villain was no more than an old woman, rheumy of eyes and stick thin, pathetically scrawny in the torn rags that she wore for clothes. One of her hand clutched a tin opener while the other held my belongings in what I strongly suspected to be a begging bowl.
Later, after she was carted off to jail, I found out that she had originally come from a lower-middle class family. Her son, grown from dubious education without even graduating from secondary school, got addicted to drugs, and then, when he was caught by the authorities, was sentenced to life in prison. Harsh, but there you go; it’s all for the greater good.
Too old for jobs when the tragedy happened, the old woman took to begging in the streets, and when even that was prohibited, she had to resort to violent robbery as the only way to survive. As far as I had heard, this was her first and most probably last time.
These we compiled together as our project, but after we sent it to the Community Panel for a Project Overall Review, our hard work was barred from entering the competition on the grounds of ‘incongruous information.’
Humph. I know there should be a moral hidden in here, somewhere, but for the life of me I just can’t figure out what it was.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
{5:41 AM}
Sorry, forgot to post it,
Poem {5:36 AM}
Eton here. These are some poems i wrote last year, hope that you find them good:
Where is the love? {4:31 AM}
Hi guys, this is Zhi Yuan here. I went to search up for the lyrics of the song "Where is the love", by Black Eyed Peas , which we heard in class today.
Where is the loveWhat's wrong with the world mama?
People living like aint got no mamas
I think the whole worlds addicted to the drama
Only attracted to the things that bring you trauma
Overseas yeah we tryin to stop terrorism
But we still got terrorists here livin
In the USA the big CIA the Bloodz and the Crips and the KKK
But if you only have love for your own race
Then you only leave space to discriminate
And to discriminate only generates hate
And if you hatin you're bound to get irate
Yeah madness is what you demonstrate
And that's exactly how anger works and operates
You gotta have love just to set it straight
Take control of your mind and meditate
Let your soul gravitate to the love y'all
People killing people dying
Children hurtin you hear them crying
Can you practice what you preach
Would you turn the other cheek?
Father Father Father help us
Send some guidance from above
Cause people got me got me questioning
Where is the love?(where is the lovex3)(the love2x)
It just ain't the same all ways have changed
New days are strange is the world the insane?
If love and peace so strong
Why are there pieces of love that don't belong
Nations dropping bombs
Chemical gases filling lungs of little ones
With ongoing suffering
As the youth die young
So ask yourself is the loving really strong?
So I can ask myself really what is going wrong
With this world that we living in
People keep on giving in
Makin wrong decisions
Only visions of them livin and
Not respecting each other
Deny thy brother
The wars' going on but the reasons' undercover
The truth is kept secret
Swept under the rug
If you never know truth
Then you never know love
Where's the love y'all?(I don't know)
Where's the truth y'all?(I don't know)
Where's the love y'all?
People killing people dying
Children hurtin you hear them crying
Can practice what you preach
Would you turn the other cheek?
Father father father help us
Send some guidance from above
Cause people got me got me questioning
Where is the love?(where is the lovex3)(the lovex2)
I feel the weight of the world on my shoulder
As I'm getting older y'all people get colder
Most of us only care about money makin
Selfishness got us followin the wrong direction
Wrong information always shown by the media
Negative images is the main criteria
Infecting their young minds faster than bacteria
Kids wanna act like what the see in the cinema
Whatever happened to the values of humanity
Whatever happened to the fairness and equality
Instead of spreading love, we're spreading anomosity
Lack of understanding, leading us away from unity
That's the reason why sometimes I'm feeling under
That's the reason why sometimes I'm feeling down
It's no wonder why sometimes I'm feeling under
I gotta keep my faith alive, until love is found
People killing people dying
Children hurtin you hear them crying
Can you practice what you preach
Would you turn the other cheek?
Father Father Father help us
Send some guidance from above
Cause people got me got me questioning
Where is the love?(fade)
I personally feel that this poem ties in well with the topic of discrimination which we are currently discussing, while going through the novel, To Kill A Mockingbird. I posted the lyrics here because I felt that the song itself can actually count as a poem. The lyrics are quite catchy and there are many rhyming words at the end of each line. It's really a good song. Here's the video.
