Applied Landscape @beykentunv

Classic Greek Mythology: Aeneid by Virgil

Material for Written Communication Skills 25+26.12.2019

Please print out the following:

1. http://www.lbwcc.edu/Content/Uploads/lbwcc.edu/files/How%20to%20Write%20a%20Letter%20of%20Application.pdf

2.https://www.mcgill.ca/caps/files/caps/guide_cv.pdf

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Applied Linguistics Study Guide for Quiz 2 @beyknetunv

                                                              -Art Season- #istanbulartnews https://ift.tt/2VgfW3q


Please look at following topics: BOTH ARE AT CHAPER 9

Problems in Translations

Speech recognition and Computers

Material for 23.12.2019 American Poetry @halicunv

                                       Elliott Erwitt - The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 1953


In a Station of the Metro 
BY EZRA POUND
The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
Petals on a wet, black bough.


The Return
Ezra Pound - 1885-1972

See, they return; ah, see the tentative
Movements, and the slow feet,         
The trouble in the pace and the uncertain     
Wavering!     

See, they return, one, and by one,             
With fear, as half-awakened;
As if the snow should hesitate         
And murmur in the wind,     
            and half turn back;   
These were the "Wing'd-with-Awe,"       
            inviolable.     

Gods of the wingèd shoe!     
With them the silver hounds,
            sniffing the trace of air!       

Haie! Haie!           
    These were the swift to harry;       
These the keen-scented;       
These were the souls of blood.         

Slow on the leash,     
            pallid the leash-men!


The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
BY T. S. ELIOT
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
               So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
               And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
               And should I then presume?
               And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head
               Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
               That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
               “That is not it at all,
               That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind?   Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Material for Postmodern Lit 24.12.2019

                                                                   Ina Jang


Please Print out the following Postmodern Short Stories:

1. The Rain Horse By Ted Hughes: https://isbyear11.weebly.com/uploads/1/6/2/2/16220402/rain_horse_short_story_ted_hughes.pdf

2. “The Balloon” by Donald Barthelme: https://people.unica.it/fiorenzoiuliano/files/2016/08/The-Balloon-Donald-Barthelme.pdf

3. "An Irritating Letter" by Dino Buzzatti: https://brooklynrail.org/2014/03/fiction/six-pieces-bydino-buzzati

Two Prezi's for Applied Linguistics @beykentunv

Carl Sandburg, Chicago: Poetry Class @halicuni

                                             

Classic Greek Mythology - ACL 109: ADVENTURES OF ODYSSEUS

Material for Writing Skills for 18+19.12.2019 @beykentunv

Pls print out the following material,

1. Writing Effective Reports:
http://www.cih.org/resources/PDF/Membership/Writing%20Reports%20and%20Essays.pdf

2. Writing skills practice: A report – exercises
https://learnenglishteens.britishcouncil.org/sites/teens/files/a_report_-_exercises.pdf

3. Sample research report
https://www.dlsweb.rmit.edu.au/lsu/content/2_AssessmentTasks/assess_tuts/reports_LL/report.pdf

“Odysseus, son of Laertes, the great traveller, prince of wiles and tricks and a thousand ways. He showed me his scars, and in return he let me pretend that I had none.” ― Madeline Miller, Circe

Dear Students,
Please bring your book for Mythology. We are going to have an IL (intensive lecture) !!!
There is no gamification involved, pls be there on time.
best
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“And so it goes...” ― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

                                                                      Styrofoam dancing to sound waves


Dear Students,
Please finish reading Kurt Vonnegut's SLAUGHTERHOUSE-FIVE OR THE CHILDREN'S
CRUSADE. You have to go through chapter 9 and chapter 10. Here is the link for the book:
https://1.cdn.edl.io/jJZ8MGfv4oBSKutXp1GuesT2qKl11qLJv6rDahUp4GW0P24w.pdf

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“I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way.” ― Carl Sandburg

                                                                  “Only”, Steven Schulz (2019)

Fog
BY CARL SANDBURG

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches

and then moves on.


Chicago
BY CARL SANDBURG

Hog Butcher for the World,
   Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
   Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
   Stormy, husky, brawling,
   City of the Big Shoulders:

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
   Bareheaded,
   Shoveling,
   Wrecking,
   Planning,
   Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people,
                   Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.

Grass
BY CARL SANDBURG

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work—
                                          I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
                                          What place is this?
                                          Where are we now?

                                          I am the grass.
                                          Let me work.

Applied Linguistics @beykentunv Dialects-Idiolects

Happy Birthday to Emily Dickinson💜

https://www.joylaforme.com/about

"The love of gardening is a seed once sown, that never dies" - Gertrude Jekyll

While Emily Dickinson is most well known for her poetry today, in her lifetime she was actually better known for her gardening skills and her work as a botanical collector. An expert plant identifier, she compiled an extensive herbarium that experts believe was finished by the time she was 14 years old. Because of this, many scholars are interested to see if there are any connections between her herbarium and her poetry. This is not a far fetched idea, since Dickinson makes many references to plants in her poems. Also, at the time she was writing poetry, she was also taking Botany and Latin classes at Amherst Academy.

for more pls read: https://medium.com/@saracatherineditsworth/emily-dickinson-flowers-and-poetry-b56985a7d772

Discover Emily Dickinson's complete Herbarium: https://iiif.lib.harvard.edu/manifests/view/drs:4184689$1i

Context for American PoetryI: Robert Frost Bio and Selected Poems

ACL 109/ Greek Mythology: THE TROJAN WAR

Material for Written Communication Skills 11-12.12.2019

Please Print Out the following:

1. Critical Analysis Template:
https://www.tru.ca/__shared/assets/Critical_Analysis_Template30565.pdf

2. HOW TO WRITE A CRITICAL ANALYSIS PAPER
https://depts.washington.edu/pswrite/Handouts/CriticalAnalysisPapers.pdf

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American Poetry I: Material for 9.12.2019

                                                                      'Kazakh Winter', Artwork by Aaron Rands

The Road Not Taken 

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.

Fire and Ice 

BY ROBERT FROST

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

BY ROBERT FROST

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

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.

Applied Linguistics: Silicon at Work @beykentunv

Slaughterhouse-Five Official Trailer #1 - Valerie Perrine Movie (1972) HD

“Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

“And so it goes...”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

“How nice -- to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

“And Lot's wife, of course, was told not to look back where all those people and their homes had been. But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human. So she was turned into a pillar of salt. So it goes.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

“I have this disease late at night sometimes, involving alcohol and the telephone.”
― Kurt Vonnegut Jr., Slaughterhouse-Five

“There is no beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at one time.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

“That's one thing Earthlings might learn to do, if they tried hard enough: Ignore the awful times and concentrate on the good ones.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

“She was a dull person, but a sensational invitation to make babies.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

“When everything was beautiful and nothing hurt...”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

“Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

“The champagne was dead. So it goes.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

Quizlet for the Entrance to Classic Greek Mythology @halicunv

Gamificiation (Red/Green) for Poetry @halicunv

ACL 109 Mythology: Four Great Heroes before the Trojan War

Gidecek Bir Yerimiz mi Var? by Bülent Ata

Many thanks to Bülent Ata who found his poem that he wrote for a project years ago and was so kind as to share it with me. It's a poem written for this photo with the topic of migration.