(October 7, 2010 at 2:40 pm)thesummerqueen Wrote: It was an IB class, not AP, and therein lay the difference I think. IB seemed to be a little more all-encompassing with its subject matter.
Hmm, I'm not familiar with IB classes. Is that like something similar to AP but with a broader scope?
(October 7, 2010 at 2:40 pm)thesummerqueen Wrote: This was up in Northern VA, at one of "Time Magazine's Schools of the Year" (the only good thing about Stonewall Jackson High in Manassas was that it sported the same colors as the Redskins),
And that it's named for one hell of a general.
(October 7, 2010 at 2:40 pm)thesummerqueen Wrote: We studied several of Eliot's poems, but started with Prufrock, and...well...love at first read. That particular one's been a mixed bag of comfort, solace, and inspiration.
Yeah all it took was one read for me to ... and those words pretty well describe my feelings as well. I had a good gut-turning, draw-dropping moment that only literature provides upon reading the last few stanzas for the first time in that Poetry 101 course.
Our Daily Train blog at jeremystyron.com
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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. — T.S. Eliot
"... man always has to decide for himself in the darkness, that he must want beyond what he knows. ..." — Simone de Beauvoir
"As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself—so like a brother, really—I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again." — Albert Camus, "The Stranger"
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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. — T.S. Eliot
"... man always has to decide for himself in the darkness, that he must want beyond what he knows. ..." — Simone de Beauvoir
"As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself—so like a brother, really—I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again." — Albert Camus, "The Stranger"
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