2015-16
SECONDA PROVA
2015(da pag 14 a pag 25)
2014 (da pag.6 a pag. 9)
"She Walks in Beauty" Lord Byron
She Walks in Beauty
By Lord Byron (1788-1824) Text
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light 5
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face; 10
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 15
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
.
http://www.cummingsstudyguides.net/Guides5/SheWalks.html2015(da pag 14 a pag 25)
2014 (da pag.6 a pag. 9)
"She Walks in Beauty" Lord Byron
She Walks in Beauty
By Lord Byron (1788-1824) Text
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light 5
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face; 10
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 15
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
.
http://www.live.bbc.co.uk/learningenglish/english/features/lingohack
Hannah Arendt
The Woman Who Saw Banality in Evil
VIRGINIA WOOLF
On the 28th March, 1941, aged fifty-nine, she drowned herself in the river Ouse, near her Sussex home. Two suicide notes were found in the house, similar in content; one may have been written ten days earlier, and it is possible that she may have made an unsuccessful attempt then, for she returned from a walk soaking wet, saying that she had fallen. They were addressed to her sister Vanessa and to her husband Leonard. To him, she wrote:
'Dearest, I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that - everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer.
I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been.
If you want to go on click: http://www.malcolmingram.com/suicide.htm
If you need a summary of V. Woolf http://classiclit.about.com/cs/profileswriters/p/aa_vwoolf.htm
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Eveline (J.Joyce)
SHE sat at the window watching the evening invade the avenue. Her head was leaned against the window curtains and in her nostrils was the odour of dusty cretonne. She was tired. Few people passed. The man out of the last house passed on his way home; she heard his footsteps clacking along the concrete pavement and afterwards crunching on the cinder path before the new red houses. One time there used to be a field there in which they used to play every evening with other people's children. Then a man from Belfast bought the field and built houses in it -- not like their little brown houses but bright brick houses with shining roofs. The children of the avenue used to play together in that field -- the Devines, the Waters, the Dunns, little Keogh the cripple, she and her brothers and sisters. Ernest, however, never played: he was too grown up. Her father used often to hunt them in out of the field with his blackthorn stick; but usually little Keogh used to keep nix and call out when he saw her father coming. Still they seemed to have been rather happy then. Her father was not so bad then; and besides, her mother was alive. That was a long time ago; she and her brothers and sisters were all grown up her mother was dead. Tizzie Dunn was dead, too, and the Waters had gone back to England. Everything changes. Now she was going to go away like the others, to leave her home. Home! She looked round the room, reviewing all its familiar objects which she had dusted once a week for so many years, wondering where on earth all the dust came from. Perhaps she would never see again those familiar objects from which she had never dreamed of being divided. And yet during all those years she had never found out the name of the priest whose yellowing photograph hung on the wall above the broken harmonium beside the coloured print of the promises made to Blessed Margaret Mary Alacoque. He had been a school friend of her father. Whenever he showed the photograph to a visitor her father used to pass it with a casual word: "He is in Melbourne now." (....)
A bell clanged upon her heart. She felt him seize her hand: "Come!"
All the seas of the world tumbled about her heart. He was drawing her into them: he would drown her. She gripped with both hands at the iron railing. "Come!"
No! No! No! It was impossible. Her hands clutched the iron in frenzy. Amid the seas she sent a cry of anguish.
"Eveline! Evvy!"
He rushed beyond the barrier and called to her to follow. He was shouted at to go on but he still called to her. She set her white face to him, passive, like a helpless animal. Her eyes gave him no sign of love or farewell or recognition.
Sedeva alla finestra osservando la sera invadere il viale. Teneva la testa appoggiata alle tende e nelle narici aveva l'odore della cretonne polverosa. Era stanca. Passava poca gente. L'uomo dell'ultima casa passò diretto ad essa; ne udì i passi risonare secchi sul marciapiede di calcestruzzo e dopo scricchiolare sul sentiero di scorie davanti alle nuove case rosse. Un tempo lì c'era stato un campo dove giocavano tutte le sere con i figli dell'altra gente. Poi uno di Belfast aveva comprato il campo e vi aveva costruito case, non come le loro piccole e scure, ma case chiare di mattoni con tetti lucenti. I bambini del viale giocavano insieme in quel campo: i Devines, i Waters, i Dunns, il piccolo Keogh lo storpio, lei e i suoi fratelli e sorelle. Ernest, però, non giocava mai: era troppo grande. Suo padre spesso andava a stanarli fuori del campo con il bastone di rovo; ma di solito il piccolo Keogh faceva la guardia e gridava quando vedeva suo padre venire. Pure sembravano essere stati abbastanza felici allora. Suo padre non era così malridotto; e per di più sua madre era viva. Era tanto tempo fa; lei e i suoi fratelli e sorelle erano tutti cresciuti, sua madre era morta. Anche Tizzie Dunn era morta e i Waters erano tornati in Inghilterra. Tutto cambia. Adesso stava per andare via come gli altri, per lasciare la sua casa. Casa! Guardò in giro per la stanza, passando in rivista tutti gli oggetti familiari che aveva spolverato una volta alla settimana per tanti anni, domandandosi da dove mai venisse tutta quella polvere. Forse non avrebbe mai rivisto gli oggetti familiari dai quali non aveva mai immaginato di venire separata. Eppure durante tutti quegli anni non aveva mai scoperto il nome del prete la cui fotografia ingiallita era appesa al muro, sopra l'armonium rotto, accanto alla stampa colorata delle promesse fatte alla beata Margaret Mary Alacoque. Era stato un amico di scuola di suo padre. Ogni volta che mostrava la fotografia a un ospite suo padre vi accennava di sfuggita con le parole: "È a Melbourne adesso". (...) Una campana le squillò sul cuore. Lo sentì afferrarle la mano: "Vieni!." Tutti i mari del mondo le si rovesciarono intorno al cuore. La stava attirando dentro di essi: l'avrebbe affogata. Si aggrappò con entrambe le mani alla ringhiera di ferro. "Vieni!" No! No! No! Era impossibile. Le mani strinsero convulse e frenetiche il ferro. Lanciò in mezzo ai mari un grido di tormento. "Eveline! Evvy!" Lui si precipitò oltre la barriera e le gridò di seguirlo. Gli urlarono di andare avanti, ma la chiamava ancora. Fissò su di lui il viso bianco, passivo, da animale indifeso. I suoi occhi non gli dettero nessun segno di amore o di addio o di riconoscimento.
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http://www.classtools.net/widgets/diamond9_4/1fqeV.htm
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Oscar Wilde
More PowerPoint presentations from lowrence
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The Picture of Dorian Gray
http://ercoleguidi.altervista.org/wilde/dg_preface.htm testo con traduzione
How does the Preface function as an introduction to the ideas contained in DG?
Think about the ways in which this is a narrative of a fall from innocence.
Write down a few key aphorisms from the text. Why do they strike you so strongly? Look for examples of contradiction and paradox
Is this a text with a moral? If so, how does that reflect on Wilde's assertion in the preface that literature is neither moral or immoral?
Consider the narrative in light of the following myths: the fall and expulsion from Eden; Narcissus; Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
Where do you see implicit references to homosexuality contained in the text?
What is the relationship between Art and Life put forth by this novel?
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Victorian Age
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Crime and Punishment in the UK in the 19th Century
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THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER
Ancient Mariner Presentation from K3vinD WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Click here for larger version
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