Parents’ Evening by Allan Ahlberg

Parents’ evenings are  parents and teacher meetings. Pupils are also encouraged to attend these meetings. 
We’re waiting in the corridor, 

My dad, my mum and me.
They’re sitting there and talking;
I’m nervous as can be.
I wonder what she’ll tell ’em.
I’ll say I’ve got a pain!
I wish I’d got my spellings right.
I wish I had a brain.

We’re waiting in the corridor,
My husband, son and me.
My son just stands there smiling;
I’m smiling, nervously 
I wonder what she’ll tell us.
I hope it’s not all bad.
He’s such a good boy, really;
But dozy – like his dad.

We’re waiting in the corridor
My wife, my boy and me.
My wife’s as cool as cucumber;
I’m nervous as can be.
I hate these parents’ evenings.
I feel just like a kid again
Who’s gonna get the stick.

I’m waiting in the classroom.
It’s nearly time to start.
I wish there was a way to stop
The pounding in my heart.
The parents in the corridor
Are chatting cheerfully;
And now I’ve got to face them;
And I’m nervous as can be.

 

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Espriu Year ( 1913- 2013)

Poetry is a way of sharing experiences, telling a story or expressing feelings or ideas.

What does the poem suggest to you?

 

[XXX] (De la pell de brau)

Diversos són els homes i diverses les parles,
i han convingut molts noms a un sol amor.

La vella i fràgil plata esdevé tarda
parada en la claror damunt els camps.
La terra, amb paranys de mil fines orelles,
ha captivat els ocells de les cançons de l’aire.

Sí, comprèn-la i fes-la teva, també,
des de les oliveres,
l’alta i senzilla veritat de la presa veu del vent:
“Diverses són les parles i diversos els homes,
i convindran molts noms a un sol amor.”

Salvador Espriu

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Candy Circles

After holidays we are back again!! Welcome to the new school year!!!

I would like to tell you about the names of this  blog. This summer I read The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros, a novel about a young girl growing up in the Latino section of Chicago.

The second vignette  is entitled Hairs, and it is one of my favourites. ‘Candy Circles’ is a metaphor the author uses to describe her mother’s hair. Here you have some lines from this vignette…

Everybody in our family has different hair. My Papa’s hair is like a broom, all up in the air. And me, my hair is lazy. It never obeys barrettes or bands. Carlos’ hair is thick and straight. He doesn’t need to comb it (…). But my mother’s hair, my mother’s hair, like little rosettes, like little candy circles all curly and pretty(…) sweet to put your nose into when she is holding you, holding you and you feel safe, is the warm smell of bread before you bake it, is the smell when she makes room for you on her side of the bed still warm with her skin, and you sleep near her, the rain outside falling and Papa snoring.

 

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