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Friday, May 28, 2010

A Short Story: "Do You Speak English ?" by Simon Collings


Transparent discrepancies among the masses could be interpreted as : different languages equals different cultures, equals different perceptions. It’s these differences that benefits some and awes others. "Do you Speak English ?" is a short story about a young [presumably Latino]  boy from a piteous background who resorts to fishing as a means of making money, and whose actions eventually offend a passerby who happens to be an American tourist. 

      The story ,as a whole, is narrated from the perspective of Manuel, who is aware of the problems of the boy as he himself struggles with the sheer amount of issues of his own.
As the story unfolds, he watches the deception done by a young boy who takes advantage of the emotion of a tourist and ends up being paid for something he would not accomplish, and certainly does not merit.

      Throughout the tale, you are constantly fed by the notion of inevitable divergence as a result of varied background most of which are rooted in financial matters.
 

      The kind of departures that are only grasped thoroughly , within the concept of tourist gone appalled.
  
      The reader towards the closing of the story is obliged to ask themselves the authenticity of such significant diversity of opinions and philosophies in the real world caused by such fiddling, run-of-the-mill materialistic matters. 

      To put in a nut shell , "Do You Speak English ?" is all about differences.
 
You can read this brief story (4 pages long) here.    

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Longing to Return Home



By Mrs. Ella Goodwin, and Emilie Autumn


I'm homesick to-night, just homesick,
  O! how I long once more
Just to sit as of old in the twilight
    On the step of the old kitchen door
And watch the meek cows in the farmyard,
    And the colts in their frolicksome play
Or standing contentedly nibbling
    At the stacks of the sweet clover hay. 







In times of warmth when love and comfort dear
Have cast their blindless light upon my star,
How is it that I wish to disappear
And find myself again back where you are?
Is it that home is only home with you?
And how then did you earn your house that name
When judged by years it’s relatively new?
My home is not my home here just the same.
And so I will be happy as I must
Although without you sugar tastes as dust.


What sweetened torture I endure each day
When hour after hour passes by
And still I feel so very far away
From that which I desire - yes, thee and I
Yet rosey is my sadness, for ere now,
I never had pined after someone’s touch
Nor eyes, nor lips, nor hands, nor raven brow
And here I am missing almost too much.
My paradox is that I weep at this
While being glad I have a love to miss.


Heartsick I have been this long, long day
Heavy is my disposition, yet
I smile and try my best to hide away
The pain, the life, the love I can’t forget
Sorry am I for the ones I fool
They ask for nothing save my company
And yet I cannot seem to break the rule
That sayeth once I love twice bound I’ll be
Alas, I often slip and to them show
That far away my heart desires to go.




  I'm homesick to-night, oh so homesick, 
    Just to be there once more,
And stand where the golden sunshine
    Falleth across the floor;
Or to sit by the open window
    Where the breeze blows happy and free__
There isn't one spot in the old home
    But brings some tender mem'ry to me.

It seems only a moment past
I listened to the dulcet tone
Of thy too far off voice at last
But now I find myself alone
Yet, my eyes closed, I am not so
For underneath my fingertips
I feel your flesh, caressing slow,
And hold thy tongue between my lips
Past caring how forlorn it seems
I’ll sleep to meet you in my dreams.





 
























I'm homesick to-night, O how homesick,
    Never my tongue may tell,
Tho' my heart may break with longing
    For the scenes that I love so well;
But the dear old home in the valley
    Will be mine, O never again:
No more will its sunshine cheer me,
    And wishes and tears are in vain. .



A cold wind ravages my mind
As though I were a blade of grass
Which, rained upon, has been made blind
And waits now for the storm to pass
But, strange, the closer cometh I
To travel’s end and your embrace
The darker seems to go the sky
The further off seemeth your face
‘Tis trying, when in pain, to rhyme
‘Tis harder still to measure Time.