As part of their coursework, my year 10s are currently writing a comparative essay on two, Pre-1914, Love poems. The poems they have the good fortune to be scrutinising are ‘Porphyria’s Lover’, by Robert Browning and ‘La Belle Dame Sans Merci’, by John Keats. While going through the plan for this essay, I asked one pupil what he thought the situation was at the beginning of the Keats poem. The boy responded along these lines: “He’s drinking alone in the pub and he wants to know what kind of beer they have.” For those of you unfamiliar with Romantic ballads, here are the opening lines of ‘La Belle Dame Sans Merci.’
“Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?”
When I questioned the lad further as to his reasoning, he illuminated by way of the following: “Well, he’s at the pub, yeah, The Knight’s Arms, alone, and he wants to know what kind of ale they have.” This is at the essay planning stage. They have already been through the poems. At least he got the alone part right. You have to focus on what they know and build from that. That is what I tell myself.
On the way back to my house this evening, I purchased some groceries. Since I had procured enough Diet Coke to kill, or at least maim, a donkey, I utilized a taxi instead of undertaking the two-minute walk back to my place of residence. (I was tired and cold!) The taxi driver, upon arrival at my domicile, declared that the remuneration he required for the use of his carriage was “a couple of quid, love.” I, no doubt distracted by the remnants of the previous day’s victuals lodged in his whiskers, answered “I’m sorry, did you say that was two pounds?” The driver responded by thrusting his nose into the air, presumably in an attempt to imitate the upper-classes, and stating, in an affected tone, that “Two Poy-unds would be just charming.” Then, resuming his prior, vulgar intonation, he continued “Well, love, that’s a coupla quid in normal peoples’ language.” As those who are acquainted with me will no doubt vouch, I am not aristocratic, especially in respect to my accent. I alighted, not a little perplexed and considerably taken-aback.
“Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?”
When I questioned the lad further as to his reasoning, he illuminated by way of the following: “Well, he’s at the pub, yeah, The Knight’s Arms, alone, and he wants to know what kind of ale they have.” This is at the essay planning stage. They have already been through the poems. At least he got the alone part right. You have to focus on what they know and build from that. That is what I tell myself.
On the way back to my house this evening, I purchased some groceries. Since I had procured enough Diet Coke to kill, or at least maim, a donkey, I utilized a taxi instead of undertaking the two-minute walk back to my place of residence. (I was tired and cold!) The taxi driver, upon arrival at my domicile, declared that the remuneration he required for the use of his carriage was “a couple of quid, love.” I, no doubt distracted by the remnants of the previous day’s victuals lodged in his whiskers, answered “I’m sorry, did you say that was two pounds?” The driver responded by thrusting his nose into the air, presumably in an attempt to imitate the upper-classes, and stating, in an affected tone, that “Two Poy-unds would be just charming.” Then, resuming his prior, vulgar intonation, he continued “Well, love, that’s a coupla quid in normal peoples’ language.” As those who are acquainted with me will no doubt vouch, I am not aristocratic, especially in respect to my accent. I alighted, not a little perplexed and considerably taken-aback.
posted by Danielle @ 8:54 pm
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