Compilation in English 013An Introduction to Literature

(Short Story, Poetry and Essay)

Submitted by:

Lato, Hendrix Gil Berdin BS- Architecture 03/ R1

Submitted to: Mrs. Rosemarie Ibona Instructor

MOONLIGHTBy: Guy de Maupassant

(France)

His warlike name well suited the Abbe Marignan. He was tall, thin priest, full of zeal, and his soul always exalted but just. All his beliefs were fixed; they never wavered. He sincerely believed that he understood his God, entered into His plans, His wishes, His intentions.

As he strode down the aisle of his little country church, sometimes a question would take shape on his mind: “Now why has God done that?” He spoke the answer stubbornly, putting himself in God’s place, and he always nearly found it. He was not one of those who murmur with an air of pious humility. “O Lord, your designs are impenetrable!” He would say to himself, “I am the servant of God, I should know His purposes, and if I don’t know them I should divine them.”

Everything in nature seemed to him created with an absolute and admirable logic. The “why” and the “because” always balanced out. Dawns existed to make waking up a pleasure, days to ripen the crops, rain to water them; evening to prepare for slumber, and the night was dark for sleeping.

The four seasons were perfectly fitted to all the needs of agriculture; and it would never have occurred to the priest to suspect that nature has no intentions of at all, and that, on the contrary, every living thing has bowed to the hard necessities of times, climates, and matter itself.

But he hated women; he hated them unconsciously and despised them in instinct. He often repeated the words of Christ: “Woman, what have I do with thee?” and he added, “You’d think that not even God himself was happy with that particular piece of work.” Woman for him was precisely that child twelve times unclean of whom the poet speaks. She was the temptress who has ensnared the first man and who still continued her damnable work –a weak creature, dangerous, curiously disturbing. And even more than devilish body he hated her loving soul.

He had often felt that yearning affection of women, and, even if he knew himself invulnerable, he was exasperated by this need to love which always trembled them.

God, in his opinion, had made woman only to tempt man and test him. Thus man should approach her with great care, ever fearful of traps. She was, in fact, even shaped like a trap, with her arms extended and her lips parted from man.

He was indulgent only of nuns, made inoffensively by their vows; and he treated even them severely, because he felt stirring in the depths of their fettered hearts – hearts so humbled – that eternal yearning which still sought him out, even though he was a priest.

He felt it in their gaze – more steeped in piety than that of monks – in their religious ecstasy tainted with sex, in their transports of love for Christ, which infuriated him because it was woman’s love, fleshly love. He felt it – this wicked yearning – even in their docility, in the sweetness of their voices in talking to him, in their lowered eyes and their submissive tears when he rebuffed them rudely.

And he shook his out his soutane on leaving the gates of a convent and strode quickly away as though fleeing from danger.

He had a niece who lived with her mother in a little house nearby. He was determined to make her a Sister of Charity.

She was pretty, light- headed, and impish. When the Abbe preached, she laughed: and when he got angry at her she kissed him eagerly, clasping him to her heart while he tried instinctively to escape this embrace which nevertheless gave a taste of sweet happiness, waking the deep within him those paternal impulses which slumber in every man.

Often he spoke to her of God – of his God – while walking beside her along country lanes. She scarcely listened but looked at the sky, the grass, the flowers, with the lively joy which showed in her eyes. Sometimes, she leaped to catch some flying thing and brought it back to him, crying: “Look, uncle, how pretty it is. I want to pet it.”

And in this impulse to “pet bugs” or nuzzle lilac blossom disturbed, annoyed, sickened the priest, who discerned in it that ineradicable yearning which always springs up in the middle of a female heart. Then, it happened that one day, the sacristan’s wife, who kept house for the Abbe Marignan, cautiously told him that his niece had a lover. The news shocked him terribly and he stopped, choking with is face full of soap, for he was busy shaving.

When he recovered so that he could think and speak, he shouted: “It is not true, you are lying, Melanie!” But the good woman put her hand in her heart: “May the Lord God strikes me dead if I’m lying, M. le Cure. She goes out there every night I tell you, as soon as your sister’s in bed. They meet down by the river. You’ve only to go and watch them between ten and midnight.”

He stooped scraping his chin and started walking up and down violently, as always he did in is hours of solemn meditation. He tried to finish shaving the cut three times between the nose and the ear.

All day he was silenced, swollen with indignation and rage. To his fury, as a priest, confronted by love, the invincible, was added the exasperation of a strict father, of a guardian, of a confessor fooled, cheated, tricked by a child. He shared that self-centered feeling of suffocation experienced by parents whose daughter tells them she has – without them and despite them – chosen a husband.

After dinner he tried to read a bit, but he could not get into it. He got more and more exasperated. When ten o’ clock struck, he took down his walking stick, a formidable oaken cudgel he always used when making evening rounds to visit the sick. And he smiled as he looked at his big club, whirling it about fiercely in his great countryman’s fist. Then, suddenly, raised it and, gritting his teeth, brought it down on a chair, knocking its splintered back to the floor.

He opened the door to go out, but stopped on the still, surprised by a splendor of moonlight such as he had rarely seen.

And, endowed as he was with an exalted spirit – such as those poetical dreamers the Fathers of the Church might had – he was immediately distracted , moved by the glorious and serene beauty of the pale night.

In his little garden, all bathed in soft light, the ordered ranks and of his fruit trees traced on the path the shadows of their slender limbs, lightly veiled with foliage, while the giant honeysuckle, clinging to the wall of the house, exhaled a delicious, sugary breath and floated through the calm air like a ghostly perfume.

He began to breathe deeply, drinking the air as a drunkard drinks wine, and he took a few slow, dreaming, wondering steps, almost forgetting his niece.

When he reached the open country, he stopped to contemplate the fields all flooded with tender light, bathed in delicate and languid charm that calm nights have. Incessantly, the frogs gave out their short metallic note, and the distant nightingales, inspiring dream not thought, blended their unstrung tune – a rapid throbbing music made for kisses – with the enchantment of the moonlight.

The Abbe pressed on, losing heart, though he could not tell why. He felt feeble, suddenly drained; he wanted to sit down, to stay there, to contemplate, to admire God in His handiwork.

Below, following the undulations of the little river, a tall line of poplars wound like snakes, a fine mist, a white vapor which the moonbeams pierced and turned to glowing silver, hung around and above the banks wrapping the whole tortuous watercourse in a sort of delicate and transparent gauze.

The priest halted, struck to the depths of his soul by an irresistible wave of yearning. And a doubt, a vague disturbance, came over him. He sensed within himself another of those questions he sometimes posed.

Why had God done this? Since the night is intended for sleep, charming than the day, sweeter than dawn and evening? And why this slow and seductive moon, which is more poetic than the sun and seems intended its very delicacy to illumine things too fragile and mysterious for daylight, why should it come to make the shadows so transparent?

Why should the loveliest of songbirds not go to sleep with the others but linger on to sing in the disturbing shade? Why is this half- veil thrown over the world? Why this thrill in the heart, this stirring of the soul, this languor of the flesh?

Why does this display of delights men never see, since they are asleep in their beds? For who was it intended, this sublime spectacle, this flood of poetry poured from the sky over the earth?

And the Abbe found no answer. But then, down below, on the edge of the fields, under the vault of trees drenched in glowing mist, two

shadows appeared, walking side by side. The man was taller and held the neck of his lover and sometimes kissed her forehead. Their sudden

appearance brought the still countryside to life, and it enfolded the young lovers like a setting divinely made for them. They seemed, the pair, a single being, the being for whom the this calm and silent bight was intended, and they moved toward the priest like living answer, the answer to his question, flung back by his Master.

He stood still, his heart pounding in confusion, and he felt as if he were looking at a biblical scene, like the love of Ruth and Boaz, like the accomplishment of the will of God as presented in one of the great scenes of Holy Scriptures. In his head echoed verses of the Song of Songs, the passionate cries, the calls of the flesh, all the ardent poetry of this poem that settles with passionate yearning.

And he said to himself: “Perhaps God had made such nights to veil the loves of men with ideal beauty.”He recoiled before the couple who kept walking arm in arm. It was certainly his niece. But he asked

himself now if he was not on the verge of disobeying God. Must not God permit love since he lavished upon it such visible splendor?

And he fled, distraught, almost ashamed, as if he had entered a temple where he had no right to be.

THE LITTLE INCIDENTBy: Lu Hsun

(China)

This is a very short story, but you will find that it is full of meaning. It is particularly relevant to us in Singapore at a time when we are eager to become courteous, considerate and caring people instead of being selfish and thoughtless. This story was set in China more than 50 years ago, but the message it carries is relevant for all times. An educated young man from the upper social class learns a valuable lesson in human caring from a simple rickshaw man.

Six years have slipped by since I came from the country to the capital. During that time I have seen and heard quite enough of so-called affairs of state; but none of them made much impression on me. If asked to define their influence, I can only say they aggravated my ill temper and made me, frankly speaking, more and more cynical.One incident, however, struck me as significant, and aroused me from my ill temper, so that even now I cannot forget it.

It happened during the winter of 1917. A bitter north wind was blowing, but, to make a living, I had to be up and out early. I met scarcely a soul on the road, and had great difficulty in hiring a rickshaw to take me to the South Gate. Presently the wind dropped a little. By now the loose dust had all been blown away, leaving the roadway clean, and the rickshaw man quickened his pace. We were just approaching the South Gate when someone crossing the road was entangled in our rickshaw and fell slowly to the ground.

It was a woman, with streaks of white in her hair, wearing ragged clothes. She had left the pavement without warning to cut across in front of us, and although the rickshaw man had made way, her tattered jacket, unbuttoned and fluttering in the wind, had caught on the shaft. Luckily the rickshaw man pulled up quickly, otherwise she would certainly have had a bad fall and been seriously injured.

She lay there on the ground, and the rickshaw man immediately went to her aid. I did not think the old woman was hurt, and there had been no witnesses to what had happened, so I resented this over-eagerness of the rickshaw man which might land him in trouble and hold me up.

"It's alright," I said. "Go on."

However, he paid no attention - perhaps he had not heard - for he set down the shafts, and gently helped the old woman to get up. Supporting her by one arm, he asked:

"Are you all right?"

"I'm hurt."

I had seen how slowly she fell, and was sure she could not be hurt. I thought she must bepretending, which was disgusting. The rickshaw man had asked for trouble, and now he had it. He would have to find his own way out.

But the rickshaw man did not hesitate for a minute after the old woman said she was injured. Still holding her arm, he helped her slowly forward. I was surprised. When I looked ahead, I saw a police station. Because of the high wind, there was no one outside, so the rickshaw man helped the old woman towards the gate.

Suddenly I had a strange feeling. His dusty, retreating figure seemed larger at that instant. Indeed, the further he walked the larger he appeared, until I had to look up to him. At the same time he seemed gradually to be exerting a pressure on me, which threatened to overpower the small self under my fur-lined gown.My strength seemed to be draining away as I sat there motionless, my mind a blank, until a policeman came out. Then I got down from the rickshaw.

The policeman came up to me and said, "Get another rickshaw. He can't pull you anymore."

Without thinking, I pulled a handful of coppers from my coat pocket and handed them to the policeman. "Please give him these," I said.

The wind had dropped completely, but the road was still quiet. I walked along thinking, but I was almost afraid to turn my thoughts on myself. Setting aside what had happened earlier, what had I meant by that handful of coppers? Was it a reward? Who was I to judge the rickshaw man? I could not answer myself.Even now, this remains fresh in my memory. It often causes me distress, and makes me think about myself. The military and political affairs of those years I have forgotten as completely as the classics I read in my childhood. Yet this incident keeps coming back to me, often more clearly than in actual life, teaching me shame, urging me to reform, and giving me fresh courage and hope.

THANK GOD FOR RAINby Michael P. Johnson

(England)

 

From all life’s storms we seek the shadeWe shrink away from pain

Yet from but sun, are deserts madeThank God for precious rain

Without His rain to make it growOur land could yield no crop

Yet still we shun the storms belowAnd seek the mountaintop

Up there we laugh, we’re full of smilesIn joy we sing our song

But in the deep amongst life’s trialsWe don’t feel quite as strong

Yet this is where true strength is foundWhen man is weak and low

It’s there we tread on holy groundIt’s there in Christ we grow

If Godly joy, is strength to allIs weakness then a sin?

Does sorrow bring about our fall? Does Satan’s reign begin?

Too many see in sadness, shame When someone’s life seems down

Do not be quick in Jesus’ nameTo judge another’s frown

Help neighbors climb God’s holy hillHis love to reap and share

Not only is it Heaven’s willBut shows how much we care

Down valleys deep, up mountains highFar best we understand

It may be you, my friend or IWho next may need a hand

Poem Analysis:

The poem is more like of a piece that reflects on the life of people amidst problems and crisis. The author presented in the poem that man himself experiences a lot of things in his or her life as human being. By such, he presented that in each one of us, there is an assortment of life – vast and incontainable. We could all encounter different experiences. Sometimes, things would not go as how we wanted it to be. Other times, we may experience life at the top when we experience great joy and positive moments; and also at its lowest point, which we find ourselves on the verge of breakdown and loneliness. Among these, the author’s message was to stress out that it is God in whom we should thank for. For without Him, we would have ended up like a desert unable or rarely to sustain life for others and for itself. Without Him, we would have been lifeless and incapable to live as persons, who feel love, sympathy, pain and sufferings; that we could also experience remorse, joy, agony and frailty. “If life was perfect, we would have not been able to know or acknowledge that there is someone up there watching over us.” He is someone who never fails to remind us that He’s always there to lend a helping hand; the footprints we see in every time we walk on the sands of our lives with burden in our hearts.

In the poem, the author made use of symbolisms which represents the theme of the poem which life as it is – a journey of mixed experience, a colored wheel of experiences and learnings, of God’s providence and love. Such symbolisms were present in the terms used such as “storm” which could mean the problems and sufferings we could meet along our way. Others are the “rain” which could also mean of the visible presence that God has sent or given for us, to see His works of love and compassion. “Shade” which is stated on the first line of the first paragraph might also be translated as the things we seek in times of our pain. That sometimes in turmoil we seek for comfort and refuge, and at times, we tend to run or escape the problems we have.

In the succeeding paragraphs, the poem showed man as a being with strengths and weaknesses. Here, the irony of living was the author’s emphasis. Reinstating such, could be in our present situation that we might seemed to be happy and contented of what we have, but in the truth, were not. We might be someone who had everything we need and want to feel secured, yet still lingering are the fears and worries of being unprepared when tragic events would come. Moreover, an oxymoron about finding strength in times of weakness was also presented in the poem. In it, the teachings of Christ were somehow be related with.

In the later paragraphs, questions were brewed and answers were asked by the author to let his readers think of life as something which we should always rely unto God, that every matter in this world we could find our weakness and be involved with sin and evil. It is also in the succeeding paragraphs that many could relate. Since it stated that we may tend to see sadness as a punishment and an ill-will from the Creator. Then, we end up blaming Him for all the wrongdoings and failures we’ve done for ourselves.

In the last two paragraphs, the author concluded that instead of blaming God for the misfortunes we have because of our own doings, we should somehow see that God isn’t the one who is responsible for what we are experiencing right now. We need to acknowledge that we too have our own part to do. We need to help ourselves and in some way, when we are already able to do so, we can help each other not just for the reasons that we wanted to have no problems, but instead, we care for each others sake as brothers and sisters. In the last lines, the author let his readers see reality – a world of people who would always need each other. We may never realize it, but, we could all be in need.

RIPE PLUMS

From The Book of Songs

(Chinese)

Ripe little plums are dropping,

Now there are only seven.

May a fine lover come for me

Now while there is yet time.

Ripe plums are dropping,

Now there are only three.

May a fine lover come for me

While there is yet time.

Ripe plums are dropping,

I lay them in a shallow basket,

May a fine lover come for me.

Tell me his name.

Poem Analysis:

This poem is a poem of imagery and symbolism. Wherein, much of the story is focused on the author’s desire to meet her soul mate – someone of fine qualities and to whom she could share her life. The imagery used is through a simple setting of a person observing plum fruits being detached from the tree since it time for harvest. In every moment that each of the fruit would fall, the character in the poem would feel that her time must have been slowly passing and leaving her still without finding the love of her life. The setting is more like of an analogy to one’s life our journey in finding love and of fulfillment.

The symbolisms used were the plum fruits falling from the tree. This could signify of the year that has gone by. In the first paragraph, the author might have been just writing such since time always passes by, and that every little thing that happens could herald something new. On the second paragraph, the character might have been becoming worried due to the fact that she might be running out of time in finding her love. The last paragraph as how I see it, is something that tells that the character might still be waiting for her one true love.

In totality, the poem was a message from someone who’ll never cease waiting, either due to fact that people couldn’t move on from their unfixed life business, or because of promises that each one always keep and hopes for. In addition to it, we could somehow reflect to it since waiting for something, or for someone has always been integrated in our daily lives. Much of the things we always hope for like the arrival of our long unseen loved ones, of people meeting after a past they can still grasp, of persons suffering of injustice waiting for being justified, of a woman waiting for the return of his husband from work and vice versa, of a housemother waiting for her children to arrive from school, for someone in search for love, of work and many others. Much could really be said about waiting, these people who are waiting. Though times may tend to lengthen the wait, generating impatience and worries, still the promise that one day, one could somehow see, meet and savor the fruits of patience will linger and that is everyone of us might still do it.

Yet, waiting could vary among people. There are also others who could never wait for too long.

People are people.

LOVE LIKE

By: Hendrix Gil Berdin Lato

Love is like the start of spring,

The season of growing and sprouting.

It gives new color, life, and scent,

To someone who knew no merriment.

It is as hot as the summer season,

And perfect thing to get a lesson.

Heat may cause it to shatter,

Yet none from it could even be better.

It is like that of autumn or fall,

Leaves shedding from a tree so tall.

Everything may seem to die and wither,

But never its essence which lasts forever.

Love is like the cold winter,

The season when we need warmth and cider.

Snow may tend to cover the rest of things,

Still will linger the fire that sings.

It is the same as the moment in time,

Always wanted and sublime.

It is a haven for those who need to stop,

To reflect on things that has always been a flop.

It is like an immaculate cry,

Full of compassion and no traces of lie.

Tears fall, turning into a river of pains,

Melting those hearts where hatred always reigns.

It is like the beginning of life,

Marking the way in the journey of strife.

It is difficult and heavy to bear,

In the end, the rewards would always be fair.

And all the things here in this world,

Nothing exists as great as love.

For it is boundless and bold,

Infinite and white as a dove,

Never ceasing and limitless like air,

Mysterious and bright as a lighted flare.

Poem Analysis:

The poem entitled, “Love Like” is a literary piece defining what love is. The author in his perceptions viewed love as something which is present in every little thing in this world. By such, he used imagery and symbolisms of various things. In addition, he also made the poem to be also an analogy of things that is happening in this world. For this world, aside from being in nature full downfalls and sadness, is also a world of wonderful things, of pure ingenuity. Moreover, the poem is somehow more focused on the positive things that love entails rather than that of a melancholic and sad story of love.

On the first up to the last paragraph, he presented that love is similar to the four seasons – a cycle that never stops, that has no ending. As that of spring, love would always start from its beginning, wherein in a relationship, everything starts from being simple and profound. Synonymous to that of summer, autumn, and winter, it would likely be shaken down to its foundation until it ends. Resulting to this, could be a loss, yet in some way, a learning experience, or either a triumph or victory for those in love. The fifth, sixth and seventh paragraph presented love as what it is from experience –an element for living, for changing people and most especially as a life source for everybody. The last concludes what the author would like to convey to his readers. It is to give stress that love is a unifying force in this world, which could happen to all of us.

We all live because we love.

Short Stories

1. France – “ Moonlight” by Guy de Maupassant

2. China – “ The Little Incident” by Lu Hsun

Poems

1. England – “ Thank God for Rain” by Michael P. Johnson

2. China– “ Ripe Plums” from The Book of Songs, by Anonymous

My English 013 Class

By: Hendrix Gil Berdin Lato

Second semester has long begun. Now fast approaching is its final term, I found myself looking back on the things that happened to me more particularly on the subjects I’m enrolled. I soon noticed that time must have been so quick that even deadlines and final requirements would tend to come quickly. Thus, it is just marking the end of the semester. Hopefully, it would turn out to be fine for me and for the rest of my schoolmates.

It was only six fifty- four on my cell phones clock that I began writing a composition which was given to us by our instructor in Literature. While I was sitting on the first sit of the fourth column in our classroom, I wonder why she gave us this work. But, again, I was the reminded that it is part of our subject. This was made for us to practice using our creativity in writing about things. Anyway, the composition was about the class. Our class which usually starts at six thirty in the evening every Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays, and ends at seven thirty is only comprised of few students. Taking note of our absences, it would really end up of having students which our instructor could only count and recognize for about a minute or even a second only.

Though we’re few, it did make an advantage to the fact that the room was not crowded, and it made us more familiar with one another. I even find it quite fun to think that I really have been given such opportunity to be with those people of varying perceptions in life. It was nice. Moreover, it was also brilliant having our instructor because she was not the old grouchy-type of a teacher, but rather a young and comic one. I would really remember her as someone who I like listening whenever she tells stories and other literary pieces.

Then, I paused. I thought and thought. I reflected on the things that has long been gone and should be cherished. Afterwards, I realized that I’ve been blessed of having been a part of this class. I even think that it was really an enriching experience. With our finals coming only in few days left, I say, “I would really miss the class sessions.” I might as well say that it was something I liked and in a way taught me of something which is very important – that everybody can be creative in his or her own way of thinking. No matter what difference each people have and how contradicting are their perception of things, in something, there is still a commonality in it, because we are taught to think and to respect each others way of thinking.

I even remembered those meetings when we talked of different things, not just about the subject but everything, and it was good hearing my classmates, myself and our instructor talked on such since it still has relevance to Literature and of our daily lives. Such were activities which helped me see that learning is not only confined on the four corners of a classroom. Rather, it also when we’re outside our institutional grounds. I think our class is so far, one of the best classes I had in my college years. It was rather more like a simple brainstorming, conversation of minds and test of creativity among us, students and our instructor.

Our class might have been just like any ordinary classes which are held so as for students to learn. Yet, in another way, it was my outlet. It became a way for me to express myself as someone aspiring to become a writer someday. It is something I deeply value. Even though, it would have to end soon, I wouldn’t be sad at all, because, I had with it the memories I shared with the people I learned a lot from, and it is something worth keeping and remembering.

My English 013 class is a memory and an experience which I will never forget and I would deeply say that I like it. It was not just an ordinary class but also something extra-terrestrial or out of this world.

Essay

1. My English 013 Class

2. View on the Movie entitled, “ TAKEN”

VIEW ON THE MOVIE, “TAKEN”

The movie was about the main character's fatherly love for his daughter. Bryan Mills was a retired agent who's divorced with his wife. In the story,, the reason why retired was because, he wanted to be closer to his daughter named Kim now that they're living separately. At the start, everything went well for the two of them. However, Bryan's world went upside down when Kim was abducted together with her friend Amanda in Paris during their vacation in Paris. The abductors were a woman trafficking Albanian syndicate whose operation was to abduct females and turn them into prostitute or sell them for big amounts of money. Being a retired agent, didn't mean that Bryan had lost his skills. It was the opposite. What he did was to trace everything about the syndicate and saved his daughter. In the end, he succeeded and it did proved how much he cared for his family, especially, Kim.

What I can say is about the movie is that it is awesome. It thrilled me and it excited me especially on the action scenes. I was really amazed of the main character's trait ¬ brave and witty. Behind those mean and strong features he had, a soft, caring and loving father lies within him, and he is always willing to do everything just to make his daughter safe and protected. As for the other characters, which includes his wife and friends, I say they've been one of the elements that made the movie nice. Moreover, the movie had a message to tell us. It is to make us aware of the things which could happen to us. Ergo, it gives an advice to be always cautious and careful in everything that we say. especially to strangers.

In addition, it made me think that there is no one to blame of what had happened in the movie. It is for the reasons that in our world, bad guys really do exist. Which means that it is up to us to prepare ourselves in circumstances when we could encounter those type of people. Moreover, the movie was something that is informative and educational for me, since it also tackled about kidnapping done by syndicates. The worst thing is, even authorities to whom we could put our trust and reliance on wiping out those bad guys, are also involved in this type of transactions and operations. Thus, it also stressed out that in the society nowadays, people even the ones in the position are already corrupted by the disease of greed and personal interests. Sad to say, that all things in this world as what is shown in the movie, is indeed true in some ways.

Yet, though the world has become like this, there is still hope. As what was shown by the main character, there would have been no corruption if all people have been just contented of what they really have. Of not being clouded by the lures of money and evil, but instead of being able to see what really matters most which is family and normal living.