All posts by O.Blagrove

The plague has began; sorry Sethe

The introduction of Beloved was the most pivotal point of this story. Beloved character set the stage for the development of the story in a more in-depth and vivid way:

“A FULLY DRESSED woman walked out of the water. She barely gained the dry bank of the stream before she sat down and leaned against a mulberry tree. All day and all night she sat there, her head resting on the trunk in a position abandoned enough to crack the brim in her straw hat. Everything hurt but her lungs most of all. Sopping wet and breathing shallow she spent those hours trying to negotiate the weight of her eyelids. The day breeze blew her dress dry; the night wind wrinkled it. Nobody saw her emerge or came accidentally by. If they had, chances are they would have hesitated before approaching her. Not because she was wet, or dozing or had what sounded like asthma, but because amid all that she was smiling. It took her the whole of the next morning to lift herself from the ground and make her way through the woods past a giant temple of boxwood to the field and then the yard of the slate-gray house. Exhausted again, she sat down on the first handy place–a stump not far from the steps of 124. By then keeping her eyes open was less of an effort. She could manage it for a full two minutes or more. Her neck, its circumference no wider than a parlor-service saucer, kept bending and her chin brushed the bit of lace edging her dress”.

Beloved existence created new reality for Sethe old forsaken way; but however, Beloved goal was to drain Sethe to her death bed. Sethe should learns to understand to live for now and quit dwelling on the past. Beloved made it obvious that she was total destruction; especially when she complicate the situation more by forcing herself onto Paul D. Paul D became confuse and run away from 124. Furthermore, Denver observed how Beloved change and take over Sethe life,  causing her to loose her wage and becoming whom Beloved look when she first arrived at 124.

Comparison Essay Roughneck- A Rose For Emily

Roughneck that do not care for a SoulA Rose For Emily

WHEN this woman……. Miss Emily Grierson died, her whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant–a combined gardener and cook–had seen in years.
It was a big, frame house that had once been white, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of the seventies, set on what had once been the best street. But due to development of  garages and cotton gins even the august names of that neighborhood have vanished; only her house was left, lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay above the cotton wagons and the gasoline pumps-a degradable sight to see. And now she had gone to join the representatives of those august names where they lay in the cedar-bemused cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson.
Alive, she had been a tradition, a duty, and a care; a sort of hereditary obligation upon the town, dating from that day in 1894 when Colonel Sartoris, the mayor–he who fathered the edict that no Negro woman should appear on the streets without an apron-rid her taxes, the dispensation dating from the death of her father on into perpetuity. Not that she would have accepted charity. Colonel Sartoris invented an involved tale to the effect that Miss Emily’s father had loaned money to the town, which the town, as a matter of business, preferred this way of repaying. Only a man of Colonel Sartoris’ generation and thought could have invented it, and only a woman could have believed it.
The next generation came around, with its more modern ideas, became mayors and aldermen, this arrangement created some little dissatisfaction for Emily. On the first of the year they mailed her a tax notice. February came, and there was no reply. They wrote her a formal letter, asking her to call at the sheriff’s office at her convenience. A week later the mayor wrote her himself, offering to call or to send his car for her, and received in reply a note on paper of an archaic shape, in a thin, flowing calligraphy in faded ink, to the effect that she no longer went out at all. The tax notice was also enclosed, without comment.
They called a special meeting of the Board of Aldermen. A deputation waited upon her, knocked at the door through which no visitor had passed since she ceased giving china-painting lessons eight or ten years earlier. They were admitted by Tobe an old servant into a dim hall from which a stairway mounted into still more shadow. It smelled of dust and disuse–a close, dank smell. Tobe led them into the parlor. It was furnished in heavy, leather-covered furniture. When Tobe opened the blinds of one window, they could see that the leather was cracked; and when they sat down, a faint dust rose sluggishly about their thighs, spinning with slow motes in the single sun-ray. On a tarnished gilt easel before the fireplace stood a crayon portrait of her father.
They rose when she entered–a small, fat woman in black, with a thin gold chain descending to her waist and vanishing into her belt, leaning on an ebony cane with a tarnished gold head. Her skeleton was small and spare; perhaps that was why what would have been merely plumpness in another was obesity in her. She looked bloated, like a body long submerged in motionless water, and of that pallid hue. Her eyes, lost in the fatty ridges of her face, looked like two small pieces of coal pressed into a lump of dough as they moved from one face to another while the visitors stated their errand.
She never offer them to sit. She just stood in the door and listened quietly until the spokesman came to a stumbling halt. Then they could hear the invisible watch ticking at the end of the gold chain.
Her voice was dry and cold. “I have no taxes in Jefferson. Colonel Sartoris explained it to me. Perhaps one of you can gain access to the city records and satisfy yourselves.”
“But we have. We are the city authorities, Miss Emily. Didn’t you get a notice from the sheriff, signed by him?”
“I received a paper, yes,” She said. “Perhaps he considers himself the sheriff . . . I have no taxes in Jefferson.”
“But there is nothing on the books to show that, you see we must go by the–”
“See Colonel Sartoris. I have no taxes in Jefferson.”
“But, Miss Emily–”
“See Colonel Sartoris.” (Colonel Sartoris had been dead almost ten years.) “I have no taxes in Jefferson. Tobe!” Tobe appeared. “Show these gentlemen out.”

Comparison A Rose For Emily The original story

Retelling Comparison “A Rose For Emily”

The original story, A Rose for Emily” = 1st person plural, which transitioned to a 3rd person Omniscient retelling. The writings in the retold piece had very few changes in comparison to the original story. But most importantly the perception varied through intro and remains constant during high facts and important details. The retold gave Miss. Emily the honor she deserves and most of all treated her like the GODLY character she is depicted as by the other members of her town. But the retelling only focused on the first paragraph; the setting events leading to understanding Miss Emily.

The original story was written in a way in which reader must define words to get a clear understanding. From a 3rd person you can easily see the character and understand whom is talking at any given moment based on context. The original story kept Miss Emily life a secret. Miss Emily the main character played a very important role in the story. It may seem as if the story is being told by someone in her vicinity at all-time; yet, never gave any true feeling or show any affection towards Miss Emily. Miss Emily role represent a scroll, special in a way that she must be cared for and treated with sympathy. Readers can easily notice that Emily is a very hard character tot access.

Tobe, her servant created amnesty for us, the readers. I believe Tobe played importantly as a server and has the narrator of this story. The reason for this is because, fourth paragraph he had full access to the room that the Alderman met Emily in. It depicts exactly how she was position and most of all the description of the room setup, including the Alderman. This insight is from someone at the scene that knows how to describe Emily. Paragraph sixth, “they rose when she entered- a small, fat woman in black, with a thin gold chain descending to her waist and vanishing into her belt, leaning on an ebony cane with a tarnished gold head. Her skeleton was small and spare; perhaps that was why what would have been merely plumpness in another was obesity in her”. This description explains a lot about Miss Emily, it may seem as if the narrator was checking her out, when the comparison was made.

The retelling mainly focuses on changing text to acquire the point of view of the writer. The writer narrowly executed this by focusing on the understanding of 3rd person Omniscient. Emily went from being a character of interest, to understanding why she’s the character of interest. Paragraph two, “It was a big, frame house that had once been white, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of the seventies, set on what had once been the best street. But due to development of garages and cotton gins even the august names of that neighborhood have vanished; only her house was left, lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay above the cotton wagons and the gasoline pumps-a degradable sight to see”. The writer found it necessary to spare is readers the details and cut straight to chase. In the retelling, the writer main focus was changing the reader perspective, and importantly giving Tobe a role as a character without any race association. With that being said, it can either create a problem later on in the story or cause confusion. As the writer I want to changed Tobe role from Negro to just servant primarily because, if Tobe was the narrator has everyone may think, would his perception changed from how Emily was described in the sixth paragraph?

The story started in both pieces the same way. As a writer changing views there was not any significance or words to emulate a similar understanding; so I utilize caution during retelling. What I’ve done was portray Emily as the person of importance with the support of Tobe, just like the original piece. Tobe in the retelling change drastically as a character, he became someone that can attain respect due to the fact that he was no longer a Negro, and he was just a servant. That detail alone creates a new story line. Tobe can now speak freely if needed to and most of all represent Miss Emily more whenever necessary. The Negro in the south does not stand a chance in society alone. So Emily servant was safe as long as Emily was alive; but the story started with Emily being buried in a cedar- bemused cemetery. Not only was the story told in flashback, but it also creates a diversion for important details and how it shall be play out.

To conclude, the first section retelling seem somewhat complex due to the fact that the reader revisit for information during the story due to the flashback effect by William Faulkner. The author brought the reader on a twist before given them a clue that other events led to all of this. But most of all my retelling gave Tobe life. He was no longer a Negro with a negative cognizant for the time period. The retelling gave Tobe a second chance cause now if we think about it, does Tobe still have to run after the burial; when the whole town was digging through the big, squarish frame house that once house the most feared lady of Jefferson or can he obtain documentation to get the house in his name and live his own life.

 

Retelling, 3rd Person Omniscient

Retelling A Rose For Emily -3rd Person Omniscient (first Posted Under Reply to Project 1)

WHEN Emily Grierson died, her whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant–a combined gardener and cook–had seen in years.
It was a big, frame house that had once been white, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of the seventies, set on what had once been the best street. But due to development of  garages and cotton gins even the august names of that neighborhood have vanished; only her house was left, lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay above the cotton wagons and the gasoline pumps-a degradable sight to see. And now she had gone to join the representatives of those august names where they lay in the cedar-bemused cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson.
Alive, she had been a tradition, a duty, and a care; a sort of hereditary obligation upon the town, dating from that day in 1894 when Colonel Sartoris, the mayor–he who fathered the edict that no Negro woman should appear on the streets without an apron-rid her taxes, the dispensation dating from the death of her father on into perpetuity. Not that she would have accepted charity. Colonel Sartoris invented an involved tale to the effect that Miss Emily’s father had loaned money to the town, which the town, as a matter of business, preferred this way of repaying. Only a man of Colonel Sartoris’ generation and thought could have invented it, and only a woman could have believed it.
The next generation came around, with its more modern ideas, became mayors and aldermen, this arrangement created some little dissatisfaction for Emily. On the first of the year they mailed her a tax notice. February came, and there was no reply. They wrote her a formal letter, asking her to call at the sheriff’s office at her convenience. A week later the mayor wrote her himself, offering to call or to send his car for her, and received in reply a note on paper of an archaic shape, in a thin, flowing calligraphy in faded ink, to the effect that she no longer went out at all. The tax notice was also enclosed, without comment.
They called a special meeting of the Board of Aldermen. A deputation waited upon her, knocked at the door through which no visitor had passed since she ceased giving china-painting lessons eight or ten years earlier. They were admitted by Tobe an old servant into a dim hall from which a stairway mounted into still more shadow. It smelled of dust and disuse–a close, dank smell. Tobe led them into the parlor. It was furnished in heavy, leather-covered furniture. When Tobe opened the blinds of one window, they could see that the leather was cracked; and when they sat down, a faint dust rose sluggishly about their thighs, spinning with slow motes in the single sun-ray. On a tarnished gilt easel before the fireplace stood a crayon portrait of her father.
They rose when she entered–a small, fat woman in black, with a thin gold chain descending to her waist and vanishing into her belt, leaning on an ebony cane with a tarnished gold head. Her skeleton was small and spare; perhaps that was why what would have been merely plumpness in another was obesity in her. She looked bloated, like a body long submerged in motionless water, and of that pallid hue. Her eyes, lost in the fatty ridges of her face, looked like two small pieces of coal pressed into a lump of dough as they moved from one face to another while the visitors stated their errand.
She never offer them to sit. She just stood in the door and listened quietly until the spokesman came to a stumbling halt. Then they could hear the invisible watch ticking at the end of the gold chain.
Her voice was dry and cold. “I have no taxes in Jefferson. Colonel Sartoris explained it to me. Perhaps one of you can gain access to the city records and satisfy yourselves.”
“But we have. We are the city authorities, Miss Emily. Didn’t you get a notice from the sheriff, signed by him?”
“I received a paper, yes,” She said. “Perhaps he considers himself the sheriff . . . I have no taxes in Jefferson.”
“But there is nothing on the books to show that, you see we must go by the–”
“See Colonel Sartoris. I have no taxes in Jefferson.”
“But, Miss Emily–”
“See Colonel Sartoris.” (Colonel Sartoris had been dead almost ten years.) “I have no taxes in Jefferson. Tobe!” Tobe appeared. “Show these gentlemen out.”

Analysis On Goodman Brown and Metamorphosis

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka told a very sad story. A bread winner that transformed hideous monster. On the same day  of transformation he was to told by his former manager that his work performance was poor, so Gregor knew he did not have much more to live for. As time progress he grew more and more isolated from his family and his family fear, towards him grew greater as well. A family that once dependent on Gregor couldn’t go to Gregor for help, so their debt out grew their patience. Gregor family decided to get boarders or room-mates to help pay rent; which was bad idea due to the fact that they knew they were living with a  monster. This story shows the importance of family. You never know when an individual may need help  your help or when your peaceful family or  member within your family, may become strenuous or needy.

Goodman Brown is a story base is the line of faith; loss of Faith. Everything in the setting was seems real but the story went into a twist. Married man of three months and madly in love with his beautiful wife Faith. On the night of Browns voyage, the story takes and turn into becoming a fairy tale meaning; Brown was interacting and making evil laughs while trekking through the woods. During his journey Brown came across Christians that challenge his commitment to Faith; however Brown was strong and he trekked hard until he reach his destination.  Like the author asked his readers, was it just a dream or Brown really ventured  to find his faith that he left at home before the journey.

Bemused

Cedar is a kind of wood.

Bemused (verb)- to cause (someone) to be confused. Merrian-Webster; disoriented, discombobulated,  puzzled, and clueless.

Located on first page “A Rose for Emily” 2nd paragraph; last sentence. And now Miss Emily had gone to join the representatives of those august names where they lay in the cedar-bemused cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson.

…..lay in the cedar- (discombobulated) cemetery…..

Emily, was just another dead black in a town full of violent history and deaths; without care or even a proper burial spot, she was amongst the ranked to the anonymous. Would a fair contribution by Emily to Jefferson taxes, change the way she was buried? Remember, Emily never  paid any  taxes thanks to Colonel Sartorial which died years ago . Emily, had no interest whatsoever about  the new Jefferson.

 

The story of An hour/ A Jury Of her peers

The story Jury of Her Peers by Susan Glaspel depict a very sad storyline of crime; a dead husband widow to Mrs. Wright.  Overall the jury was a brunch of local influencial residents (in relation to the community) to evaluate a crime scene. Mrs. Wright left a path of confusion;  for example a dead bird in a box ready to be buried with a broken neck. It seems as if the couple was having a very hard time. But she was guilty alright.

The story Of An Hour by Kate Chopin was a great case of belief.  You must have faith in order to survive in this dreadful world. In brief a man was pronounce dead (Mr. Mallard). Mrs. Mallard was to be informed but she have bad heart issues. So she was told in prices between her sister Josephine and her husband best friend Richard. Mrs. Mallard grew stress and withdrawn her self. However Mr. Mallard was not dead instead she died from a bad heart disease.

Both stories show great deal of morals. It is essential to cherish what you have. But importantly the story leave evidence of love betrayal by both spouse due to there reaction for example how was Mr Wright strangled, or better yet did Mrs. Mallard wanted Mr. Mallard home again.

The Way How I See it!

Venturing through today’s world trying to find my niche, took me a while but sure enough at age  23 I decided, I need to get serious with completing my degree. Working a job, just to make ends meet without any satisfaction can easily feel like, captivity.  But more about me. For one I am eager; I find being the first person to try out something new, sets the pace for anyone else or better yet, others can learn from my mistakes. Next, I believe in physical hard work, hands on; straight skills; talent through learning and experience.  Other the other hand,  I am really stubborn when it comes to reading lengthy irrelevant or without importance text. I find it very hard to fully engage in certain material which at times start dull or with substance.

On a better note, spring 2015 will hopefully be my last semester at New York City College of Technology.  I am currently enrolled in Hospitality and Management with a focus in Culinary.  As a student here at NYCCT, I am trilled to know that my department HMGT ensure that the courses for the program equipped me to face the real world.

To add, as a Culinary student I get hands on training with real live ordering, prepping,  cooking, cleaning, serving, stewardship, reports, feedback,  demonstration, and most of all open table for questions and answer and area of strengths and weaknesses.  As a future back of house staff, I’m truly bless to attain this great experience and I will ensure that I utilize it to the max.

In addition to my culinary experience,  I also had the time to practice and learn safe sanitation for hotels, bar, restaurants,  lounges and nightclubs.  It is tremendous the energy I feel when I walk into a restaurant or a hotel. In my mind I tell myself this is my industry; “what is that worker doing, is he or she following establishment policy by smoking so close to guest rooms”,or “its 9:05 that person is 5 minutes late”. These are the small hints that clearly depicts oneself as a boss; in control and ready for productivity.