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2. SENTENCE OUTLINE
3. ESSAY (WELL EDITED)
GUYS THER'S NO NEED TO REMIND YOU THE THESIS BECOMES INTO THE MORROW OF YOUR ESSAY; SO DRAFT IT, EDIT IT AND JUST THEN WRITE THE OUTLINE AND ESSAY. REMEMBER, SUPPORTING PARAGRAPHS ARE BASED ON THE PURPOSE OF YOUR THESIS. DON'T BASE THOSE ON THE TOPIC (ITEM AND GROUND)
GOD BLESS LITERATURE
I POEM
BY TATAMKHULU AFRICA
Tatamkhulu Afrika (Xhosa: "Grandfather Africa") (December 7, 1920 – December 23, 2002) was a South African poet and writer. Sometimes his first name is spelt Tatamkulu. Tatamkhulu Afrika was born in Egypt and came to South Africa as a very young child. He was orphaned when both his parents died of flu. His father was Egyptian who married a Turkish woman.They lived in Cape Town's District 6, a mixed race inner-city community, with Afrikaans foster parents. District 6 was declared a “whites only” area in the 1960s and the community was destroyed. With an Arab father and a Turkish mother, Afrika could have been classified as a “white”, but he refused to be classified as a “white” and also became a Muslim.
In 1984, he joined the African National Congress, which led the struggle against apartheid, and in 1987, he was arrested for terrorism and banned from speaking or writing in public for five years. He wrote under the code name of Tatamkhulu Afrika, which enabled him to write.
He spent 11 years in prison and was only two cells away from Nelson Mandela. He was released in 1992. That was when he came back to District 6 to find it destroyed with no shops as promised. That was what his poem Nothing's Changed is about. The anger he felt towards what had happened to District 6 and his home.
NOTHING’S CHANGED
Small round hard stones click
under my heels,
seeding grasses thrust
bearded seeds
into trouser cuffs, cans,
trodden on, crunch
in tall, purple-flowering,
amiable weeds.
District six.
No board says it is:
but my feet know,
and my hands,
and the skin about my bones,
and the soft labouring of my lungs,
and the hot, white, inwards turning
anger of my eyes.
Brash with glass,
name flaring like a flag,
it squats
in the grass and weeds,
incipient Port Jackson trees:
new, up-market, haute cuisine,
guard at the gatepost,
whites only inn.
No sign says it is:
But we know where we belong.
II POEM
BY SUJATA BHATT
Sujata Bhatt (born 6 May 1956) is an Indian poet, a native speaker of Gujarati.Bhatt was born in Ahmedabad, and brought up in Pune until 1968, when she emigrated to the United States with her family. She has an MFA from the University of Iowa, and for a time was writer-in-residence at the University of Victoria, Canada. More recently she was a visiting fellow at Dickinson College, Pennsylvania. She currently works as a freelance writer and has translated Gujarati poetry into English for the Penguin Anthology of Contemporary Indian Women Poets. Her poems have appeared in various journals in the United Kingdom, Ireland, the United States, and Canada, and have been widely anthologised, as well as being broadcast on British, German, and Dutch radio. Bhatt now lives in Bremen, Germany with her husband, German writer Michael Augustin, and daughter.
Many of her poems have love and violence as themes, and explore issues such as racism and the interaction between Asian, European, and North American culture. The subject matter of her poetry has ranged from political strife to eroticism.
SEARCH FOR MY TONGUE
You ask me what I mean
by saying I have lost my tongue.
I ask you, what would you do
if you had two tongues in your mouth,
and lost the first one, the mother tongue,
and could not really know the other,
the foreign tongue.
You could not use them both together
even if you thought that way.
And if you lived in a place you had to
speak a foreign tongue,
your mother tongue would rot,
rot and die in your mouth
until you had to spit it out.
I thought I spit it out
but overnight while I dream,
