Poem The Cat in the Hat

Copyright 1975 by Dr Seuss

The sun did not shine.
It was too wet to play.
So we sat in the house
All that cold, cold, wet day.

I sat there with Sally.
We sat there, we two.
And I said, "How I wish
We had something to do!"

Too wet to go out
And too cold to play ball.
So we sat in the house.
We did nothing at all.

Comparative Essays - The Little Glass Slipper’ by Perrault and ‘Cinderella’ by Dahl

The tale of Cinderella has been recognized around the world and the themes from the tale appear in the folklore of many cultures. Thus, many versions emerge based on the archetypal character of Cinderella where most of the versions always center around a benevolent, but persecuted heroine who happens to be the victim of her step-family after the death of her mother. Her father is either absent or neglectful, depending on the version. The heroine also has a magical guardian (fairy godmother) who helps her to defeat her persecutors and receive her fondest wish by the end of the tale. The same sort of clothing, usually a shoe or a glass slipper also shapes the story where at the end the heroine is recognized for her truth worth. What is an archetype? According to Bert.O States (1980: 334) archetype is best described as:

…a sort of quark in the structure of time whose existence we can only posit as being necessary to explain the phenomenon of unintentional recurrence. In fact, unlike the quark (which, as I write, we have just caught streaking boldly through matter), the archetype is not discrete at all but the ghost of a former form, endlessly migratory, infinitely tolerant of new content, ever fresh, ever archaic.

Comparative Literature - A Comparative Critical Essay

Comparative literature, the combined study of similar literary works written in different languages, which stresses the points of connection between literary products of two or more cultures, as distinct from the sometimes narrow and exclusive perspective of English Literature or similar approaches based on one national canon. Advocates of comparative literature maintain that there is, despite the obvious disadvantages, much to be gained from studying literary works in translation.

Poem ‘Talking to Myself’ By Kishwar Naheed (Personal Reviews)

Kishwar Naheed is one of the best known Urdu feminist poets of Pakistan. She was born in Bulandshahr, Uttar Pradesh, India in 1940. Her family moved to Lahore in Pakistan during the the sub-continent of 1947. Kishwar had witnessed violence (including rape and abduction of women) associated with partition. She has published six collections of poems between 1969 and 1990. All her texts are about to redefine the man and woman relationship in the context of female sexuality, politics and social issues.

The poem ‘Talking to Myself’ is about a feeling and dream of a woman who wants to be free. She has a desire to go beyond what the man and this world expected from a woman. In the poem, the persona gives pictures to the readers about pain, misery and oppression that she faced from a person called man. But the most important, this poem purposely gives a sarcastic expression of what tortured and oppressed woman’s feel towards a man. It is based on what the man have done to her. It also tells that the persona can do more than the man expects because she can fight against all bad things that happen to her before and this will give bad effect to the man’s pride.

Poem "My Mother" By Mahmoud Darwish (Personal Reviews)

“My Mother”, another powerful and meaningful poem from Mahmoud Darwish. He was considered to be the most important contemporary Arab poet working today. He was born in 1942 in the village of Barweh in the Galilee, which was razed to the ground by the Israelis in 1948. As a result of his politi-cal activism he faced house arrest and imprisonment. Darwish was the editor of Ittihad Newspaper before leaving in 1971 to study for a year in the USSR. His poems are known throughout the Arab world, and several of them have been put to music. His poetry has gained great sophistication over the years, and has enjoyed international fame for a long time. He has published around 30 poetry and prose collections, which have been translated into 35 languages. He is the editor in chief and founder of the prestigious literary review Al Karmel, which has resumed publication in January 1997 out of the Sakakini Centre offices. He published in 1998 the poetry collection: Sareer el Ghariba (Bed of the Stranger), his first collection of love poems. In 2000 he published Jidariyya (Mural) a book consisting of one poem about his near death experience in 1997.

Katherine Mansfield Biography (1888 - 1923)

New Zealand's most famous writer, who was closely associated with D.H. Lawrence and something of a rival of Virginia Woolf. Mansfield's creative years were burdened with loneliness, illness, jealousy, alienation - all this reflected in her work with the bitter depiction of marital and family relationships of her middle-class characters. Her short stories are also notable for their use of stream of consciousness. Like the Russian writer Anton Chekhov, Mansfield depicted trivial events and subtle changes in human behavior.

"Henry was a great fellow for books. He did not read many nor did he possess above half a dozen. He looked at all in the Charing Cross Road during lunch-time and at any odd time in London; the quantity with which he was on nodding terms was amazing. By his clean neat handling of them and by his nice choice of phrase when discussing them with one or another bookseller you would have thought that he had taken his pap with a tome propped before his nurse's bosom. But you would have been wrong." (from 'Something Childish But Very Natural')

Short Story "Miss Brill" By Katherine Mansfield (Personal Review)

‘Miss Brill’ is a short story written by Katherine Mansfield (1888-1923) - Pseudonym of Kathleen Murry, where by her original name is Kathleen Mansfield Beauchamp. She was born in Wellington, New Zealand, into a middle-class colonial family. Her father, Harold Beauchamp, was a banker and her mother, Annie Burnell Dyer, was of genteel origins. She lived for six years in the rural village of Karori. Later on, Mansfield said "I imagine I was always writing. Twaddle it was, too. But, better far write twaddle or anything, anything, than nothing at all." At the age of nine, she had her first text published. Later on, she was well-known as the New Zealand's most famous writer and was closely associated with D.H. Lawrence and something of a rival of Virginia Woolf. Mansfield's creative years were burdened with loneliness, illness, jealousy and alienation. Therefore, what comes to my mind that all these have reflected in her work with the bitter depiction of marital and family relationships of her middle-class characters especially in this short story called ‘Miss Brill’.

Arabic Poem "Oblivion" By Ibrahim Naji

At last the cure, I bid farewell to pain,
and welcome with a smile the days to come.
Oblivion comes to me a kingly guest,
with hands compassionate and blessed steps.

My guest comes strongly on,
folding the distances, the dark unknown.
Proffering a cup that takes away
old pain, and banishes all regrets.
So drain it to the dregs and have no fear-
For long you have suffered, your thirst your only drink.
Oblivion now envelops me, and I
thank God for its overwhelming flood,
Surrendering to the waves which engulf me,
happy to embrace a void without memories.

Arabic Poem "The Burning Flute" By Ibrahim Naji

How many times my love
as the night covers the earth
I wander alone, and in the dark
no one complains but me.
I make the tears a tune
and I make the potery a flute
And would a wreck responds
that I inflamed in my ardent love.

Fire stirs in it
and the wind blows away the rest.
How miserable is the flute between
destiny and between fates
He sings and sadly sings
returning my complaints.
Sympathetic from our kept secrets
on the love of innermost secrets
Until a shadow appears.
I have known him in my youth
He comes close to me and he comes close
to the lips of my mouth
And suddenly my dream disapears
and my eyes wake up
And though I went listening and listening
I wasn't familiar but with the echo.

Arabic Poem "The Dream of Infatuation" By Ibrahim Naji

No love but Wherever held a place and I don't see
for me other than that a homeland and a location
My homeland all nights long is his home
As long and as far away he gets,my love is where he stays.
And when inhabited earth embrace us
its moments are populated daily.

No difference between her north and south
as they are bearing greeting to my heart
And they are pressing my knowledge and seldom
time preserves the custody of my heartbloods.
And if I cry, so I cry from the fear
That our infatuation is just a dream
And maybe the significance of our intention.So I cried out
from before we shed the tears from our distance.

Arabic Poem "Farewell" By Ibrahim Naji

Leave me, my love, it's time to part
this paradise is not my portion.
I had to cross a bridge of flame whenever
I visited this land of bliss.
Yet I've been your life-long companion
since earliest youth and your tender years.
But now I come like a transient guest,
and go away like a bird of passage.


Has anyone drunken with love like us,
seen love like we have seen it ?
We built a thousand castles on our way,
Walked together on a moon-drenched road,
Where joy danced and leapt before us,
we gazed at the stars that fell, and we possessed them.
And we laughed like two children together,
ran and raced with our own shadows.
After this nectar's sweetness we awoke -
how I wished it had never been so !
Night's dreams had vanished, the night was ended
the night that used to be our friend.
The light of morning was an ominous herald ;
dawn loomed up like a wall of fire.

Arabic Poem "A Wild Cat" By Suad Al-Mubarak Al-Sabah

Your love lurks in my veins like a bandit
Commits arson, shatters lanterns
And skulks in the corners of my veins
Like a wild cat with sharp claws
Alert to hunt moths
To pounce on birds
And I lie awake at night waiting for it to come forth
From my blood.


You came with your conquering army, and caused an upheaval
That changed my life
You sequestered all my possessions
Bound me with chains of gold
And put me under house arrest
Within the limits of your eyes
You locked me in the cell of love
And took the keys away with you.

Arabic Poem "You Alone" By Suad Al-Mubarak Al-Sabah

You alone . . . control my history
And write your name on the first page
And on the third, and on the tenth,
And on the last.
You alone are allowed to sport with my days
From the first century of my birth
To the twenty-first century after love.
You alone can add to my days what you wish
And delete what you wish
My whole history flows from the palms of your hands
And pours into your palms.

Arabic Poem "Free Harbor" By Suad Al-Mubarak Al-Sabah

Many ships have asked for sanctuary
In the harbor of my eyes
I refused asylum to all of them
Your ships alone
Have the right to take refuge
In my territorial waters
Your ships alone
Have the right to sail in my blood
Without prior permission.

Arabic Poem "Mad Woman" By Suad Al-Mubarak Al-Sabah

I am quite mad and you are wholly sane
From the mind's paradise I've sought to flee
You are all wise, yours are the summer months
So leave the winter's changing face for me.

I'm sick with love and I'm past any cure
Oppressed in body, that is woman's plight
My nerves are taut and should you only whisper
Into the empty air I would take flight.


I'm like small fish lost in the great ocean
When will you lift the siege ? You've hidden away
The key to unlock my house in your own pocket
And enter my life's details day by day.

O love, my passion whirls me dizzily
Gather my scattered soul whose fragments fly
For you are standing at the frozen pole
And I beneath an equatorial sky.

O love, I stand against the ten commandments
History behind is only blood and sand
To love I owe allegiance. Lemon trees
Within your breast my only native land.

Arabic Poem "Shade And Noon Sun" By Muhammad Al-Maghut

All the fields of the world
At odds with two small lips
All the streets of history
At odds with two bare feet.

Love,
They travel and we wait
They have gallows
We have necks
They have pearls
And we have freckles and moles
They own the night, the dawn, the afternoon sun and the day
And we own skin and bones.


We plant under the nooday sun,
And they eat in the shade
Their teeth are white as rice
Our teeth dark as desolate forests,
Their breasts are soft as silk
Our breasts dusty as execution squares
And yet, we are the kings of the world:
Their homes are buried in bills and accounts
Our homes are buried in autumn leaves
In their pockets they carry the addresses
of thieves and traitors
In ours we carry the addresses
of rivers and thunderstorms.
They own windows
We own the winds
They own the ships
We own the waves
They own the medals
We own the mud
They own the walls and balconies
We own the ropes and the daggers.

And now beloved
Come, let us sleep on the pavements.

Arabic Poem "From the Doorstep to Heaven" By Muhammad Al-Maghut

Now,
With the sad rain
Drenching my sad face,
I dream of a ladder of dust,
Collected from hunched backs
And hands clinging onto knees,
To mount to highest heaven

And discover
What becomes of our prayers and sighs.
O my beloved,
All the prayers and sighs,
All the laments and cries for help,
Springing from
Millions of lips and hearts,
Through thousands of years and centuries,
Must be gathered somewhere in heaven,
Like clouds.
And maybe
These words of mine
Are now close to those of Jesus.
So let us await the tears of heaven,
O beloved.

Arabic Poem "To Two Unknown Eyes" By Muhammad Al-Fayturi

Mistress...
Should these enamored words chance to meet your eyes
Or pass between your lips
The forgive me; it was your eyes
In whose shade one evening I leaned resting
And snatched brief slumber
In their repose I caressed the stars and moon
I wove a boat of fancy out of petals
And laid down my tired soul
Gave to drink my thirsty lip
Quenched my eye's desire.


Mistress...
When we met by chance as strangers meet
My sorrow too was walking on the road
Bare, unveiled
With heavy tread
You were my sorrow.
Sadness and loss
Silence and regret
Were embracing a poet consumed by struggle.
For poetry, mistress, is a stranger in my land
Killed by emptiness and void
My spirit trembled saw you
I felt suddenly as if a dagger delved into my blood
Cleanse my heart, my mouth
Prostrated me with soiled brow and supplicating hands
In the shade of your sweet eyes.

Mistress...
If suddenly we meet
If my eyes see those your eyes
High-set, green, drowned in mist and rain
If on the road by another chance we meet
And what is chance but fate?
Then would I kiss the road, kiss it twice.

Arabic Poem "Mailman" By Buland Al-Haidari

O mailman,
What is your desire of me?
I am far removed from the world,
Surely you are mistaken,
For the earth holds nothing new
For this outcast.
What was,
Still is, as it was before.
It dreams,
It buries,
And tries to regain.

People still have their festivals,
And mourning connects one festival with the next.
Their eyes dig in the graveyard of their minds
Looking for some new glory
To quiet some new hunger.
China still has its wall,
A legend once effaced brought back by time.
The earth still has its Sisyphus,
And a rock that does not know
It desires.

O mailman,
surely you are mistaken,
For there is nothing new ...
Return along the path whence you came,
The path that so often brings you.
What is your desire of me?

Arabic Poem "Old Age" By Buland Al-Haidari

Another winter,
And here am I,
By the side of the stove,
that a woman might dream of me,
That I might bury in her breast
A secret she would not mock;
Dreaming that in my fading years
I might spring forth as light,
And she would say:
This light is mine;
Let no woman draw near it.



Here,
By the side of the stove,
Another winter,
And here Am I,
Spinning my dreams and fearing them,
Afraid her eyes would mock
My bald, idiotic head,
My greying, aged soul,
Afraid her feet would kick
My love,
And here, by the side of the stove,
I would be lightly mocked by a woman.

Alone,
Without love, or dreams, or a woman,
And tomorrow I shall die of the cold within,
Here, by the side of the stove.