IO ,
protagonista
del mio
racconto
Video
Diario/Blog
Analisi lessicale e sintattica
Individuazione elementi del genere
Scheda: comprensione /produzione
Visione
Comprensione
Produzione
Revisione del lessico utilizzato
Revisione delle caratteristiche dei generi letterari
Realizzazione di wordcloud
OGGI
Esempi di diario
-produzione di un elaborato:
diario
autobiografia
OGGI
IERI
IO
-produzione di un testo
orale:
spiegare e commentare una
foto raccontando il vissuto
ad essa connesso ( video)
Epoca e autore
Lettura, analisi lessicale e sintattica
Individuazione elementi del genere
Ricerca e documentazione on-line per info sull’autore
scheda: comprensione
IERI
romanzo
Poesia
the Chimney
Sweeper
Lettura e analisi
Individuazione del genere “POETRY”
scheda di comprensione
Ms Emma Crewe
LINGUA STRANIERA
premessa
Abbiamo scelto di occuparci dei generi letterari come lavoro
propedeutico alla terza classe, dove si inizia ad affrontare lo
studio della letteratura attraverso i generi letterari, appunto, e
l’analisi dei testi.
Abbiamo scelto la narrazione in prima persona (autobiografia,
diario, poesia) perché risulta più immediata e coinvolgente: il
lettore tende a immedesimarsi nel protagonista o io-narrante,
al contempo la produzione da parte dello studente è più
semplice.
Il percorso che ci siamo proposti per riconoscere e acquisire
alcune delle principali modalità di narrazione in prima persona
attraverso lo studio di frammenti di opere in Lingua straniera è
apparentemente forse poco coerente, spazia nel tempo, nei
generi e nelle forme di racconto da quello scritto a quello
visivo. Tuttavia ciò è stato fortemente voluto allo scopo di
garantire al nostro percorso, pur nella necessaria coerenza,
una discreta varietà di toni.
L’argomento (lavoro minorile) ci è sembrato potesse fornire
buoni spunti per la riflessione e la crescita interiore.
Bridget Jones's Diary: A Novel by Helen Fielding
Tuesday 3 January 130 lbs. (terrifying slide into obesity--why? why?),
alcohol units 6 (excellent), cigarettes 23 (v.g.), calories 2472. 9 a.m. Ugh.
Cannot face thought of going to work. Only thing which makes it tolerable is
thought of seeing Daniel again, but even that is inadvisable since am fat, have
spot on chin, and desire only to sit on cushion eating chocolate and watching
Xmas specials. It seems wrong and unfair that Christmas, with its stressful and
unmanageable financial and emotional challenges, should first be forced upon
one wholly against one's will, then rudely snatched away just when one is
starting to get into it. Was really beginning to enjoy the feeling that normal
service was suspended and it was OK to lie in bed as long as you want, put
anything you fancy into your mouth, and drink alcohol whenever it should
chance to pass your way, even in the mornings. Now suddenly we are all
supposed to snap into self-discipline like lean teenage greyhounds.
Diary of a Nobody
by George and Weedon Grossmith
A serious discussion concerning the use and value of my diary.
December 17. - As I open my scribbling diary I find the words “Oxford Michaelmas Term ends.”
Why this should induce me to indulge in retrospective I don’t know, but it does. The last few weeks
of my diary are of minimum interest. The breaking off of the engagement between Lupin and Daisy
Mutlar has made him a different being, and Carrie a rather depressing companion. She was a little
dull last Saturday, and I thought to cheer her up by reading some extracts from my diary; but she
walked out of the room in the middle of the reading, without a word. On her return, I said: “Did my
diary bore you, darling?”
She replied, to my surprise: “I really wasn’t listening, dear. I was obliged to leave to give
instructions to the laundress. In consequence of some stuff she puts in the water, two more of
Lupin’s coloured shirts have run and he says he won’t wear them.”
I said: “Everything is Lupin. It’s all Lupin, Lupin, Lupin. There was not a single button on my shirt
yesterday, but I made no complaint.”
Carrie simply replied: “You should do as all other men do, and wear studs. In fact, I never saw
anyone but you wear buttons on the shirt-fronts.”
I said: “I certainly wore none yesterday, for there were none on.”
Another thought that strikes me is that Gowing seldom calls in the evening, and Cummings never
does. I fear they don’t get on well with Lupin.
December 18. - Yesterday I was in a retrospective vein - to-day it is PROSPECTIVE. I see nothing
but clouds, clouds, clouds. Lupin is perfectly intolerable over the Daisy Mutlar business. He won’t
say what is the cause of the breach. He is evidently condemning her conduct, and yet, if we venture
to agree with him, says he won’t hear a word against her. So what is one to do? Another thing
which is disappointing to me is, that Carrie and Lupin take no interest whatever in my diary.
I broached the subject at the breakfast-table to-day. I said: “I was in hopes that, if anything ever
happened to me, the diary would be an endless source of pleasure to you both; to say nothing of the
chance of the remuneration which may accrue from its being published.”
Both Carrie and Lupin burst out laughing. Carrie was sorry for this, I could see, for she said: “I did
not mean to be rude, dear Charlie; but truly I do not think your diary would sufficiently interest the
public to be taken up by a publisher.”
I replied: “I am sure it would prove quite as interesting as some of the ridiculous reminiscences that
have been published lately. Besides, it’s the diary that makes the man. Where would Evelyn and
Pepys have been if it had not been for their diaries?”
I know enough of the world now, to have almost lost the capacity of being much surprised by
anything; but it is matter of some surprise to me, even now, that I can have been so easily thrown
away at such an age. A child of excellent abilities, and with strong powers of observation, quick,
eager, delicate, and soon hurt bodily or mentally, it seems wonderful to me that nobody should have
made any sign in my behalf. But none was made; and I became, at ten years old, a little labouring
hind in the service of Murdstone and Grinby.
(…)
Murdstone and Grinby's trade was among a good many kinds of people, but an important branch of
it was the supply of wines and spirits to certain packet ships. I forget now where they chiefly went,
but I think there were some among them that made voyages both to the East and West Indies.
(…)
When the empty bottles ran short, there were labels to be pasted on full ones, or corks to be fitted to
them, or seals to be put upon the corks, or finished bottles to be packed in casks. All this work was
my work, and of the boys employed upon it I was one.
There were three or four of us, counting me. My working place was established in a corner of the
warehouse, where Mr. Quinion could see me, when he chose to stand up on the bottom rail of his
stool in the counting-house, and look at me through a window above the desk. Hither, on the first
morning of my so auspiciously beginning life on my own account, the oldest of the regular boys
was summoned to show me my business. His name was Mick Walker, and he wore a ragged apron
and a paper cap. He informed me that his father was a bargeman, and walked, in a black velvet
head-dress, in the Lord Mayor's Show. He also informed me that our principal associate would be
another boy whom he introduced by the - to me - extraordinary name of Mealy Potatoes. I
discovered, however, that this youth had not been christened by that name, but that it had been
bestowed upon him in the warehouse, on account of his complexion, which was pale or mealy.
Mealy's father was a waterman, who had the additional distinction of being a fireman, and was
engaged as such at one of the large theatres; where some young relation of Mealy's - I think his
little sister - did Imps in the Pantomimes.
No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sunk into this companionship; compared
these henceforth everyday associates with those of my happier childhood - not to say with
Steerforth, Traddles, and the rest of those boys; and felt my hopes of growing up to be a learned and
distinguished man, crushed in my bosom. The deep remembrance of the sense I had, of being
utterly without hope now; of the shame I felt in my position; of the misery it was to my young heart
to believe that day by day what I had learned, and thought, and delighted in, and raised my fancy
and my emulation up by, would pass away from me, little by little, never to be brought back any
more; cannot be written. As often as Mick Walker went away in the course of that forenoon, I
mingled my tears with the water in which I was washing the bottles; and sobbed as if there were a
flaw in my own breast, and it were in danger of bursting.
The Chimney Sweeper(Songs of Innocence)
When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!"
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.
There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
That curl'd llke a lamb's back. was shav'd: so I said
"Hush. Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."
And so he was quiet & that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight!
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned or Jack.
Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black.
And by came an Angel who had a bright key,
And he open'd the coffins & set them all free;
Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run,
And wash in a river. and shine in the Sun.
Then naked & white, all their bags left behind,
They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind;
And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father & never want joy.
And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark.
And got with our bags & our brushes to work.
Tho' the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm;
So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.
conclusione
IO protagonista del mio racconto.
Come la premessa, anche il momento conclusivo è condiviso dalle due lingue.
Nella fase finale del nostro progetto, ci sarà innanzi tutto una revisione del lessico utilizzato
e delle caratteristiche dei generi letterari proposti: diario, poesia e prosa in prima persona.
Lo scopo è quello di arrivare alla produzione personale: un testo scritto contenente un
racconto in prima persona, secondo la modalità diario / autobiografia / poesia, o, in
alternativa, un testo orale che spieghi un’immagine o una serie di immagini (o un breve
video, o un brano musicale), raccontando in prima persona.
Non è necessario riferirsi al proprio vissuto personale: potrà essere utilizzato il passato (la
memoria, l’ autobiografia) ma anche il futuro. Lo studente potrà, naturalmente, raccontare se
stesso, ma anche immaginare di vivere in un’altra epoca o in un’altra società.
Questa fase prevede in particolare l’utilizzo del laboratorio di informatica/multimediale.