National Poetry Day Assembly 9th October 2015 by Mr. Tagg
Good morning. The tunes you heard on the way in were “Neon Lights” by Kraftwerk
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YCZVeIJ8xk
and “Let Your Light In, Babe” by Robert Forster
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n3a35dyD18Q
Today is National Poetry Day, and, as you may have deduced, this year’s theme is “Light”.
So, first the science bit… light is a type of energy. It’s a form of electromagnetic radiation, and only some of its
wavelengths can be detected by the human eye. We see each wavelength as a different color. Rainbows show the entire
spectrum of visible light; however, this is only a part of the electromagnetic spectrum; other colors, such as infrared and
ultraviolet can only be seen with special equipment.
Light exists in tiny packets called photons. It travels faster than anything else we know: in the vacuum of space, where
there are no particles to slow it down, the speed of light is about 186.282 miles per second. This means it takes about 8
minutes for light to reach Earth from our Sun, the source of our light.
To counter balance an English teacher talking about science, I thought we ought to have a science teacher reading a
poem, so here’s Mr. Pickering reading a limerick about the speed of light.
Relativity.
There was a young lady named Bright
Whose speed was far faster than light;
She set out one day
In a relative way
And returned on the previous night.
Without sunlight there would be no life on Earth. Organic processes are made possible through the harnessing of light
through photosynthesis, so we all owe our very existence to light.
So that’s the science, but as it’s National Poetry Day, I think we should reflect on our experiences of light through poetry.
Isabel and Lily are going read us “Six Facts About Light” by Rachel Rooney. As they read each of the six stanzas, try and
picture the images in your mind’s eye.
Six Facts About Light
At dawn, she climbs over the horizon
to slink between the curtains
and rest her head on your pillow.
You might meet her in a forest gap
growing foxgloves,
or waiting at the exit of a long, concrete tunnel.
Her gaze could scorch your drawings,
set light to the hay,
blind inquisitive eyes.
Sometimes, in summer,
she'll reveal the lucky stripes
in the lining of her raincoat.
She can bounce off a full moon
and land softly at your feet
before you have counted to two.
On foggy nights, when the bare bulb
blows in an empty room, she is still there.
Blinking in the darkness, like an idea.
Rachel Rooney
It’s not surprising that light has inspired some of English Literature’s most evocative poetry. In W.B. Yeats’ “He Wishes
for the Cloths of Heaven”, the speaker, a poor man, wishes to offer the beauty of the evening sky, shot through with
golden and silver light, to the girl he loves. Miss Wilding is going to read it for us:
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
W. B. Yeats
Nowadays, of course, much of the light in our lives is man-man made, which means we never have to be in the dark.
We’ve got so used to having light at the flick of a switch, that it’s easy to take it for granted. Bartosz and Shaun are going
to read a poem written by the Polish poet Julian Tuwim which reminds us of the domesticated miracle of electric
lighting. Bartosz will read it in Polish, and Shaun will read us the English translation.
Pstryk
Sterczy w ścianie taki pstryczek,
Mały pstryczek-elektryczek,
Jak tym pstryczkiem zrobić pstryk,
To się widno robi w mig.
Bardzo łatwo:
Pstryk - i światło!
Pstryknąć potem jeszcze raz,
Zaraz mrok otoczy nas.
A jak pstryknąć trzeci razZnowu dawny świeci blask.
Taką siłę ma tajemną
Ten ukryty w ścianie smyk!
Ciemno - widno Widno - ciemno.
Któż to jest ten mały pstryk?
Może świetlik? Może ognik?
Jak tam dostał się i skąd?
To nie ognik. To przewodnik.
Taki drut, a w drucie PRĄD.
Robisz pstryk i włączasz PRĄD!
Elektryczny bystry PRRRRĄD!
I skąd światło?
Właśnie stąd!
Julian Tuwim
Switch
In the wall there sticks a little switch,
A little switch – electric, which –
Just give that little switch a click –
Brings you light double quick.
It’s easy all right:
Click and there’s light!
Flick once more – then
We’re in darkness again.
And if you give it another go,
You get the glow you had before.
It has such a secret might,
There in the wall, that tiny trick!
Night – light –
Light – night.
But tell me what’s that little switch?
A spark? A candle in a stick?
How’d it get there? From where can it be?
It’s no sparkle. It’s a cable.
Just a wire and – it’s electricity!!
Just flick the switch and – electricity!
Electrically slick electriciteeeee!
So where’s the light from?
Now you see!
Translation (c) 2015 David Malcolm
Of course having light 24 hours a day might not always be a good thing. If, like me, you love to look at the stars, light
pollution can be really frustrating. And perhaps we’re also losing touch with the natural rhythm of light and darkness,
the regular waxing and waning of the moon, and the familiarity of the constellations, when our world is lit up artificially.
Mr Farrell and Mr Moore are going to read poems that aren’t necessarily in favour of man-made illuminations.
My Glow-in-the-Dark Bedroom
I have glow-in-the-dark curtains
With glow-in-the-dark cars
And, stuck all over the ceiling,
Glow-in-the-dark stars.
My glow-in-the-dark slippers
Are grinning beside my bed,
And there sits my teddy
With his glow-in-the-dark head.
I’m sick and tired of counting
Glow-in-the-dark sheep:
Their shimmering and shining
Won’t get me off to sleep.
They can all glow on without me,
If anybody cares,
I’ve found a no-glow area:
I’m sleeping under the stairs!
by Celia Warren
Light is such a fundamental part of our lives, we use it as a metaphor almost unconsciously. The imagery of light
permeates our language: we talk about being enlightened, a smile beaming, a face lit up with happiness or glowing with
enthusiasm, a flash of brilliance, ray of hope, a spark of genius and so on. We’ve used light to help us express vivid
experiences of joy, hope, happiness, spiritual insight, and creativity since the ‘dawn’ of civilization.
From the moment God said “Let there be light” on the first page of the book of Genesis, light has been used as a symbol
for truth, beauty, goodness and the divine in literature throughout human history.
In classical literature, light is often synonymous with love, suggesting the power of this emotion. And as light can blind
us, so can love. As Year 10 are no doubt realising, William Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet” relies heavily on the
symbolism of light to describe the emotional state of the young lovers. In Act 2 scene 2, the balcony scene, Romeo first
sees Juliet as the sun itself, as the ultimate source of life; images of the sun, moon and stars appear throughout the play,
evoking love's illuminating, sometimes bewildering power. Toby is going to read Romeo’s famous soliloquy, and Megan
will read a bit of Juliet’s speech from Act 3 scene 2.
[JULIET appears above at a window]
ROMEO:
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
O, that she knew she were!
She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
William Shakespeare: Romeo and Juliet Act 2 Scene 2
JULIET:
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Toward Phoebus' lodging. Such a wagoner
As Phaeton would whip you to the west
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That runaways' eyes may wink, and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalked of and unseen.
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties, or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match
Played for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.
Hood my unmanned blood bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle, till strange love, grow bold,
Think true love acted simple modesty.
Come, night. Come, Romeo. Come, thou day in night,
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow upon a raven’s back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-browed night,
Give me my Romeo. And when I shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
Oh, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possessed it, and though I am sold,
Not yet enjoyed. So tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them.
William Shakespeare: Romeo and Juliet Act 3 Scene 2
Given the fact that light makes life possible, it’s unsurprising that in some literature it symbolises life itself. One of the
twentieth century’s most powerful poems is Dylan Thomas’s “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night”, which Mrs Tagg
is going to read for us.
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
So, remind yourself that we are all children of light, and see if National Poetry Day can be the spark that ignites the poet
in you. Come on, don’t hide your light under a bushel.
In the meantime, I’m going to leave you with a poem, and song to lead out to. The song is Hank Williams classic hymn of
spiritual enlightenment, “I Saw The Light”, but before that, the poem, “Bright Spark” by Michaela Morgan.
Bright Spark
Crouched cold in a cave,
Huddled against the night.
What bright spark first made fire? First made light?
A flash that made the world grow,
Blazed spirits light, let faces glow.
To see each other. Nod yes, shake no.
Art is possible. Stories can be shared.
Not now so lonely, silent, scared.
We can take flight.
Build a beacon.
Light.
Michaela Morgan
Lead out quietly please.
“I Saw the Light” by Hank Williams
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xtolv9kM1qk