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Welcome!

EnglishCaddy Student Review Magazine www.englishcaddy.org

Gregg Robert Salters After months of planning, I am proud to welcome you to the first edition of Métaphore.

Dans ce numéro

The mission of this magazine is and will be to highlight and publish student works in English. You can look forward to many creative articles, poems, stories, essays, literary criticisms, and research papers. The sky’s the limit! This

magazine,

currently

scheduled

to

be

published semi-annually, will be available in pdf format online and in print form at the schools of the contributing writers.

Nonetheless, more

frequent publishing and broader distribution is planned for the very near future. To this end, a widespread advertising campaign will be launched

Welcome!

1

Submissions

1

Practical Information

1

Marion Demarcy: A Short Poem

2

Audrey Forest: Four Seasons

2

Gregg Robert Salters: Did You Know?

2

Anaïs Rondier: One

3

Antoine Guyonneau: Nature

3

Mohamed Anime Benhassona: Perception

3

Simply Similes, Various Contributors

4

Saki (H.H. Munro): “The Schartz-Metterklume Method”

5

Puzzle Me This!

8

in conjunction with this first issue to find and



encourage foreign speakers of English to publish their works. It is my personal hope that Métaphore will provide a medium in which contributors and readers can enjoy the enriching experience that is unique to literature.

Practical Information Contact Métaphore

Submissions

Your input is important, please do not hesitate to send your

Métaphore more than welcomes the submission of your writings, we encourage it!

Submit your writing

thoughts to us at metaphore@englishcaddy.org

Editorial Staff

Are you a non-native speaker of English? The English language belongs to everyone and no one. Throughout the ages some of our greatest contributors to Arts and Science expressed themselves and flourished in languages other than their own. Even Mozart’s most famous operas were in Italian and Einstein published his Theory of Relativity in English. Test your creativity and send your writing to Métaphore today!

Publish your work in Métaphore. For more information go to www.englishcaddy.org/metaphore.htm

Become a member of the team Métaphore is currently looking for volunteers to help with editing, proofreading and formatting, as well as contributors. If you’re interested in lending a hand send us an email with your contact information at metaphore@englishcaddy.org

Métaphore is a not-for-profit magazine edited and operated in Strasbourg, France. All contributions are dedicated solely to the production and distribution of the magazine. All editing and production staff work is on a voluntary basis.

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Page 2 A short poem

Did you know…

By Marion Demarcy ENGEES In a dark night enlightened only by moon light She saw it, lengthened at the bottom of a tree Alone in the moss, Alone in full death leaves Lost in the dew and almost invisible BUT

that not everyone believes that William Shakespeare was a real person. Many historians, scholars, writers and dramatists questions the authorship of the Shakespearean plays such as Hamlet, Romeo &

No Songs, No Colors, Nothing

Juliet, Macbeth, Richard III, etc.

The nocturnal dance of wind between the red leaves

Everyone agrees that a man named “Shakespere” was baptized on the 26th of April, 1564 in the town of Stratford, England. However, not everybody agrees that this person was the world renowned author of the 38 plays and 154 sonnets attributed to him.

Gives rise to sweet perfume odor behind it And the moon, silver and clear, leaves the landscape Like a picture, more beautiful, more sage BUT No Songs, Just Colors and Odors And so a ray of moon light passed on his face Finally she knew the vile and sad truth. To be Lengthened here wasn’t his will cause along his drab And unhappy face run slowly tears, cry, of blood No Songs, No Colors, No Life.

Four Seasons By Audrey Forest ENGEES

Autumn is not a sad season

To be or not to be, Stratfordian. On one side of the controversy we have the group called the Stratfordians. These are people who hold the traditional view that Shakespeare from Straford was indeed the man who moved to London, joined a theater company, acted, and wrote the plays. But lurking on the other side of this controversy we have a group known as the AntiStratfordians. These people believe it is impossible that a man born to a middle class glove-maker could actually have been the same person known to have penned these treasures.

Or with friends to drink hot wine

Among the anti-Strafordians you’ll find great scholars such as: Mark Twain, Friedrich Nietzsche, Sigmund Freud, Charlie Chaplin, Walt Whitman, politicians and even supreme court justices. Anti-Stratfordians argue that the name William Shakespeare was merely a nom de plume and that the authorship could be contributed to a group of writers. (Although

Spring is the time for new couple

anti-Strafordians offer more than 50 alternative authors.) They further site: lack of a literary

Sure, weather can be cold and wet But it can be a good reason To stay at home with chocolate Winter is pleasure and party People are happy and are fine It’s time to be with family

We can have our first sunburn In the wild, with red cheek, we cycle

paper trail, lack of an education and exposure to the noble class necessary to create such works.

To be on holiday we yearn Summer recharges our batteries You travel, stay in your garden You go to the beach, visit countries With sun everything can happen

The fun is in the debate. Could this controversy ever be resolved? Most likely not. But speculation of Shakespeare’s authorship allows us to explore his works even deeper, and continue a dialogue 436 years after his alleged birth.

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Page 3

One

PERCEPTION

By Anaïs Rondier

By Mohamed Amine Benhassouna

ENGEES

Université de Strasbourg

One when I wake up One when I’m sleepy One for my coffee reflection And one for my life decision

We close our eyes Hold our hands Swim into the middle of the ocean Create a word of our own imagination Believe in what we believe In a moment it blows in the wind Hold on in love to escape the truth The truth beneath, in the roots of the trees Start singing and dancing with the devil And hopelessly hoping there will be a feast In this world ruled by feelings A chemical and harmful weapon for broken souls We’re such liars and hypocrites We hurt then we smile Then we hurt again because we forget that smile Never know which is real and which is not Hopelessly I’m tryin’ for wisdom I find myself playin’ the game I hate We’re all lost but still believing That together we are found We’re falling from high up We can’t see the bottom Then we close our eyes and sleep I decided to open them Because no matter where we hide The crash is gonna come I see fear as reality I took it as my brand new friend That I’ll forever hear See deep down inside me Figure out who I really am Well I’m just a man God is playing with the chords of my memories I’m leaving to learn how to die I’m relishing the pain of life Held in nothing but the breeze Our greed to live is weird And that thing we call desire We never know what it means That bitch down the street Copes with anger and fakes a smile Says she’s in need That little boy who fights with no reason Says, there’s a voice whispering in my ear Guess we are all soldiers We’re missing the target here I’m a log on fire I’m burning to dust An awful feeling In which I trust Am I dead or alive? And for a second I look into her eyes Damn, I’m high

One to deny God One when I doubt One after doubting And one before leaving One on my way One at my home One with the man I love And one for all above One to forget One to feel guilty One to begin all again Smoking love like cigarettes

Nature By Antoine Guyonneau ENGEES

Is it normal to be in love with nature? In the twilight, the sun being asleep You hear the singing of the birds You smell the breeze who caress your cheeks Then a roebuck comes out of a bush It’s tenderly surprised The evening freshness is biting The sun disappearing behind a crest You lie down on a moss rug You fall asleep looking at stars The sunrise wakes you up You are over the sea of clouds Nature is nice, Clouds invade you A storm exploded and a sound resounded A stone collapsed, the roebuck with it He died at the foot of the cliff The rain falls on the earth A flash lightning crack the sky What can a roebuck do even if the sky is cracking?

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Page 4 Simply Similes Simply Similes is a structured exercise in poetry that yields very creative and thoughtprovoking results. This and others like it will be regular features in Métaphore.

The Air

The Boat

By Sylvain Muller

By Grégoire Delvaux

ENGEES

ENGEES

The air

The Boat

Unperceivable, everywhere

Old and tired

Gives life and death selflessly

Travels slowly all over the world

Like the Angel of Hell

Like a grandfather walking on the street

If only we could protect her for the goodness of

If only she could find her youth again.

humans

The Moon

The Sky

By Vincent Gruffat

By Vincent Dauphin

ENGEES

ENGEES

The moon

The Sky

White and full

Vast and beautiful

Shining permanently in the night

Changes constantly; dark to light

Like a mother protecting us

Like a happy passage of darkness to life.

I wish she’d be able to protect us from ourselves

If only we could change the world, with easiness for a lone universe.

The Cabanac Carp

By Jérôme Parrin

The Mountains

ENGEES

By Romuald Chinouil ENGEES

The Cabanac carp Big and nervous

The Mountains

Fight against fishermen

Huge and beautiful

As if they were in front of death

Grow slowly

If only I had a weekend to fish there

Like my knowledge of English If only they could rise faster

sim·i·le (noun) \ˈsi-mə-(ˌ)lē\ a figure of speech comparing two unlike things that is often introduced by like or as

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Page 5

The Schartz-Metterklume Method By H.H. (Saki) Munro

A delightful satire in the Sakian style showing the snobbery and gullibility of the upper social classes. LADY CARLOTTA stepped out on to the platform of the small wayside station and took a turn or two up and down its uninteresting length, to kill time till the train should be pleased to proceed on its way. Then, in the road- way beyond, she saw a horse struggling with a more than ample load, and a carter of the sort that seems to bear a sullen hatred against the animal that helps him to earn a living. Lady Carlotta promptly betook her to the roadway, and put rather a different complexion on the struggle. Certain of her acquaintances were wont to give her plentiful admonition as to the undesirability of interfering on behalf of a distressed animal, such interference being "none of her business. ' ' Only once had she put the doctrine of noninterference into practice, when one of its most eloquent exponents had been besieged for nearly three hours in a small and extremely uncomfortable may-tree by an angry boar-pig, while Lady Carlotta, on the other side of the fence, had proceeded with the water-colour sketch she was engaged on, and refused to interfere between the boar and his prisoner. It is to be feared that she lost the friendship of the ultimately rescued lady. On this occasion she merely lost the train, which gave way to the first sign of impatience it had shown throughout the journey, and steamed off without her. She bore the desertion with philosophical indifference; her friends and relations were thoroughly well used to the fact of her luggage arriving without her. She wired a vague non- committal message to her destination to say that she was coming on "by another train." Before she had time to think what her next move might be she was confronted by an imposingly attired lady, who

seemed to be taking a prolonged mental inventory of her clothes and looks. "You must be Miss Hope, the governess I've come to meet," said the apparition, in a tone that admitted of very little argument. "Very well, if I must I must," said Lady Carlotta to herself with dangerous meekness. "I am Mrs. Quabarl," continued the lady; "and where, pray, is your luggage?" "It's gone astray," said the alleged governess, falling in with the excellent rule of life that the absent are always to blame; the luggage had, in point of fact, behaved with perfect correctitude. "I've just telegraphed about it," she added, with a nearer approach to truth. "How provoking," said Mrs. Quabarl;" these railway companies are so careless. However, my maid can lend you things for the night," and she led the way to her car. During the drive to the Quabarl mansion Lady Carlotta was impressively introduced to the nature of the charge that had been thrust upon her; she learned that Claude and Wilfrid were delicate, sensitive young people, that Irene had the artistic temperament highly developed, and that Viola was something or other else of a mould equally common- place among children of that class and type in the twentieth century. "I wish them not only to be taught," said Mrs. Quabarl," but interested in what they learn. In their history lessons, for instance, you must try to make them feel that they are being introduced to the life-stories of men and women who really lived, not merely committing a mass of names and dates to memory. French, of course, I shall expect you to talk at mealtimes several days in the week." “I shall talk French four days of the week and Russian in the remaining three."

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Page 6 "Russian? My dear Miss Hope, no one in the house speaks or understands Russian." "That will not embarrass me in the least," said Lady Carlotta coldly. Mrs. Quabarl, to use a colloquial expression, was knocked off her perch. She was one of those imperfectly self-assured individuals who are magnificent and autocratic as long as they are not seriously opposed. The least show of unexpected resistance goes a long way towards rendering them cowed and apologetic. When the new governess failed to express wondering admiration of the large newly-purchased and expensive car, and lightly alluded to the superior advantages of one or two makes which had just been put on the market, the discomfiture of her patroness became almost abject. Her feelings were those which might have animated a general of ancient warfaring days, on beholding his heaviest battle-elephant ignominiously driven off the field by slingers and javelin throwers. At dinner that evening, although reinforced by her husband, who usually duplicated her opinions and lent her moral support generally, Mrs. Quabarl regained none of her lost ground. The governess not only helped herself well and truly to wine, but held forth with considerable show of critical knowledge on various vintage matters, concerning which the Quabarls were in no wise able to pose as authorities. Previous governesses had limited their conversation on the wine topic to a respectful and doubtless sincere expression of a preference for water. When this one went as far as to recommend a wine firm in whose hands you could not go very far wrong Mrs. Quabarl thought it time to turn the conversation into more usual channels. "We got very satisfactory references about you from Canon Teep/' she observed; "a very estimable man, I should think." "Drinks like a fish and beats his wife, otherwise a very lovable character," said the governess imperturbably.

"My dear Miss Hope! I trust you are exaggerating," exclaimed the Quabarls in unison. “One must in justice admit that there is some provocation," continued the romancer. "Mrs. Teep is quite the most irritating bridge-player that I have ever sat down with ; her leads and declarations would condone a certain amount of brutality in her partner, but to souse her with the contents of the only soda-water syphon in the house on a Sunday afternoon, when one couldn't get another, argues an indifference to the comfort of others which I cannot altogether overlook. You may think me hasty in my judgments, but it was practically on account of the syphon incident that I left." “We will talk of this some other time," said Mrs. Quabarl hastily. “I shall never allude to it again," said the governess with decision. Mr. Quabarl made a welcome diversion by asking what studies the new instructress proposed to inaugurate on the morrow. "History to begin with," she informed him. "Ah, history," he observed sagely; " now in teaching them history you must take care to interest them in what they learn. You must make them feel that they are being introduced to the life-stories of men and women who really lived" "I've told her all that," interposed Mrs. Quabarl. "I teach history on the Schartz-Metterklume method," said the governess loftily. “Ah, yes," said her listeners, thinking it expedient to assume an acquaintance at least with the name. "What are you children doing out here?" demanded Mrs. Quabarl the next morning, on finding Irene sitting rather glumly at the head of the stairs, while her sister was perched in an attitude of depressed discomfort on the

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METAPHORE window-seat behind her, with a wolf-skin rug almost covering her. "We are having a history lesson, "came the unexpected reply. "I am supposed to be Rome, and Viola up there is the she-wolf; not a real wolf, but the figure of one that the Romans used to set store by — I forget why. Claude and Wilfrid have gone to fetch the shabby women." "The shabby women?" "Yes, they've got to carry them off. They didn't want to, but Miss Hope got one of father's fivesbats and said she'd give them a number nine spanking if they didn't, so they've gone to do it." A loud, angry screaming from the direction of the lawn drew Mrs. Quabarl thither in hot haste, fearful lest the threatened castigation might even now be in process of infliction. The outcry, however, came principally from the two small daughters of the lodge-keeper, who were being hauled and pushed towards the house by the panting and dishevelled Claude and Wilfrid, whose task was rendered even more arduous by the incessant, if not very effectual, attacks of the captured maidens' small brother. The governess, fives-bat in hand, sat negligently on the stone balustrade, presiding over the scene with the cold impartiality of a Goddess of Battles. A furious and repeated chorus of "I'll tell muvver" rose from the lodge-children, but the lodgemother, who was hard of hearing, was for the moment immersed in the preoccupation of her washtub. After an apprehensive glance in the direction of the lodge (the good woman was gifted with the highly militant temper which is sometimes the privilege of deafness) Mrs. Quabarl flew indignantly to the rescue of the struggling captives. "Wilfrid! Claude! Let those children go at once. Miss Hope, what on earth is the meaning of this scene? "

Page 7 themselves; fixes it in their memory, you know. Of course, if, thanks to your interference, your boys go through life thinking that the Sabine women ultimately escaped, I really cannot be held responsible." "You may be very clever and modern. Miss Hope," said Mrs. Quabarl firmly, "but I should like you to leave here by the next train. Your luggage will be sent after you as soon as it arrives." “I’m not certain exactly where I shall be for the next few days," said the dismissed instructress of youth; “you might keep my luggage till I wire my address. There are only a couple of trunks and some golf-clubs and a leopard cub." “A leopard cub!” gasped Mrs. Quabarl. Even in her departure this extraordinary person seemed destined to leave a trail of embarrassment behind her. “Well, it's rather left off being a cub; it's more than half-grown, you know. A fowl every day and a rabbit on Sundays is what it usually gets. Raw beef makes it too excitable. Don't trouble about getting the car for me; I'm rather inclined for a walk." And Lady Carlotta strode out of the Quabarl horizon. The advent of the genuine Miss Hope, who had made a mistake as to the day on which she was due to arrive, caused a turmoil which that good lady was quite unused to inspiring. Obviously the Quabarl family had been woefully befooled, but a certain amount of relief came with the knowledge. “How tiresome for you, dear Carlotta," said her hostess, when the overdue guest ultimately arrived;" how very tiresome losing your train and having to stop overnight in a strange place." "Oh dear, no," said Lady Carlotta; "not at all tiresome — for me."

"Early Roman history; the Sabine Women, don't you know? It's the Schartz-Metterklume method to make children understand history by acting it

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Page 8 Puzzle me this… Jumbles Unscramble each of the clue words. Take the letters that appear in for the final message.

Cryptogram

boxes and unscramble them

Can you solve the puzzle to find this famous first line in a novel by Charles Dickens?

Word Search Can you find the following words in the puzzle? METER

ODE

POEM

POET

POETRY

RHYME

SONNET

STANZA

VERSE

Y O G E B J B S S Q

M R O R V J O S J C

T E T H M N K F V W

R D T E N G V R G E

A G O E O S Z H R T

B P T N R P J Y R H

N A Z N A T S M P W

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V E R S E E D E B R

L Q A F Z O T S D H

W Y X B B P D G A O

Métaphore  

Avril 2010 Volume 1, Numéro 1 test

Métaphore  

Avril 2010 Volume 1, Numéro 1 test