January 23

Signed contract due—student and parent signature

February 2

Last day for extra credit poetry by 3:15

February 6

Last day for poetry recitation at the beginning of the hour

February 6

Last day for Mr. Coppa or Miss Perrin to check typed drafts of Essay #1

February 10

Last day for Essay #1 history writing project due at the beginning of the hour

February 10

Pre-registration for Juniors

February 12

Completed schedule with parent signature due today for registration

February 16 & 17

No school—Winter break

February 23

Parent-teacher conferences 5:30-8:30 pm

February 27

Last day for Mr. Coppa or Miss Perrin to check typed drafts of Essay #2

March 2

Last day for Essay #2 history writing project due at the beginning of the hour

March 9

History final

March 10

Literature final

March 11

Vocabulary final—open notes with 3x5 cards

March 16-18

Adjusted schedule for CSAP testing

March 19

No school for students  Spring Break Begins!

DATE DESIGNED

QUARTER USED

ASSESSMENT ANALYSIS

Target     and     Method

6-4-99 (template)

All quarters

Skills

Performance

2.1 Write and speak for a variety of purposes

4.4 Identify the purpose, perspective and historical and

      cultural influences of a speaker, author, or director

3.2    Read literature that reflects the uniqueness and

      integrity of the American experience

2.1 Students know how to formulate questions and

      hypotheses regarding what happened in the

       past and to obtain and analyze historical data

       to answer questions and test hypotheses.

2.2 Students know how to interpret and evaluate

       primary and secondary sources of historical

       information.

3.1 Students know how various societies were

      affected by contacts and exchanges among

      diverse peoples.

3.2    Students understand the history of social 

       organization in various societies.

Knowledge and Skills

The poetry is from the time period from each quarter’s theme, and is by an American poet.  Students learn strategies to memorize effectively and how to recite.   Some interpretation is needed for memorization and recitation

Relevance

Everyone needs a little American literature in his pocket.  The poetry selected in most often used in literature, and as allusions in other forms of communication.  Students will be able to recognize American poets and their impact on the country

Application (work a/o college)

There are many post high school opportunities to use allusions.   Most speakers and writers use a strong well-known quote as an interest catcher or conclusion.   Marketing uses allusions as one of their strongest strategies.  The Greeks wrote “Let the buyer beware (caveat emptor)”  It still applies today.

100 POINTS

“Because I Could Not Stop For Death” by Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children strove
At recess in the Ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, He  passed us

The Dews drew quivering and chill

For only Gossamer, my Gown

My Tippet only Tulle

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 't is centuries; but yet
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

100 points

“i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)”  by   e. e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

                                    i fear

no fate(for you are my fate, my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day;

The score stood two to four, with but one inning lift to play.

So, when Cooney died at second, and Burrows did the same,

A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest,

With that hope which springs eternal within the human breast.

For they thought: “If only Casey could get a whack at that,”

They’d put even money now. With Casey at the bat.

But, Flynn preceded Casey, and likewise so did Blake,

And the former was a pudd’n,  and the latter was a fake.

So on that stricken multitude a deathlike silence sat;

For there seemed but little chance of Casey’s getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a “single,” to the wonderment of all.

And the much-despised Blakey “tore the cover off the ball.”

And when the dust had lifted, and they saw what had occurred,

There was Blakey safe at second, and Flynn a huggin’ third.

Then from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell—

It rumbled in the mountaintops, it rattled in the dell;

It struck upon the hillside and rebounded on the flat;

For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey’s manner as he stepped into his place,

There was pride in Casey’s bearing and a smile on Casey’s face;

And when responding to the cheers he lightly doffed his hat,

No stranger in the crowd could doubt ‘twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt,

Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt;

Then when the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,

Defiance glanced in Casey’s eye, a sneer curled Casey’s lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,

And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.

Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped;

“That ain’t my style,” said Casey.  “Strike one,” the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,

Like the beating of the storm waves on the stern and distant shore.

“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” shouted someone on the stand;

And it’s likely they’d have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey’s visage shone;

He stilled the rising tumult, he made the game go on;

He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;

But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, “Strike two!”

“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and the echo answered “Fraud!”

But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed;

They say his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,

And they know that Casey wouldn’t let the ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey’s lips, his teeth are clenched in hate,

He pounds with cruel vengeance his bat upon the plate;

And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,

And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’s blow.

Oh, somewhere in the favored land the sun is shining bright,

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;

And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,

But there is no joy in Mudville—Mighty Casey has struck out.

My father was a mountaineer,

His fist was a mighty hammer.

He was quick on his feet like a running deer,

And he spoke with a Yankee stammer.

My mother she was merry and brave,

And so she came to her labor,

With a tall green fir for her doctor grave,

And a stream for her comforting neighbor.

And some are wrapped in linen fine,

And some like a godling’s scion.

But I was cradled on twigs of pine,

In the skin of a mountain lion.

And some remember a white starched lap

And ewer with silver handles.

But I remember a coonskin cap,

And the smell of bayberry candles.

The cabin walls with the bark still rough,

And my mother who laughed at trifles,

And the tall, lank visitors, brown as snuff,

With their long, straight squirrel-rifles.

I can still hear them dance, like a foggy

   song,

Through the deepest one of my slumbers,

The fiddle squeaking the boots along,

And my father calling the numbers.

The quick feet shaking the puncheon-floor,

And the fiddle squeaking and squealing,

‘Till the dry herbs rattled above the door,

And the dust went up to the ceiling.

There are some children lucky from dawn  

   ‘till dusk,

But never a child so lucky!

For I cut my teeth on  Money-Musk

In the Bloody Ground of Kentucky!

When I grew tall as the Indian corn,

My father had little to lend me.

But he gave me his great old powder horn

And his woodsman’s skills to befriend me.

With a leather shirt to cover my back

And a redskin’s nose to unravel

Each forest sign, I carried my pack

As far as a scout could travel.

‘Till I lost my boyhood and found my wife,

A girl like a Salem clipper!

A woman as straight as a hunting knife

With eyes as bright as the Dipper!

We cleared our camp where the buffalo feed.

Unheard of streams were our flagons.

And I sowed my sons like the apple-seed

On the trail of the Western wagons.

They were right, tight boys, never sulky or

   slow,

A fruitful, a goodly muster!

The eldest died at the Alamo,

The youngest fell with Custer.

The letter that told it burned my hand.

Yet we smiled and said, “So be it!”

But I could not live when they fenced the

   land,

For it broke my heart to see it.

So I saddled a wild unbroken colt

And rode him into the day there.

And he threw me down like a thunder bolt

And rolled on me as I lay there.

The hunter’s whistle hummed in my ear

As the city men tried to move me.

And I died in my boots like a pioneer,

With the whole wide sky above me.

And your life is easy  where mine was

   rough,

My little clerks of the city.

But an easy life is fragile stuff,

And I find you easy to pity.

I lie in the heart of the fat, black soil

Like the seed of the prairie thistle;

It has washed my bones with honey and oil

And picked them clean as a whistle.

And my youth returns, like the rains of

   Spring,

And my sons, like the wild geese flying.

And I lie and hear the meadow-lark sing

And have much content in my dying.

Go play with your towns  you have built of

    blocks,

The towns where you would have bound

    me!

I sleep in the earth like a tired fox,

And my buffalo have found me.

HISTORY WRITING PROJECT

or

The Write Stuff

DATE DESIGNED

QUARTER USED

ASSESSMENT ANALYSIS

Target     and     Method

12-14-03

3^rd 2003

Reasoning and Skill

Constructed Response

(WHAT?)

STANDARDS AND BENCHMARKS

LANGUAGE ARTS                                                                                                    SOCIAL STUDIES

3.1 Know and use correct grammar in speaking and writing

3.2 Apply correct usage in speaking and writing

5.4 Paraphrase, summarize, organize and synthesize information

5.5