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kensingtonEsprit éclairé
![[anglais / collège / littérature] Compilation d'extraits authentiques Empty](https://2img.net/i/empty.gif)
Alors voilà, il y a d'abord eu des échanges avec Ergo qui m'ont donné envie de travailler aussi sur des extraits littéraires authentiques (en alternance avec des oeuvres intégrales adaptées).
Je me suis souvenu aussi du topic de MelanieSLB sur ce qu'on voudrait idéalement dans un manuel de LV et beaucoup demandaient de tels extraits.
Je me suis donc dit que l'on pourrait compiler ici des extraits d'oeuvres littéraires (classiques, contemporaines, littérature jeunesse) qui nous semblent exploitables en collège, des extraits que l'on a déjà utilisés en classe ou des extraits qu'on vient de dénicher et que l'on prévoit d'utiliser.
On pourrait aussi demander dans ce topic si des membres connaissent des extraits exploitables dans une oeuvre sur laquelle on voudrait travailler mais que l'on pas n'a pas encore lue.
L'idée c'est surtout de gagner du temps dans nos recherches (car évidemment le contenu n'étant, par définition, pas gradué dans les oeuvres authentiques, on ne peut pas prendre n'importe quelle page d'une oeuvre qui nous plairait par ailleurs), de mettre en commun.
Pour faire simple, je vous propose:
- de numériser l'extrait en question et faire un copier/coller pour le poster ici avec les références
- ou de juste donner les références
Il serait peut-être bien de donner quelques indications pour situer l'extrait quand celà est nécessaire à sa compréhension et tout autre commentaire que l'on souhaite apporter. Et on peut s'adresser par MP à la personne qui a posté pour avoir des précisions sur tel ou tel point.
Après libre à chacun d'exploiter l'extrait comme il veut, tel quel ou en le modifiant.
Dans un deuxième temps et pour que le topic ne dévie pas trop, on pourrait éventuellement ouvrir un topic dédié à un extrait particulier:
- si celui/celle qui poste veut partager d'autres sources et idées d'exploitation supplémentaires précises (s'il/elle a déjà travaillé sur l'extrait ou préparé quelque chose pour un travail à venir)
- ou si des membres veulent échanger des idées, explorer des pistes ensemble, voire bâtir une séquence autour de l'extrait en question en ajoutant d'autres supports.
On aurait donc ce topic, compilation alimentée au fil de nos découvertes, et d'éventuels topics portant chacun sur un extrait pour réfléchir à son exploitation en classe si certains le souhaitent.
What do you think, guys?
Je vous propose pour commencer deux extraits de My name is Mina de David Almond, Holder Children's Book, 2010. Je pense commencer l'année avec ça en 3e. C'est le début du livre.
Très différent, pour une bonne 6e vers la fin de l'année peut-être ou plutôt en cinquième: un extrait du début de The Worst Witch de Jill Murphy, Puffin, 1974. Du Harry Potter avant l'heure.
Pour ces deux titres, j'aurai d'autres extraits à proposer bientôt. Je suis aussi en train d'essayer de préparer quelque chose à partir d' Esio Trot de Roald Dahl.
:livre:
Je me suis souvenu aussi du topic de MelanieSLB sur ce qu'on voudrait idéalement dans un manuel de LV et beaucoup demandaient de tels extraits.
Je me suis donc dit que l'on pourrait compiler ici des extraits d'oeuvres littéraires (classiques, contemporaines, littérature jeunesse) qui nous semblent exploitables en collège, des extraits que l'on a déjà utilisés en classe ou des extraits qu'on vient de dénicher et que l'on prévoit d'utiliser.
On pourrait aussi demander dans ce topic si des membres connaissent des extraits exploitables dans une oeuvre sur laquelle on voudrait travailler mais que l'on pas n'a pas encore lue.
L'idée c'est surtout de gagner du temps dans nos recherches (car évidemment le contenu n'étant, par définition, pas gradué dans les oeuvres authentiques, on ne peut pas prendre n'importe quelle page d'une oeuvre qui nous plairait par ailleurs), de mettre en commun.
Pour faire simple, je vous propose:
- de numériser l'extrait en question et faire un copier/coller pour le poster ici avec les références
- ou de juste donner les références
Il serait peut-être bien de donner quelques indications pour situer l'extrait quand celà est nécessaire à sa compréhension et tout autre commentaire que l'on souhaite apporter. Et on peut s'adresser par MP à la personne qui a posté pour avoir des précisions sur tel ou tel point.
Après libre à chacun d'exploiter l'extrait comme il veut, tel quel ou en le modifiant.
Dans un deuxième temps et pour que le topic ne dévie pas trop, on pourrait éventuellement ouvrir un topic dédié à un extrait particulier:
- si celui/celle qui poste veut partager d'autres sources et idées d'exploitation supplémentaires précises (s'il/elle a déjà travaillé sur l'extrait ou préparé quelque chose pour un travail à venir)
- ou si des membres veulent échanger des idées, explorer des pistes ensemble, voire bâtir une séquence autour de l'extrait en question en ajoutant d'autres supports.
On aurait donc ce topic, compilation alimentée au fil de nos découvertes, et d'éventuels topics portant chacun sur un extrait pour réfléchir à son exploitation en classe si certains le souhaitent.
What do you think, guys?
Je vous propose pour commencer deux extraits de My name is Mina de David Almond, Holder Children's Book, 2010. Je pense commencer l'année avec ça en 3e. C'est le début du livre.
- Spoiler:
- My name is Mina and I love the night. Anything seems possible at night when the rest of the world has gone to sleep. It’s dark and silent in the house, but if I listen close, I hear the beat beat beat of my heart. I hear the creak and crack of the house. I hear my mum breathing gently in her sleep in the room next door.
I slip out of bed and sit at the table by the window. I tug the curtain open. There’s a full moon in the middle of the sky. It bathes the world in its silvery light. It shines on Falconer Road and on the houses and the streets
beyond, and on the city roofs and spires and on the distant mountains and moors. It shines into the room and on to me.
Some say that you should turn your face from the light of the moon. They say it makes you mad.
I turn my face towards it and I laugh.
Make me mad, I whisper. Go on, make Mina mad. I laugh again.
Some people think that she’s already mad, I think.
I look into the night. I see owls and bats that fly and flicker across the moon. Somewhere out there, Whisper the cat is slipping through the shadows. I close my eyes and it’s like those creatures are moving inside me, almost like I’m a kind of weird creature myself, a girl whose name is Mina but more than just a girl whose name is Mina.
There’s an empty notebook lying on the table in the moonlight. It’s been there for an age. I keep on saying that I’ll write a journal. So I’ll start right here, right now. I open the book and write the very first words:MY NAME IS MINA
AND I LOVE THE NIGHT.
- Spoiler:
- My motto’s written on paper and pinned above my bed:How can a bird that is born for joy
Sit in a cage and sing?It’s by William Blake. Blake the Misfit, Blake the Outsider. Just like me. He was a painter and a poet and some people said he was mad – just like they say about me. Maybe he was out too much in the moon. Sometimes he wore no clothes. Sometimes he saw angels in his garden. He saw spirits all around him. I think he was very sane. So does my Mum, so did my Dad. I will write with William Blake in mind. I will write about the sad things, of course, because there is no way not to write about the sad things. And there are sad things in my life. Well, ONE BIG SAD AND HORRIBLE THING. Weirdly enough, the sad things in my life make the happy things seem more intense. I wonder if other people feel like that, if they feel that sadness, in a weird way, can help to make you more intensely happy. That’s what’s known as a paradox, I suppose.PARADOX!What a word! It sounds good, looks good, and the meaning’s good! And if something is a paradox, it is PARADOXICAL. Which is an even better word!PARADOXICAL!That’s the kind of nickname I’d like to have. [...]
Anyway, I’ll try to make my words break out of the cages of sadness, and make them sing for joy.
Suddenly, thinking about the ONE BIG SAD AND HORRIBLE THING, I know that I’m writing all this for Dad. I imagine him watching me and reading my words as I write. He’ll be everywhere in this journal, of course, in my mind and in my words and moving among the spaces between the words and behind the words.
Très différent, pour une bonne 6e vers la fin de l'année peut-être ou plutôt en cinquième: un extrait du début de The Worst Witch de Jill Murphy, Puffin, 1974. Du Harry Potter avant l'heure.
- Spoiler:
- MISS CACKLE'S Academy for Witches stood at the top of a high mountain surrounded by a pine forest. It looked more like a prison than a school, with its gloomy grey walls and turrets. [...]
Everything about the school was dark and shadowy, with long, narrow corridors and winding staircases - and of course there were the girls themselves, dressed in black gymslips, black stockings, black hob-nailed boots, grey shirts and black-and-grey ties. Even their summer dresses were black-and-grey checked. The only touches of colour were the sashes round their gymslips - a different colour for each house - and the school badge, which was a black cat sitting on a yellow moon. For special occasions, such as prize-giving or Hallowe'en,- there was another uniform consisting of a long robe worn with a tall, pointed hat, but as these were black too, it didn't really make much of a change.[...]
Mildred Hubble was in her first year at the school. She was one of those people who always seem to be in trouble. She didn't exactly mean to break rules and annoy the teachers, but things just seemed to happen whenever she was around. [...] Anyway, she had lots of friends, even if they did keep their distance in the potion laboratory, and her best friend Maud stayed loyally by her through everything, however hairraising. They made a funny pair, for Mildred was tall and thin with long plaits [...], while Maud was short and tubby, had round glasses and wore her hair in bunches.
On her first day at the academy each pupil was given a broomstick and taught to ride it, which takes quite a long time and isn't nearly as easy as it looks. Half-way through the first term they were each presented with a black kitten which they trained to ride the broomsticks. The cats weren’t for any practical purpose except to keep tradition going; some schools present owls instead, but it's just a matter of taste. Miss Cackle was a very traditional headmistress who did not believe in any new-fangled nonsense and trained her young witches to keep up all the customs that had been taught in her young day. At the end of the first year, each pupil received a copy of The Popular Book of Spells , a three-inch thick volume bound in black leather. This was not really to be used, as they already had paperback editions for the classroom, but like the cats it was another piece of tradition. Apart from yearly prize-giving, there were no more presentations until the fifth and final year when most pupils were awarded the Witches' Higher Certificate. It did not seem likely that Mildred would ever get that far. After only two days at the school she crashed her broomstick into the yard wall, breaking the broomstick in half and bending her hat. She mended the stick with glue and sticky-tape, and fortunately it still flew, though there was an ugly bundle where the ends joined and sometimes it was rather difficult to control.
Pour ces deux titres, j'aurai d'autres extraits à proposer bientôt. Je suis aussi en train d'essayer de préparer quelque chose à partir d' Esio Trot de Roald Dahl.
:livre:
yphrogEsprit éclairé
oh, the learnèd apostropheFor special occasions, such as prize-giving or Hallowe'en
Je pense que je sais ce que ma fille va avoir pour All-Hallow even. Il faut que j'écrive au Great Pumpkin!
henrietteMédiateur
Je ne peux pas contribuer directement, mais à toutes fins utiles je vous fait part de mon expérience d'ancienne élève : je me souviens m'être délectée en 3e avec un extrait de Three men in a boat : la séance d'accrochage de tableau par l'oncle Podger.
C'est le chapitre 3 du livre, et on peut trouver le texte ici : http://www.gutenberg.org/files/308/308-h/308-h.htm
J'avais tellement ri que j'avais ensuite décidé de lire le livre - hilarant.
C'est le chapitre 3 du livre, et on peut trouver le texte ici : http://www.gutenberg.org/files/308/308-h/308-h.htm
J'avais tellement ri que j'avais ensuite décidé de lire le livre - hilarant.
- kensingtonEsprit éclairé
![[anglais / collège / littérature] Compilation d'extraits authentiques 2252222100](/users/1714/62/02/30/smiles/2252222100.gif)
Merci henriette, pour la référence et le lien. On prend note.
:lecteur:
- kensingtonEsprit éclairé
Deux autres extraits tirés de My name is Mina, David Almond, Holder Children's Book, 2010.
:livre:
- Spoiler:
- Had breakfast with Mum. Bananas and yoghurt and toast with marmalade. DELICIOUS! I told her I'd started my journal. Excellent, she said. I said I might show her some of the pages when I'm ready. Excellent, she said. She said maybe we could make some clay models today. Excellent, I said. Then I came out of the house and climbed into my tree, and here I am.
I love my tree. I've been climbing it for a couple of years. I shin up the trunk to a branch that's a bit higher than my head. I sit here astride the branch with my back against the trunk. Sometimes I let my legs dangle. Sometimes I sit with my knees raised so that I can rest a book on them. It's very comfortable like it was made for me. I've been known to sit here for hours at a time, drawing or reading, or just thinking and looking and listening and wondering.
It's early spring. A pair of blackbirds are building a nest, not too far away from me. The nest's almost done. I know that because I sometimes climb higher and look down into it. One day I'll soon look down and see eggs in there. Then I'll see chicks. Then I'll see fledglings leaving the nest. Then I'll see the fledglings become birds that fly into the blue blue yonder. How amazing is that? The blackbirds squawk alarm calls when I climb higher, like they're yelling, 'Beware yourself! Squawk! Get back down girl! Squawk!' But I don't think they're really too troubled by me, not like they would be by a cat, for instance, or by a stranger. Maybe they think I'm some kind of weird bird myself, or some kind of peculiar branch. Maybe if I sat very still for a very long time, they'd build a nest in me: in my lap, or in my hair, or in my hands if I raised them up and cupped them.
- Spoiler:
- Night again. Spring is strange.The year's supposed to be moving towards summer, but sometimes it seems to be turning right back to winter again. The sky was the colour of steel all day. There was frost in the morning and it stayed all day under the trees and on the shady side of the garden wall.
I went out and climbed into the tree but the bark was icy and the breeze was bitter and even with two fleeces on I was freezing cold. [...]
I jumped down to the ground. Not a soul to be seen. I knelt on the grass and banged the ground with my fist and said,
"Come on, Persephone! Don't give up, Persephone!"
Persephone [...] spends the winter in Hades with Pluto, the King of the Underworld. When it's time for spring she makes her way back up to the earth again. Spring doesn't start until she's back. In ancient Greece, they had music and dancing and singing to call her back, to make sure that spring arrived again.
"Come on!" I said more loudly. I punched the ground again. I imagined her coming up through the earth's endless complicated tunnels. "Keep going! Don't get lost! Don't give up!"
I looked up and there was a woman, staring down at me. I think I recognised her from somewhere nearby. She had a checked green coat on, a wooly scarf, a yellow hat, white hair, and very kind eyes. She had a shopping bag on wheels with her.
"Are you all right, my dear?" she said.
"Yes, thank you."
"You'll catch your death down there," she said.
"I'll be all right. I'm just calling for Persephone."
She made a little laughing sound.
"The goddess of the spring!" she said.
"You know about her!"
"Of course I do, dear. Doesn't everybody?"
She cupped a shaky hand around her mouth and whispered, "Come on, Persephone! Come back to the world again! We're freezing cold up here!" She giggled. She looked around. "Folk'll think we're daft." She looked at me. "Do you think we're daft?"
"Yes," I said.
"Good. What's a world without daftness in it?"WHAT'S A WORLD WITHOUT
DAFTNESS IN IT?
MY FEELING EXACTLY!
"What's your name?" she said.
"My name's Mina."
"Hello, Mina. My name's Grace."
"Hello, Grace."
She smiled and reached across the garden wall and took my hands in hers. Her hands were bony, dry and cold.
She winked at me.
"I've seen you in your tree, Mina. You look quite at home up there."
"I am."
"I used to love climbing when I was a girl. I used to dream of climbing trees all day [...].
Sometimes you look sad up there in your tree," she said.
"Do I?"
"Yes. But sad's all right. Sad's just part of everything."
She winked.
"Persephone!" she hissed. "Come on!" She said it again as if she was singing a little song, and I joined in with her.
"Come on, Persephone!
Come on, Persephone!"
She moved her hips like she was dancing and I joined in with her.
:livre:
- yphrogEsprit éclairé
Non! C'est George qui prend note.kensington a écrit:
Merci henriette, pour la référence et le lien. On prend note.
Je vois déjà presque la scènette avec une notice Ikea à la clé.
La langue est un peu datée, mais :lol: :lol:
ErgoDevin
Allez, je joue aussi. Utilisés en 6e (essentiellement pour la méthode de compréhension, la description et la famille et les éléments principaux - narrateur, thème principal...). Groosham Grange, Horowitz, Harry Potter, JK Rowling, The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien
- Spoiler:
- The Eliots had been married for twenty-nine years and had seven children. David’s six elder sisters had all left home. Three of them had married. Three of them had emigrated to New Zealand.
David had been sitting at the far end of the polished walnut table, eating a polished walnut, which was all he had been given. He was short for his age and also rather thin – this was probably the result of being brought up on a vegetarian diet without really liking vegetables. He had brown hair, green-blue eyes and freckles.
Anthony Horowitz, Groosham Grange, Walker books, 1988, 2003, p.13
- Spoiler:
- She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes – her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green – exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying ; smiling but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy.
Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.
‘Mum ?’ he whispered. ‘Dad ?’
J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, Bloomsbury : London, 1997, 2010, p. 143
- Spoiler:
- The leaves were long, the grass was green
The hemlock-umbells tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars were in her hair
“That is a song”, [Strider] said, “in the mode that is called ann-thennath among the Elves, but is hard to render in our Common Speech. […] It tells of the meeting of Beren son of Barahir and Luthien Tinuviel. Beren was a mortal man, but Luthien was the daughter of Thingol, a King of Elves upon Middle-Earth when the world was young; and she was the fairest maiden that has ever been among all the children of this world. […] Tinuviel rescued Beren from the dungeons of Sauron, and together they passed through great dangers.”
From The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, George Allen and Unwin Publishers, 1954, p.257, 259.
_________________
"You went to a long-dead octopus for advice, and you're going to blame *me* for your problems?" -- Once Upon a Time
"The gull was your ordinary gull." -- Wittgenstein's Mistress
« Cède, cède, cède, je le veux ! » écrivait Ronin, le samouraï. (Si vous cherchez un stulo-plyme, de l'encre, récap de juillet 2024)
- ErgoDevin
Description physique, 5e.
Toujours Harry Potter et Groosham Grange (mais je connais d'autres livres aussi, hein
).
Toujours Harry Potter et Groosham Grange (mais je connais d'autres livres aussi, hein
).- Spoiler:
- Physical description in books
Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley’s and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. Haeey had a thin face, knobby knees , black hair and bright-green eyes. He wore round glasses.
J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, Bloomsbury, London, 1997, 2010, p.20
She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes – her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass . Bright green – exactly the same shape , but then he noticed that she was crying ; smiling but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy.
Ibid. p.153.
Edward Eliot was a small, fat, bald man with a bristling moustache and a wart on his neck. […] Eileen Eliot was about a foot taller than him, very thin with porcelain teeth and false eyelashes. […]
[David] was short for his age and also rather thin – this was probably the result of being brought up on a vegetarian diet without really liking vegetables. He had brown hair, green-blue eyes and freckles.
Anthony Horowitz, Groosham Grange, Walter Books, London, 1988, 2004, p.13
One was a boy, plump, with circular wire-framed glasses . […] He had long black hair. […] The other traveller was a girl. She had a round, rather boyish face with short brown hair and blue eyes.
Ibid. p.31
_________________
"You went to a long-dead octopus for advice, and you're going to blame *me* for your problems?" -- Once Upon a Time
"The gull was your ordinary gull." -- Wittgenstein's Mistress
« Cède, cède, cède, je le veux ! » écrivait Ronin, le samouraï. (Si vous cherchez un stulo-plyme, de l'encre, récap de juillet 2024)
- kensingtonEsprit éclairé
Merci, Ergo.
Deuxième extrait du chapitre 1 de The Worst Witch:
Deuxième extrait du chapitre 1 de The Worst Witch:
- Spoiler:
- This story really begins halfway through Mildred's first term, on the night before the presentation of the kittens ...
It was almost midnight and the school was in darkness except for one narrow window lit softly by the glow of a candle. This was Mildred's room where she was sitting in bed, wearing a pair of black-and-grey striped pyjamas and dropping off to sleep every few minutes. Maud was curled up on the end of the bed enveloped in a grey flannel night dress and a black woollen shawl. Each pupil had the same type of room: very simple, with a wardrobe, iron bedstead, table and chair, and a slit window like the ones used by archers in castles of long ago. There was a picture-rail along the bare walls from which hung a sampler embroidered with a quotation from The Book of Spells and also, during the day, several bats. Mildred had three bats in her room, little furry ones which were very friendly. She was fond of animals and was looking forward to the next day when she would have a kitten of her own. Everyone was very excited about the presentation, and they had all spent the evening ironing their best robes and pushing the dents out of their best hats. Maud was too excited to sleep, so had sneaked into Mildred's room to talk about it with her friend.
'What are you going to call yours, Maud?' asked Mildred, sleepily.
'Midnight,' said Maud. 'I think it sounds dramatic.'
'I'm worried about the whole thing,' Mildred confessed; chewing the end of her plait. 'I'm sure I'll do something dreadful like treading on its tail, or else it'll take one look at me and leap out of the window. Something's bound to go wrong.'
'Don't be silly,' said Maud. 'You know you have a way with animals. [...] So there's nothing to worry about, is there?'
Before Mildred had time to reply, the door crashed open to reveal their form-mistress Miss Hardbroom standing in the doorway wrapped in a black dressing-gown, with a lantern in her hand. She was a tall, terrifying lady with a sharp, bony face and black hair [...].
'Rather late to be up, isn't it, girls?' she inquired nastily.
The girls, who had leapt into each other's arms when the door burst open, drew apart and fixed their eyes on the floor.
'Of course, if we don't want to be included in the presentation tomorrow we are certainly going about it the right way,' Miss Hardbroom continued icily.
'Yes, Miss Hardbroom,' chorused the girls miserably.
Miss Hardbroom glared meaningfully at Mildred's candle and swept out into the corridor with Maud in front of her.
Mildred hastily blew out the candle and dived under the bedclothes, but she could not get to sleep.
- kensingtonEsprit éclairé
Description physique encore pour rebondir sur le post d'Ergo. Un extrait de A Little Princess de Frances Hodgson Burnett trouvé sur gutenberg.org, ici, page 8, chapter 1.
Sara vient d'arriver au "Select Seminary for Young Ladies" de Miss Minchin:
Sara vient d'arriver au "Select Seminary for Young Ladies" de Miss Minchin:
- Spoiler:
- It was just then that Miss Minchin entered the room. She was very like her house, Sara felt: tall and dull, and respectable and ugly. She had large, cold, fishy eyes, and a large, cold, fishy smile. It spread itself into a very large smile when she saw Sara and Captain Crewe. She had heard a great many desirable things of the young soldier from the lady who had recommended her school to him. Among other things, she had heard that he was a rich father who was willing to spend a great deal of money on his little daughter.
“It will be a great privilege to have charge of such a beautiful and promising child, Captain Crewe,” she said, taking Sara’s hand and stroking it. “Lady Meredith has told me of her unusual cleverness. A clever child is a great treasure in an establishment like mine.”
Sara stood quietly, with her eyes fixed upon Miss Minchin’s face. She was thinking something odd, as usual.
“Why does she say I am a beautiful child,” she was thinking. “I am not beautiful at all. Colonel Grange’s little girl, Isobel, is beautiful. She has dimples and rose-colored cheeks, and long hair the color of gold. I have short black hair and green eyes; besides which, I am a thin child and not fair in the least. I am one of the ugliest children I ever saw. She is beginning by telling a story.”
She was mistaken, however, in thinking she was an ugly child. She was not in the least like Isobel Grange, who had been the beauty of the regiment, but she had an odd charm of her own. She was a slim, supple creature, rather tall for her age, and had an intense, attractive little face. Her hair was heavy and quite black and only curled at the tips; her eyes were greenish gray, it is true, but they were big, wonderful eyes with long, black lashes, and though she herself did not like the color of them, many other people did. Still she was very firm in her belief that she was an ugly little girl, and she was not at all elated by Miss Minchin’s flattery.
- ErgoDevin
The Worst Witch, c'est en 6e / 5e toujours ?
(Little Princess, yeaaah !)
(Little Princess, yeaaah !
)_________________
"You went to a long-dead octopus for advice, and you're going to blame *me* for your problems?" -- Once Upon a Time
"The gull was your ordinary gull." -- Wittgenstein's Mistress
« Cède, cède, cède, je le veux ! » écrivait Ronin, le samouraï. (Si vous cherchez un stulo-plyme, de l'encre, récap de juillet 2024)
- kensingtonEsprit éclairé
Ergo a écrit:The Worst Witch, c'est en 6e / 5e toujours ?
(Little Princess, yeaaah !
Vu le style de l'histoire et l'intrigue assez simple, oui je pense. Il y aura du lexique à traduire ou expliquer avant par contre.
- yphrogEsprit éclairé
il y a plein de verbes au passé... c'est toujours le problème. J'ai utilisé les livres vraiment pour jeunes enfants comme Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, The Best Nest, ou Green Eggs and Ham. Je travaillais plutôt la phonétique avec prof au centre...
- kensingtonEsprit éclairé
Un nouvel extrait de My name is Mina, David Almond, Holder Children's Book, 2010. Probablement l'avant-dernier. La famille dont il est question était venue visiter la maison (à vendre, Mr Myers mort) quelques semaines auparavant, la mère était enceinte.
- Spoiler:
- Weird, how I can feel so frail and tiny sometimes, and other times so brave and bold and reckless and free, and... Does everybody feel the same? When people get grown-up, do they always feel grown-up and sensible and sorted out and... And do Iwant to feel grown-up? Do I want to stop feeling... paradoxical, nonsensical? Do I want to stop being crackers? Do I want to be destrangified? O yes, sometimes I want nothing more - but it only lasts a moment, then O I want to be the strangest and crackerest of everybody, to be... O stop it, Mina! Sometimes I just think too much and ponder too much and... Stop it, I said!
Then there's no time to squeak or wish or wonder anything else because a great big white van pulls into the street and stops outside Mr Myers' house. Then the blue car pulls up behind it and the family gets out. The mum has the baby all wrapped up in white in her arms.
"Already?" I whisper.
She looks along the street. She holds the baby close like she wants to protect it from the world. The dad moves close and hugs them both. I hear the baby crying. She carries it inside. [...]
Then the doors of the van open and the dad and two burly men start carrying furniture into the house.
The boy stays alone, glaring at the earth, glaring at the sky. He holds a football under his arm.
"What do you wish?" I whisper to him and of course there's no way for him to hear.
The new boy looks nice, I tell myself. Will I be brave enough to tell him that? Does he go to school? Of course he does.
He bounces the ball, once, twice. He glares at the street as if he hates it. Then he does follow his family and the furniture inside.
I keep on watching. Then Mum's below me, smiling up at me.
"I see the newcomers have arrived," she says. [...]
"And the baby," I say.
"The baby? Already?"
"Yes."
"Oh dear. I supposed they hoped to be more prepared. But they come when they come."
"And the eggs have hatched as well," I say.
"So it's the right time. It's a day of chicks and babies!"
She reaches a hand towards me.
"And listen to me my baby."
"Yes?"
"I think me maybe you're too much up there in your tree."
"Too much in the tree?"
"Yes. You should come down into the world a bit more. And you should come down and come for a walk with me."
"A walk to where?
"A walk to wherever our feet might take us."
"OK."
- kensingtonEsprit éclairé
My name is Mina toujours, les deux derniers extraits. Et deux poèmes que Mina écrit dans son journal, ça pourrait faire un un bon point de départ, avec la 4e de couverture, avant de se lancer dans la lecture des extraits.
Le blurb:
- Spoiler:
- I go downstairs. Make chocolate milk and toast. Go to the front door and stand there. The street's empty, just cars lined up against the kerbs. The sky's empty, just a few clouds and passing birds. [...]
I move to the tree, and stand beneath it, against the trunk. The blackbirds squawk, but they know it's only me and they soon calm down. I close my eyes and listen closer, deeper. And I hear the sound I want to hear, tiny and distant, as if it's from another world. It's coming from the nest. It's the sound of tiny cheeping chicks. I smile. And there's another sound, just as tiny, just as far away, just as urgent.
The baby crying.
Suddenly, the miserable-looking doctor drives into the street in his miserable-looking car. He pulls up at the house just as he did when it was Mr Myers' house. He scans the street with his miserable-looking eyes, then the door's opened to him and he goes inside. Then a nurse appears, walking quickly, much too quickly, from the end of the street, and goes into the house, too.
I listen. No sound. Just my heart, just the chicks, just the city.
Then Mum's at my back.
"Mr Myers' doctor's come," I tell her.
"Mr Myers' doctor?"
"Yes. For the baby."
"You can't know it's for the baby."
"A nurse came, too."
"A nurse? It's just routine, I'm sure it is."
"I heard the chicks," I tell her. "Then I heard the baby crying."
As we stand, another car pulls up. Another nurse goes in. I chew my lip. I tremble slightly. It's so weird. I feel like I've just been born myself, as if I'm at the edge of a huge adventure. But the doctor's face. And the nurse's. And the lines of worry on Mum's brow.
"It's probably nothing," she says. "Little baby, a few days old."
[...]
Mum draws me back inside. We eat toast and drink tea. I keep going to the front window. An hour passes. More. Then the first nurse comes out and walks away. I tell Mum. She comes and we watch again. Then the other nurse comes out. She looks at her watch., rubs her eyes, gets into her car, drives away.
But no doctor. Nobody else.
"If we were outside, we'd be able to listen for the baby," I say. "We'd be able to hear if she's OK."
"It will be OK. Sometimes getting into the world safely can be difficult, that's all."
[...]
Then at last the doctor comes out. He stands with the dad at the door and they shake hands. He casts his miserable gaze along the street and drives away.
"Thank Heaven," says Mum. She sighs with relief. "It must have been nothing."
"Nothing." I echo.
[...]
She looks at her watch.
"I'll go along later, see if I can help."
I sit by the window and take a pencil for a walk across the page.
Hours pass. Mum walks along the street towards the house, but I see her quickly turn back again.
"What's wrong?" I say.
She shrugs.
"They sound rather... agitated. Not surprising, I suppose. I'll try again later."
The boy comes into the street. Clenched fists. Hard eyes. He has his football. He kicks it against the wall. He goes back in again.
"He'll need a friend, you know," she says.
"Will he?"
"Wouldn't you?"
She leaves me.
I take my pencil for another walk across the page. I tell myself the page is the street, the pencil is me, walking closer t Mr Myers' door.
I feel so stupid, so nervous, so young. I've never once gone out and tried to make a friend before.
I take deep breaths.
I write.
Mina McKee walked along the street and knocked on the door and the boy came and Mina said, "Hello. My name is Mina. What's yours?"
Do I dare? I imagine him in the house, gloomy and surly. I imagine him coming to the door and glaring at me and telling me to go away. What would a boy with a football under his arm want with somebody like me?
But writing it makes me bolder.
- Spoiler:
- I get up. I put the book and the pencil down. I go out of the door. I walk along the street. My heart's thudding. The air's dead still. I hear yelling, the king of yelling Mum must have heard. It comes from the back of the house. A woman's voice, angry and scared. I don't turn back. I quickly walk to where the house end, then turn into the lane that runs along the back of them. I come to the back of Mr Myers' house. There's an ancient derelict garage there. The doors to the lane must have fallen off years ago and there are dozens of massive planks nailed across the entrance. Next to the garage there's a six-foot-high wall. there's a waste bin against the wall. I could easily get on to that and then to the top of the wall and look down into the garden and say, "Hello. My name is Mina."
The woman yells again.
"Keep out! All right?"
I hear the boy muttering something. It just seems to make her angrier.
"Do you not think we've got more to worry about than stupid you?" she yells. "So keep out! All right? All right?"
She sounds so scared, at her wits' end.
"Just keep out!," she yells again, then it's silent.
I stand in the lane all alone. I tell myself I should go back home, but it feels like an adventure to be standing there, even though I'm so close to home, even though everything's so still and so silent. My heart beats fast.
After a while, there's his mother's voice again. Will he come in for lunch? No, he tells her. No! Then I hear their voices close together. She's calmer now. I imagine her at his side, touching him, tousling his hair, reasoning with him, explaining her anger. It's the garage she's scared of. It must be. Please keep out of it, she must be telling him. Then I hear a doorbell, and her feet hurrying away. Now! I tell myself. Now!
But I don't. Do it! I tell myself, but I don't. And there's the creaking of a door then silence again. [...]
Silly Mina! Lost your chance! Chicken!
I wait, but they've gone. And I trail back home. And I write again.
Chicken! I'm frightened. Don't be frightened!
I try not to feel silly and forlorn. I write an extraordinary activity for myself, the most important of all extraordinary activities. I pin it up above my bed.
EXTRAORDINARY ACTIVITY
BE BRAVE!
[...]
And I just do it, just like that, the very next day.
I see him go off to school in the morning. I'm in the tree when he comes back in the afternoon. I don't wait long. I take myself for a walk into the back lane. I hear the boy and his dad talking together. Then his dad goes away. And I wait. And there's silence, just the creaking of a door, so he must be in there again.
As soon as he comes out! I tell myself.
I wait.
The creaking of the door.
Now! Do it!
I jump up on the waste bin and look down from the top of the wall.
"Are you the new boy here?" I say.
He turns around, looks up, and at last I tell him in my brightest voice:
"My name is Mina!"
- Spoiler:
- I sit in my tree
I sing like the birds
My beak is my pen
My songs are my poems.
Who?
I sit in my tree with a book and a pen and I write.
For instance:
"There is a boy and a woman and a man in the street
And they enter a house which once was the house
Of a man called Ernie Myers."
For instance:
"There is a cat named Whisper which slinks past the house
To the overgrown garden at the back of the house."
For instance:
"The blackbirds have made their nest and there are
Three blue-green brown-speckled eggs in it."
And so they all appear in my book:
The boy, the woman, the man, the cat,
The house, the garden,
The blackbirds, the tree, the eggs, the nest.
And sometimes I hesitate.
And sometimes I wonder,
Is there someone who writes,
"There is a girl called Mina sitting in a tree."
Is there someone who writes,
"Sometimes she hesitates and sometimes she wonders."
And if there is, who is it?
Who writes Mina?
Who writes me?
Le blurb:
- Spoiler:
- Mina's a rebel.
She can't be controlled and she won't fit in.
People say she's weird. Some say she's just crazy.
But all she wants is to be free, to be happy, and to be herself.
One night, as she sits in the moonlight,
she picks up an empty notebook, and begins to write.
And here is her journal, Mina's life in Mina's own words:
her stories and dreams, experiences and thoughts,
her scribblings and nonsense, poems and songs.
Her vivid account of her vivid life.
DalivaNeoprof expérimenté
J'avais aussi loupé ce message!
Merci !
Merci !
- ErgoDevin
Court texte en 5e, sur les tâches ménagères.
Le langage est très désuet mais ça illustrait bien, sur le coup.
- Spoiler:
- "There is shopping that needs to be done, and usually on Thursday evenings I clean the living-room, dust and vacuum, wash the windows, damp mop the floors. I couldn't get that done last night."
"I can do that." Dicey said.
"Do be careful not the break anything." Cousin Eunice urged.
"I will." Dicey said.
"Here is some money. Try not to spend it all." Cousin Eunice handed her twenty dollars. "We'll need something for supper, I suppose. Can you cook?"
Dicey nodded.
"It has to be fish." Cousin Eunice said. "Today is Friday."
[...]
"And did you get the living-room done?"
"Yes, I did."
"Good. You washed the windows?"
"Oh, no. I forgot that. I'll do that in the morning."
Homecoming, Cynthia Voigt, Harper and Collins, 1981, 2001, p.196, p.210
Vacuum = hoover
Le langage est très désuet mais ça illustrait bien, sur le coup.
_________________
"You went to a long-dead octopus for advice, and you're going to blame *me* for your problems?" -- Once Upon a Time
"The gull was your ordinary gull." -- Wittgenstein's Mistress
« Cède, cède, cède, je le veux ! » écrivait Ronin, le samouraï. (Si vous cherchez un stulo-plyme, de l'encre, récap de juillet 2024)
ZeldaHabitué du forum
Merci Kensington de nous faire découvrir My name is Mina, ça a l'air super. Je l'ai commandé mais comme il n'arrive que dans plusieurs semaines, je vais me servir des extraits que tu as mis en ligne.
- kensingtonEsprit éclairé
De rien! Je suis ravi que les quelques extraits aient pu te séduire.
Ils donnent une vue un peu partielle parce que certaines parties à la 3e personne abordent des événements importants de la vie de Mina mais ils étaient trop longs, et un peu plus difficiles, pour les exploiter.
Ces extraits donnent tout de même une bonne idée du livre, du personnage, du style.
Je te recommande Skellig du même auteur, un livre un peu plus ancien dans lequel Mina apparaît mais reste un personnage un peu secondaire.
Des ressources trouvées sur le net à propos de Mina:
un "reader's guide" en pdf
Une fiche Talking Points (pdf).
Authors Live: Creative Writing with David Almond: intervention de David Almond devant des élèves pour le Scottish Book Trust et une interview.
David Almond:une autre interview video sur My name is Mina précisément.
edit: toujours sur le site du Scottish Book Trust, un guide pour le prof sur My name is Mina (pdf).
- ZeldaHabitué du forum
Merci beaucoup!
- ZeldaHabitué du forum
Voici des extraits du Journal d'Adrian Mole: The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole aged 13 3/4, Sue Townsend:
1er extrait: une liste impressionnante de chores:
2e extrait: what would you do if ...?
3e extrait: pour travailler le récit au prétérit simple (+ 1 prétérit be+ing), l'enchainement d'actions:
1er extrait: une liste impressionnante de chores:
- Spoiler:
- Monday March 9th
Cleaned toilet, washed basin and bath before doing my paperround. Came home, made breakfast, put washing in machine, went to school. Gave Barry Kent his menaces money, went to Bert Baxter’s, waited for social worker who didn’t come, had school dinner. Had Domestic Science - made apple crumble. Came home. Vacuumed hall, lounge, and breakfast room. Peeled potatoes, chopped up cabbage, cut finger, rinsed blood off cabbage. Put chops under grill, looked into cookery book for a recipe for gravy. Made gravy. Strained lumps with a colander. Set table, served dinner, washed up. Put burnt saucepans in to soak. Got washing out of the machine; everything blue, including white underwear and handkerchiefs. Hung washing on clothes-horse. Fed dog. Ironed PE kit, cleaned shoes. Did homework. Took dog for a walk, had bath. Cleaned bath. Made three cups of tea. Washed cups up. Went to bed. Just my luck to have an assertive mother!
2e extrait: what would you do if ...?
- Spoiler:
- Thursday March 19th
Mr. Lucas has put his house up for sale. My mother says the asking price is thirty thousand pounds!!
What will he do with all that money?
My mother says he will buy another bigger house. How stupid can you get?
If I had thirty thousand pounds I would wander the world having experiences.
I wouldn’t take any real money with me because I have read that most foreigners are thieves. Instead I would have three thousand pounds’ worth of traveller’s checks sewn into my trousers. Before I set off, I would:
a) Send Pandora three dozen red roses.
b) Pay a mercenary fifty pounds to duff Barry Kent up.
c) Buy the best racing bike in the world and ride it past Nigel’s house.
d) Order a massive crate of expensive dog food so that the dog is properly fed while I’m away.
e) Buy a housekeeper for Bert Baxter.
f) Offer my mother and father a thousand pounds (each) to stay together.
When I came back from the world I would be tall, brown and full of ironical experiences and Pandora would cry into her pillow at night because of the chance she missed to be Mrs. Pandora Mole. I would qualify to be a vet in record time then I would buy a farmhouse. I would convert one room into a study so that I could have somewhere quiet to be an intellectual in.
I wouldn’t waste thirty thousand pounds on buying a semi-detached house!
3e extrait: pour travailler le récit au prétérit simple (+ 1 prétérit be+ing), l'enchainement d'actions:
- Spoiler:
- Wednesday March 11th
Dragged myself to school after doing paperround and housework. My mother wouldn’t give me a note excusing me from games so I left my PE kit at home. I just couldn’t face running about in the cold wind.
That sadist Mr. Jones made me run all the way home to fetch my PE kit. The dog must have followed me out of the house because when I got to the school gate it was there before me. I tried to shut the dog out but it squeezed through the railings and followed me into the playground. I ran into the changing rooms and left the dog outside but I could hear its loud bark echoing around the school. I tried to sneak into the playing fields but the dog saw me and followed behind, then it saw the football and joined in the lesson! The dog is dead good at football, even Mr. Jones was laughing until the dog punctured the ball.
- kensingtonEsprit éclairé
Thanks!
Qui sont Bert Baxter et Barry Kent?
doctor whoDoyen
Salut,
Ce projet est proche de celui du blog
litteratureprimaire.eklablog.com
qui milite pour l'utilisation de morceaux choisis tirés de classiques de la littérature.
Il y a aussi de quoi faire en littérature anglaise traduite.
Ce projet est proche de celui du blog
litteratureprimaire.eklablog.com
qui milite pour l'utilisation de morceaux choisis tirés de classiques de la littérature.
Il y a aussi de quoi faire en littérature anglaise traduite.
_________________
Mon blog sur Tintin (entre autres) : http://popanalyse.over-blog.com/
Blog pédagogique : http://pedagoj.eklablog.com
- kensingtonEsprit éclairé
Traduite ou en VO, la littérature jeunesse anglaise, classique ou contemporaine est une mine en effet!
- ErgoDevin
Merci zelda ! J'adore ce livre, en plus ! Il y a tout un tas de choses à étudier d'un point de vue formel dedans, également.
_________________
"You went to a long-dead octopus for advice, and you're going to blame *me* for your problems?" -- Once Upon a Time
"The gull was your ordinary gull." -- Wittgenstein's Mistress
« Cède, cède, cède, je le veux ! » écrivait Ronin, le samouraï. (Si vous cherchez un stulo-plyme, de l'encre, récap de juillet 2024)
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