Greetings, England- Day 7: End of the Literature Week and Oxford's Waterstones Bookstore

Today is Friday, and this is the end of our week of literature...

I wish our classes of literature could have been longer because these classes are when I can really learn something more about English. Next week is the week of science. Fingers crossed, wish me luck!
Since it was the end of this weeks lessons, it's also the last time we are going to see the teachers who had taught us for this week. It really was a pity since the teachers are so nice and so well read... I asked two of them to sign my notebook, so I am going to cherish it forever. My teacher said that the teacher for next week and the next are also going to be excellent, so I had my hopes high.
Back to the lessons. For literature, our teacher, John, first brought out a copy of the poem Thistles, by Ted Hughes. Does this name sound familiar? Yes! It was the very same poet who wrote The Iron Wolf, the book of poetry which Buzz gave me those months ago, so I got excusably excited. Here is the poem:
Thistles
by Ted Hughes
Against the rubber tongues of cows and the hoeing hands of men
Thistles spike the summer air 
And crackle open under a blue-black pressure.

Every one a revengeful burst
Of resurrection, a grasped fistful
Of splintered weapons and Icelandic frost thrust up

From the underground stain of a decayed Viking.
They are like pale hair and the gutturals of dialects.
Every one manages a plume of blood.

Then they grow grey like men.
Mown down, it is a feud. Their sons appear
Stiff with weapons, fighting back over the same ground.

After discussion in the class, we concluded that this poem was writing about how stubborn and headstrong thistles are. Using the connections of their white, air-borne seeds with the frost and snow in Iceland and the cold countries. And via the ice, we were brought to the realm of the Vikings. The general descriptions of Vikings, tough and rough, lead us once again back to our main character: thistles. So this is almost like the specialty of Ted Hughes, bringing the readers into a roundabout tour of similes, then surreptitiously, we are back in the beginning. The same and the more obvious example was The Amulet, in which the poem brought us from the prey-demanding fangs of the Wolf, to his fur, his foot, his blood, his eyes, to the North Star, and once again, the focus was back on its fangs. Using a technique like this gives a magical sense to the readers, as if sending us on a feast of imaginations...

After analyzing the poems, we get to write a poem about blackberries. It was nice that the teacher gave us a picture of blackberries and first let us brainstorm the traits of them or I really wouldn't know what to write!
Here is my humble small poem, put here for the sake of sharing and recording my efforts at St. Clare's.
Blackberries

Vile with black of appearance
Its name, its skin, the thorns like thistles and brambles
They spike when you extend your hands

But
Do you really know them at all?

Sweetly considerable in their hearts
With warm-hearted bearing thoughts
Would even dive
Into hot boiling water
Just for you

The prickling from their teeth
Are just the nature of them
And the stained thumbs you get
Is a hope
That you would not forget them
That they would soon come back

So 
What are blackberries?
They are the Benedick to your Beatrice
Disliked,
But beloved.

So at first, I was planning to write something like "no pain no gain", but then I thought about the show we watched on Wednesday, the Much Ado about Nothing, and the idea of the disliked but beloved blackberries came to me. There may be a lot of flaws in my so-called poems, but I was enjoying it during the process of thinking and writing (just like I am typing for my own pleasure now), so I think it was time well spent.
Our classes end at 12:30 on Fridays, so after class, after lunch, I walked over to the center of Oxford for another small trip of my own. On my way, I passed a small alley, and out of curiosity, I went inside for some extra adventure. The alley was called North Parade Avenue, and there was an Oxford Yarn Store inside. I don't knit (but I would love to learn), but my mother does. She loves knitting. Shawls, scarves, gloves, hats, vests, you name it. She has done them all.It is basically a part of her life right now. However, most of her works were knitted for me and others as presents; seldom was there a piece for herself. Therefore, I went inside, and picked two balls of yarn with the same pattern, hoping that she can knit something for herself.
Hitting the Central Oxford, I wandered around in search of a charging wire for my power bank. The wire I bought broke down and wouldn't charge. It was not long when I got what I was looking for, and when I exited the store, it was the Waterstones that came into my sight. Of course, I went inside, of course, I did take a lot of pictures, and of course, I bought another book. This has almost become a habit of mine already. There are a lot more books in this one, comparing to the number of books in the Waterstones of Greenwich, and were more organized, with each divided into clear sections. I bought a book called "Being There All Along" by Sandy Hall, a book I had never met before, but perhaps I would like it.

Tomorrow, I am going to the excursion I mentioned a couple of days ago, which is a trip to Thorpe Theme Park. It is going to be exciting, judging by the rides I had heard from my classmates. Better sleep well today, for the adventurous tour tomorrow!
This is all for today.
07/07/2017