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EXPOSURE- PODCAST December 4, 2015

Filed under: Exposure,PODCAST — gstounenglish @ 12:29 pm
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Filed under: Hitcher,PODCAST — gstounenglish @ 12:26 pm
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Filed under: PODCAST,The Class Game — gstounenglish @ 12:20 pm


Filed under: PODCAST,Your Dad Did What? — gstounenglish @ 12:14 pm
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Dalgit Nagra Weblink December 12, 2012

Filed under: Parade's End,Uncategorized — gstounenglish @ 9:37 am


Here you can find more information and videos about Daljit Nagra, the poet who wrote Parade’s End.


Conscientious Objector by Edna St Vincent Millay December 4, 2012

Filed under: Conscientious Objector — gstounenglish @ 3:30 pm


I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death.

I hear him leading his horse out of the stall; I hear

the clatter on the barn-fl oor.

He is in haste; he has business in Cuba, business in the

Balkans, many calls to make this morning.

But I will not hold the bridle while he cinches the girth.

And he may mount by himself; I will not give him a leg up.



Though he flick my shoulders with his whip, I will not

tell him which way the fox ran.

With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where the

black boy hides in the swamp.

I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am

not on his pay-roll.


I will not tell him the whereabouts of my friends nor of

my enemies either.

Though he promises me much, I will not map him the

route to any man’s door.


The Class Game by Mary Casey

Filed under: The Class Game — gstounenglish @ 3:28 pm

How can you tell what class I’m from?

I can talk posh like some

With an ‘Olly in me mouth

Down me nose, wear an ‘at not a scarf

With me second-hand clothes.

So why do you always wince when you hear

Me say ‘Tara’ to me ‘Ma’ instead of ‘Bye Mummy


How can you tell what class I’m from?

‘Cos we live in a corpy, not like some

In a pretty little semi, out Wirral way

And commute into Liverpool by train each day?

Or did I drop my unemployment card

Sitting on your patio (We have a yard)?

How can you tell what class I’m from?

Have I a label on me head, and another on me bum?

Or is it because my hands are stained with toil?

Instead of soft lily-white with perfume and oil?

Don’t I crook me little fi nger when I drink me tea

Say toilet instead of bog when I want to pee?

Why do you care what class I’m from?

Does it stick in your gullet like a sour plum?

Well, mate! A cleaner is me mother

A docker is me brother

Bread pudding is wet nelly

And me stomach is me belly

And I’m proud of the class that I come from.