You are Invited… To a special guest presentation by ESA Grad Felicity Feinman (Dance 2010). Felicity is preparing to travel to Tanzania to do an internship with Farm Radio International. She will be in the Library at lunch, today, to talk about the role of the media in Africa…from the Rwandan genocide to the present, and to talk about what she’ going to be doing for the next two months in Tanzania.
The Telegraph Operator
by Robert W Service
I will not wash my face;
I will not brush my hair;
I “pig” around the place —
There’s nobody to care.
Nothing but rock and tree;
Nothing but wood and stone;
Oh God, it’s hell to be
Alone, alone, alone.
by George Elliot Clarke
The air smells of rhubarb, occasional
Roses, or first birth of blossoms, a fresh,
Undulant hurt, so body snaps and curls
Like flower. I step through snow as thin as script
Watch white stars spin dizzy as drunks, and yearn
To sleep beneath a patchwork quilt of rum.
I want the slow, sure collapse of language
Washed out by alcohol. Lovely Shelley,
I have no use for measured, cadenced verse
If you won’t read. Icarus-Iike, I’ll fall
Against this page of snow, tumble blackly
Across vision to drown in the white sea
That closes every poem -the white reverse
That cancels the blackness of each image.
White Pine voting is open!
For students who have been reading along with this year’s White Pine books… Drop by the Library on Monday or Tuesday and cast you vote for your favourite White Pine fiction title of this year.
Winners will be announced at the Festival of Trees at Harbourfront on Wed. May 14th.
Join us for the Festival of Trees at Harbourfront, Wednesday May 14th.
Permission forms will be available on Monday. See Ms. Wray in the Library.
Come celebrate with us at the 2014 Toronto Festival of Trees and see why 8,000 young people join us every year!
White Pine™ Award Ceremony: 10:00am on May 14th at the Harbourfont Centre
There are over 80 Authors and Illustrators attending the Festival this year including eleven White Pine authors:
Lisa Harrington – Live to Tell
Jill MacLean – Nix Minus One
David A. Poulsen – Old Man
Don Aker – Running On Empty
Colleen Nelson – The Fall
Courtney Summers – This Is Not A Test
Marion Fargey Brooker – Hold the Oxo!: A Teenage Solider Writes Home
Cindy Babyn – moving Out!: A Young Adult’s Guide to Living on Your Own
Laura Scandiffio – People Who Said No: Courage Against Oppression
Cynthia J. Faryon – Real Justice
Liedewy Hawke – The Secret of the Blue Trunk
Give your readers the opportunity to meet their favourite authors and to participate in creative workshops put on by the authors themselves. There will be lots of entertainment, games and prizes to be won.
List of workshops available here: https://www.accessola.org/Documents/OLA/Forest/FESTIVAL/2014/AuthorWorkshopWP.pdf
From School Library Journal:
Calling all teen writers ages 14–19. One Teen Story, a literary magazine for young adults, is looking for original, unpublished fiction written by teens. Any genre is fine, and the short story must be between 1,500–4,000 words. Submissions can be made from May 1 through June 30, and the winning story will be featured in the May 2015 issue of One Teen Story. The author will also receive $500 and some great swag.
Who’s the judge? None other than Tara Altebrando, author of The Best Night of Your (Pathetic) Life, Dreamland Social Club, The Pursuit of Happiness and several other critically acclaimed young adult novels.
For more information, visit the One Teen Story contest website.
By Sachiko Murakami
My fist holds as many coins
as I can carry. All are stamped with the Queen’s effigy;
Elizabeth, D.G. Regina, the resident of pockets,
a woman I’ve never met though I always know
her whereabouts. Each face pressed
into another person’s palm before mine.
The stink of sweat and metal. The waste of it.
I wish for a return, or for justice.
It’s safe to do that here. You can throw wishes away
and no one will fish them out
before the park’s authority comes to drain the pool
and return the coins to currency.
Maybe I’m buying the future a Coke,
a popsicle, a bag of potato chips, a fix.
Maybe I’m trying to bribe God.
I’m not the type who says no to a panhandler,
I scatter my spare change
all at once. Each completes its parabolic reach,
falls dead weight. I wish until the ripples still enough
to show my face: and just beyond, lit stars
bright as found dimes.