Arthur miller

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Arthurmiller
Arthur Miller

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Jazz Age

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   Jazz Age The Jazz Age was a post-World War I movement in the 1920s from which jazz music and dance emerged. Although the era ended with the outset of the Great Depression in 1929, jazz has lived on in American popular culture. The birth of jazz music is credited to African Americans, but both black and white Americans alike are responsible for its immense rise in popularity. The rise of jazz coincided with the rise of radio broadcast and recording technology, which spawned the popular “potter palm” shows that included big-band jazz performances. Female singers such as Bessie Smith emerged during this period of postwar equality and open sexuality, paving the way for future female artists.  If freedom was the mindset of the Roaring Twenties, then jazz was the soundtrack. The Jazz Age was a cultural period and movement that took place in America during the 1920s from which both new styles of music and dance emerged. Largely credited to African Americans employing new musi...
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Song of myself by walt whitman 1, 6, 20, 52

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Song of Myself by Walt Whitman 1, 6, 20, 52  Song of Myself 1 I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death. (10) Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten. I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy. .................................................................................... 6 A child said What is the grass ? fetching it to me with full hands; (100) How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the ?ag of my ...
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A Hot Noon in Malabar by Kamala Das

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A Hot Noon in Malabar by Kamala Das  This is a noon for beggars with whining  Voices, a noon for men who come from hills  With parrots in a cage and fortune-cards,  All stained with time, for brown Kurava girls With old eyes, who read palms in light singsong Voices, for bangle-sellers who spread On the cool black floor those red and green and blue Bangles, all covered with the dust of roads, For all of them, whose feet, devouring rough Miles, grow cracks on the heels, so that when they Clambered up our porch, the noise was grating, Strange . . . This is a noon for strangers who part The window-drapes and peer in, their hot eyes Brimming with the sun, not seeing a thing in Shadowy rooms and turn away and look So yearningly at the brick-ledged well. This Is a noon for strangers with mistrust in Their eyes, dark, silent ones who rarely speak At all, so that when they speak, their voices  Run wild, like jungle-voices. Yes, this is A noon for wild men, wild thoughts,...
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