Download
1 / 28
280 likes | 411 Vues
The American Dream. Americans are obsessed with being “original”. From your own experience of the way people talk about our country on television, online, and in print, take five minutes to write down what you think that means. This book is called The American Adam.
E N D
Americans are obsessed with being “original” From your own experience of the way people talk about our country on television, online, and in print, take five minutes to write down what you think that means.
This book is called The American Adam Answer these questions below your previous response: Of what famous person does that title remind you? How was Adam an original? Does original have more than one meaning? Explain.
Our ParadoxWe always WANT TO BE new.(present)But we simultaneously WANT TO HAVE BEEN first.(present perfect)
Every Era is both a Reaction and a Revision So while each is usually different from the “parent” era, each is also usually reminiscent of the “grandparent” era.
The World Changes Very Quickly Look at How Quickly Innovation Occurs
Early Settlers viewed America as a New Eden – a God-Given Blessing
In the early 1920s, Americans hoped for a Never-Ending Party…
The American Dreamhas meant different things to different people. Whose dreams are these?
I Hear America SingingBy Walt Whitman(1860) I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck, The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else, The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth,Stealing my breath of life, I will confessI love this cultured hell that tests my youth!Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,Giving me strength erect against her hate.Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state,I stand within her walls with not a shredOf terror, malice, not a word of jeer.Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,And see her might and granite wonders there,Beneath the touch of Time's unerring hand,Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand. AmericaBy Claude McKay(1921)
