sexta-feira, 12 de agosto de 2011

NO REPY





This  once before,
When I  to your door,
No reply.
They  it  you,
But I  you peep through your window.
I saw the light, I saw the light.
I know that you saw me,
'Cause I  up to see your face.

 to telephone,
They  you were not home,
That's a lie.
'Cause I know where  been,
And I saw you  in your door.
I nearly , I nearly ,
'Cause you  hand in hand
With another man in my place.

If I  you I'd realize that I
Love you more than any other guy.
And I'll forgive the lies that I
 before when you  me no reply.

 to telephone,
They said you  not home,
That's a lie.
'Cause I  where you've been
And I  you walk in, your door.
I nearly died, I nearly died,
'Cause you walked hand in hand
With another man, in my place. No reply, no reply.

Losing it! Words and their stories



Source: http://www.voanews.com/learningenglish/home/words-stories/Words-and-Their-Stories-Losing-It-127067503.html


 I'm Susan Clark with the Special English program WORDS AND THEIR STORIES.


Tom Smith is the best hitter on his company's baseball team. For weeks during the playing season, Tom hit a home run in every game the team played. But then suddenly he stopped hitting home runs. He could not hit the baseball at all.

One day he struck out three times in one game. He said, "I am afraid I am losing it."

Mary Jones bought a dress in a woman's clothing store. She felt very happy about buying the dress until she got home. Then she remembered she had left her credit card at the store when she used it to pay for the dress. It was the third time that month that Mary had forgotten something important.

Mary was angry with herself. She said, "Am I losing it?"

Emma Cleveland was teaching a class in mathematics at a college. She began to explain to the students how to solve a very difficult problem. She understood it very well. But somehow, at that moment, she could not explain it. Emma said, "I must be losing it."

Americans seem to have a lot of concern about losing it. At least that is what you would think from hearing them talk. They use the expression when they feel they are losing control. It can mean losing emotional control. Or losing the ability to do something. Or losing mental powers.

Word experts differ about how the expression started. Some believe it came from television programs popular in the nineteen eighties. Others believe it began with psychologists and psychiatrists who deal with how people think, feel and act.

One psychologist said, "We Americans have many concerns about controlling our lives. Perhaps we worry too much."

She continued, "In many situations, to say you are losing it eases the tension. It is healthy. And most people who say they are having a problem are not losing it."
People may feel more like they are losing it when they are "down in the dumps." People who are down in the dumps are sad. They are depressed.

Word expert Charles Funk says people have been feeling down in the dumps for more than four-hundred years. Sir Thomas More used the expression in fifteen thirty-four. He wrote, "Our poor family ... has fallen in such dumps."
Word experts do not agree what the word dumps means. One expert, John Ayto, says the word dumps probably comes from the Scandinavian countries. The languages of Denmark and Norway both have similar words. The words mean to fall suddenly.

Americans borrowed this saying. And, over the years, it has become a popular way of expressing sadness.

(MUSIC)
This WORDS AND THEIR STORIES program was written by Jeri Watson. I'm Susan Clark.



Because you loved me

Past Simple

Listen to Celine's song and choose the correct past form.
All credits for Ester Estrada from Spain
Source: http://www.englishexercises.org/makeagame/viewgame.asp?id=2900
"Because You Loved Me"


For all those times you by me
For all the truth that you me see
For all the joy you to my life
For all the wrong that you right
For every dream you come true
For all the love I in you
I'll be forever thankful baby
You're the one who me up
Never me fall
You're the one who me through through it all

You my strength when I weak
You my voice when I speak
You my eyes when I see
You the best there in me
me up when I reach
You me faith 'coz you
I'm everything I am
Because you me

You me wings and me fly
You my hand I touch the sky
I my faith, you it back to me
You no star out of reach
You by me and I tall
I your love I it all
I'm grateful for each day you me
Maybe I don't know that much
But I know this much is true
I was because I loved by you

You my strength when I weak
You my voice when I speak
You my eyes when I see
You the best there in me
me up when I reach
You me faith 'coz you
I'm everything I am
Because you me

You always there for me


The tender wind that me
A light in the dark shining your love into my life
You've been my inspiration
Through the lies you the truth
My world is a better place because of you

You my strength when I weak
You my voice when I speak
You my eyes when I see
You the best there in me
me up when I reach
You me faith 'coz you
I'm everything I am
Because you me

You my strength when I weak
You my voice when I speak
You my eyes when I see
You the best there in me
me up when I reach
You me faith 'coz you
I'm everything I am
Because you me

I'm everything I am
Because you me

































quinta-feira, 11 de agosto de 2011

Keesh




American Stories in VOA Special English
www.manythings.org/voa/stories 

Keesh 



Our story this week is "Keesh."  It was written by Jack London. Here is Shep O'Neal to tell you the story.
(MUSIC)
Keesh lived at the edge of the polar sea. He had seen thirteen suns in the Eskimo way of keeping time. Among the Eskimos, the sun each winter leaves the land in darkness. And the next year, a new sun returns, so it might be warm again.
The father of Keesh had been a brave man. But he had died hunting for food. Keesh was his only son. Keesh lived along with his mother, Ikeega.
One night, the village council met in the big igloo of Klosh-kwan, the chief. Keesh was there with the others. He listened, then waited for silence.
He said, "It is true that you give us some meat. But it is often old and tough meat, and has many bones."
The hunters were surprised. This was a child speaking against them. A child talking like a grown man!
Keesh said, "My father, Bok, was a great hunter. It is said that Bok brought home more meat than any of the two best hunters. And that he divided the meat so that all got an equal share."
"Naah! Naah!" the hunters cried. "Put the child out! Send him to bed. He should not talk to gray-beards this way!"
Keesh waited until the noise stopped. "You have a wife, Ugh-gluk," he said.  "And you speak for her. My mother has no one but me. So I speak. As I say, Bok hunted greatly, but is now dead. It is only fair then that my mother, who was his wife, and I, his son, should have meat when the tribe has meat. I, Keesh, son of Bok, have spoken."
Again, there was a great noise in the igloo. The council ordered Keesh to bed. It even talked of giving him no food.
Keesh jumped to his feet. "Hear me!" he cried. "Never shall I speak in the council igloo again. I shall go hunt meat like my father, Bok."
There was much laughter when Keesh spoke of hunting. The laughter followed Keesh as he left the council meeting.
The next day, Keesh started out for the shore, where the land meets the ice.  Those who watched saw that he carried his bow and many arrows. Across his shoulder was his father's big hunting spear. Again there was laughter.
One day passed, then a second. On the third day, a great wind blew. There was no sign of Keesh. His mother, Ikeega, put burned seal oil on her face to show her sorrow. The women shouted at their men for letting the little boy go. The men made no answer, but got ready to search for the body of Keesh.
Early next morning, Keesh walked into the village. Across his shoulders was fresh meat. "Go you men, with dogs and sleds. Follow my footsteps. Travel for a day," he said.  "There is much meat on the ice. A she-bear and her two cubs."
His mother was very happy. Keesh, trying to be a man, said to her, "Come, Ikeega, let us eat. And after that, I shall sleep. For I am tired."
There was much talk after Keesh went to his igloo. The killing of a bear was dangerous.  But it was three times more dangerous to kill a mother bear with cubs. The men did not believe Keesh had done so. But the women pointed to the fresh meat. At last, the men agreed to go for the meat that was left. But they were not very happy.
One said that even if Keesh had killed the bear, he probably had not cut the meat into pieces. But when the men arrived, they found that Keesh had not only killed the bear, but had also cut it into pieces, just like a grown hunter.
So began the mystery of Keesh.
On his next trip, he killed a young bear…and on the following trip, a large male bear and its mate.
Then there was talk of magic and witchcraft in the village. "He hunts with evil spirits," said one. "Maybe his father's spirit hunts with him," said another.
Keesh continued to bring meat to the village. Some people thought he was a great hunter. There was talk of making him chief, after old Klosh-kwan. They waited, hoping he would come to council meetings. But he never came.
"I would like to build an igloo." Keesh said one day, "but I have no time. My job is hunting. So it would be just if the men and women of the village who eat my meat, build my igloo." And the igloo was built. It was even bigger than the igloo of the Chief Klosh-kwan.
One day, Ugh-gluk talked to Keesh. "It is said that you hunt with evil spirits, and they help you kill the bear."
"Is not the meat good?" Keesh answered. "Has anyone in the village yet become sick after eating it? How do you know evil spirits are with me? Or do you say it because I am a good hunter?"
Ugh-gluk had no answer.
The council sat up late talking about Keesh and the meat. They decided to spy on him.
On Keesh's next trip, two young hunters, Bim and Bawn, followed him. After five days, they returned. The council met to hear their story.
"Brothers," Bim said, "we followed Keesh, and he did not see us. The first day he came to a great bear. Keesh shouted at the bear, loudly. The bear saw him and became angry. It rose high on its legs and growled. But Keesh walked up to it."
"We saw it," Bawn, the other hunter, said. "The bear began to run toward Keesh. Keesh ran away. But as he ran, he dropped a little round ball on the ice. The bear stopped and smelled the ball, then ate it. Keesh continued to run, dropping more balls on the ice. The bear followed and ate the balls."
The council members listened to every word. Bim continued the story. "The bear suddenly stood up straight and began to shout in pain.
"Evil spirits," said Ugh-gluk.
I do not know," said Bawn. "I can tell only what my eyes saw. The bear grew weak. Then it sat down and pulled at its own fur with its sharp claws.  Keesh watched the bear that whole day."
"For three more days, Keesh continued to watch the bear. It was getting weaker and weaker. Keesh moved carefully up to the bear and pushed his father's spear into it."
"And then?" asked Klosh-kwan.
"And then we left."
That afternoon, the council talked and talked.  When Keesh arrived in the village, the council sent a messenger to ask him to come to the meeting. But Keesh said he was tired and hungry. He said his igloo was big and could hold many people, if the council wanted a meeting.
Klosh-kwan led the council to the igloo of Keesh. Keesh was eating, but he welcomed them. Klosh-kwan told Keesh that two hunters had seen him kill a bear. And then, in a serious voice to Keesh, he said, "We want to know how you did it." Did you use magic and witchcraft?"
Keesh looked up and smiled. "No, Klosh-kwan. I am a boy. I know nothing of magic or witchcraft. But I have found an easy way to kill the ice-bear.  It is head-craft, not witchcraft."
"And will you tell us, O Keesh?" Klosh-kwan asked in a shaking voice.
"I will tell you. It is very simple. Watch."
Keesh picked up a thin piece of whalebone.  The ends were pointed and sharp as a knife. Keesh bent the bone into a circle. Suddenly he let the bone go, and it became straight with a sharp snap. He picked up a piece of seal meat.
"So," he said, "first make a circle with a sharp, thin piece of whale bone. Put the circle of bone inside some seal meat. Put it in the snow to freeze. The bear eats the ball of meat with the circle of bone inside. When the meat gets inside the bear, the meat gets warm, and the bone goes snap! The sharp points make the bear sick. It is easy to kill then. It is simple."
Ugh-gluk said, "Ohhh!" Klosh-kwan said "Ahh!"  Each said something in his own way. And all understood.
That is the story of Keesh, who lived long ago on the edge of the polar sea. Because he used head-craft, instead of witchcraft, he rose from the poorest igloo to be the chief in the village. And for all the years that followed, his people were happy. No one cried at night with pains of hunger.
(MUSIC)
Announcer: You have just heard the story, "Keesh."  It was written by Jack London. Your storyteller was Shep O'Neal.  This is Shirley Griffith.
(MUSIC)

Where are they now...Kelly LeBrock


Source: speakup
Language level: A2 Pre-intermediate
Speakers: Jason Bermingham and Chuck Rolando
Standard: American accent.


KELLY LE BROCK

In 1984 the Young Frankenstein star Gene Wilder directed the movie The Woman in Red. The film is best known for its soundtrack, the romantic Stevie Wonder song “I Just Called To Say I love You.” Kelly LeBrock had the little role.” The Woman in Red, “ 27 years later.

Wilder and Wonder are still famous: Kelly LeBrock is not.

TRANSATLANTIC

Kelly LeBrock was born in New York City. On March 24th, 1960. Her father was French Canadian and her mother  was Irish, but Kelly grew up in England.

She started working as a model when she was 16. She was very successful and appeared on magazine covers.

She was also in ads for Christian Dior and Pantene and she said the great 1980s phrase: “Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful.” Soon she was acting in movies. After The Woman in Red, she appeared in Weird Scene (1985). The same year she received the “ShoWest” Award for “Female Star of Tomorrow.”

MARRIED LIFE

In 1986 she divorced her first husband, Victor Drai, and in 1987 she married the film star, Steven Seagal. They starred in a movie together in 1990: Hard to Kill LeBrok appeared in other films, but she later gave up acting to be with their three children. The family lived on a ranch near Los Angeles and LeBrock continued living there after she divorced Seagal in 1996.

WEIGHT PROBLEM

Kelly LeBrock also developed a weight problem. In 2005 the announced that she wanted to lose weight and start acting again. Fortunately, there was a reality TV show for overweight celebrities called Celebrity Fit Club and LeBrock was perfect. She became captain of the “Kelly’s Bellies team and lost 31 pounds (13 kilos). She later put the weight back on, but she is acting again. More importantly, she says she is “happy.”

THE CALIFORNIAN'S TALE

Source: www.manythings.org
Our story today is called "The Californian's Tale."  It was written by Mark Twain. Here is Shep O'Neal with the story.
STORYTELLER:  When I was young, I went looking for gold in California. I never found enough to make me rich. But I did discover a beautiful part of the country. It was called "the Stanislau." The Stanislau was like Heaven on Earth. It had bright green hills and deep forests where soft winds touched the trees.
Other men, also looking for gold, had reached the Stanislau hills of California many years before I did. They had built a town in the valley with sidewalks and stores, banks and schools. They had also built pretty little houses for their families.
At first, they found a lot of gold in the Stanislau hills. But their good luck did not last. After a few years, the gold disappeared. By the time I reached the Stanislau, all the people were gone, too.
Grass now grew in the streets. And the little houses were covered by wild rose bushes. Only the sound of insects filled the air as I walked through the empty town that summer day so long ago. Then, I realized I was not alone after all.
A man was smiling at me as he stood in front of one of the little houses. This house was not covered by wild rose bushes. A nice little garden in front of the house was full of blue and yellow flowers. White curtains hung from the windows and floated in the soft summer wind.
Still smiling, the man opened the door of his house and motioned to me. I went inside and could not believe my eyes. I had been living for weeks in rough mining camps with other gold miners. We slept on the hard ground, ate canned beans from cold metal plates and spent our days in the difficult search for gold.
Here in this little house, my spirit seemed to come to life again.
I saw a bright rug on the shining wooden floor. Pictures hung all around the room. And on little tables there were seashells, books and china vases full of flowers.  A woman had made this house into a home.
The pleasure I felt in my heart must have shown on my face. The man read my thoughts. "Yes," he smiled, "it is all her work. Everything in this room has felt the touch of her hand."
One of the pictures on the wall was not hanging straight. He noticed it and went to fix it. He stepped back several times to make sure the picture was really straight.  Then he gave it a gentle touch with his hand.
"She always does that," he explained to me. "It is like the finishing pat a mother gives her child's hair after she has brushed it. I have seen her fix all these things so often that I can do it just the way she does. I don't know why I do it. I just do it."
As he talked, I realized there was something in this room that he wanted me to discover. I looked around. When my eyes reached a corner of the room near the fireplace, he broke into a happy laugh and rubbed his hands together.
"That's it!" he cried out. "You have found it! I knew you would. It is her picture. I went to a little black shelf that held a small picture of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. There was a sweetness and softness in the woman's expression that I had never seen before.
The man took the picture from my hands and stared at it. "She was nineteen on her last birthday. That was the day we were married. When you see her…oh, just wait until you meet her!"
"Where is she now?" I asked.
"Oh, she is away," the man sighed, putting the picture back on the little black shelf. "She went to visit her parents. They live forty or fifty miles from here. She has been gone two weeks today."
"When will she be back?" I asked.  "Well, this is Wednesday," he said slowly. "She will be back on Saturday, in the evening."
I felt a sharp sense of regret. "I am sorry, because I will be gone by then," I said.
"Gone?  No!  Why should you go? Don't go. She will be so sorry. You see, she likes to have people come and stay with us."
"No, I really must leave," I said firmly.
He picked up her picture and held it before my eyes. "Here," he said. "Now you tell her to her face that you could have stayed to meet her and you would not."
Something made me change my mind as I looked at the picture for a second time.  I decided to stay.
The man told me his name was Henry.
That night, Henry and I talked about many different things, but mainly about her.  The next day passed quietly.
Thursday evening we had a visitor.  He was a big, grey-haired miner named Tom. "I just came for a few minutes to ask when she is coming home," he explained.  "Is there any news?"
"Oh yes," the man replied. "I got a letter. Would you like to hear it? He took a yellowed letter out of his shirt pocket and read it to us.  It was full of loving messages to him and to other people – their close friends and neighbors. When the man finished reading it, he looked at his friend.  "Oh no, you are doing it again, Tom! You always cry when I read a letter from her. I'm going to tell her this time!"
"No, you must not do that, Henry," the grey-haired miner said. "I am getting old. And any little sorrow makes me cry. I really was hoping she would be here tonight."
The next day, Friday, another old miner came to visit. He asked to hear the letter. The message in it made him cry, too.  "We all miss her so much," he said.
Saturday finally came. I found I was looking at my watch very often. Henry noticed this. "You don't think something has happened to her, do you?" he asked me.
I smiled and said that I was sure she was just fine. But he did not seem satisfied.
I was glad to see his two friends, Tom and Joe, coming down the road as the sun began to set. The old miners were carrying guitars. They also brought flowers and a bottle of whiskey. They put the flowers in vases and began to play some fast and lively songs on their guitars.
Henry's friends kept giving him glasses of whiskey, which they made him drink. When I reached for one of the two glasses left on the table, Tom stopped my arm. "Drop that glass and take the other one!" he whispered. He gave the remaining glass of whiskey to Henry just as the clock began to strike midnight.
Henry emptied the glass. His face grew whiter and whiter.  "Boys," he said, "I am feeling sick. I want to lie down."
Henry was asleep almost before the words were out of his mouth.
In a moment, his two friends had picked him up and carried him into the bedroom. They closed the door and came back. They seemed to be getting ready to leave. So I said, "Please don't go gentlemen. She will not know me. I am a stranger to her."
They looked at each other.  "His wife has been dead for nineteen years," Tom said.
"Dead?" I whispered.
"Dead or worse," he said.
"She went to see her parents about six months after she got married. On her way back, on a Saturday evening in June, when she was almost here, the Indians captured her. No one ever saw her again. Henry lost his mind. He thinks she is still alive. When June comes, he thinks she has gone on her trip to see her parents. Then he begins to wait for her to come back. He gets out that old letter. And we come around to visit so he can read it to us.
"On the Saturday night she is supposed to come home, we come here to be with him. We put a sleeping drug in his drink so he will sleep through the night. Then he is all right for another year."
Joe picked up his hat and his guitar. "We have done this every June for nineteen years," he said. "The first year there were twenty-seven of us. Now just the two of us are left." He opened the door of the pretty little house. And the two old men disappeared into the darkness of the Stanislau.
(MUSIC)
ANNOUNCER: You have just heard the story "The Californian's Tale."  It was written by Mark Twain and adapted for Special English by Donna de Sanctis. Your storyteller was Shep O'Neal.  For VOA Special English, this is Shirley Griffith.