Professional Documents
Culture Documents
I. Learning Competency
Writing a close analysis and critical interpretation of literary texts, applying a
reading approach, and doing an adaptation of these require from the learner
the ability to identify: representative texts and authors from Asia, North America,
and Europe.
Here are the steps to do the close analysis and critical interpretation of
literary text.
Step 1: Read the passage. Take notes as you read.
Step 2: Analyze the passage
Step 3: Develop a descriptive thesis
Step 4: Construct an argument about the passage
Step 5: Develop an outline based on your thesis.
Now that you have learned the steps on how to analyze the texts, you are
going to write a close analysis and interpretation of a literary text from the continents
of Asia, North America, and Europe. Look at the table below and see the
representative texts and authors from these continents.
I Do
By Eileen R. Tabios
I do know English.
I do know English for I have something to say about this latest peace stirring between a crack that’s
split a sidewalk traversing a dusty border melting at noon beneath an impassive sun.
I do know English and, therefore, when hungry, can ask for more than minimum wage, pointing
repeatedly at my mouth and yours.
Such a gesture can only mean what it means: I do not want to remain hungry and I am looking at your
mouth.
I shall call you “Master” with a lack of irony; lift my cotton blouse; cup my breasts to offer them to your
eyes, your lips, your tongue; keen at the moon hiding at 11 a.m. to surface left tendon on my neck. For
your teeth. And so on.
I do know English. Therefore, I can explain this painting of a fractured grid as the persistent flux of our
“selves” as time unfolds.
There is a way to speak of our past or hopes for the future, the hot-air balloon woven from a rainbow’s
fragments now floating over St. Helena; your glasses I nearly broke when, afterwards, you flung me to
the floor as violence is extreme and we demand the extreme from each other; your three moans in a
San Francisco hallway after I fell to my knees; your silence in New York as I knocked on your door.
There is a way to articulate your silence—a limousine running over a child on the streets of Manila and
Shanghai. And Dubai.
There is a way to joke about full-haired actors running for President and the birth of a new American
portrait: “Tight as a Florida election.”
I do know English and so cannot comprehend why you write me no letters even as you unfailingly read
mine.
Those where I write of the existence of a parallel universe to create a haven when your silence persists
in this world I was forced to inherit.
This does not mean, I cannot differentiate between a reflection and a shadow, a threnody and a hiccup,
the untrimmed bougainvillea bush mimicking a fire and the lawn lit by a burning cross.
I can prove Love exists by measuring increased blood flow to the brain’s anterior cingulated cortex, the
middle insula, the putamen and the caudate nucleus.
Nor is “putamen” a pasta unless I confirm to you that my weak eyesight misread “puttanesca” as the
crimson moon began to rise, paling as it ascends for fate often exacts a price.
I can see an almond eye peer behind the fracture on a screen and know it is not you from the wafting
scent of crushed encomiums.
I can remind you of the rose petals I mailed to you after releasing them from the padded cell between
my thighs.
I slipped the petals inside a cream envelope embossed in gold with the seal of a midtown Manhattan
hotel whose façade resembles a seven-layered wedding cake. Which we shall share only through the
happiness of others. Which does not cancel Hope.
I can recite all of your poems as I memorized them through concept as well as sound.
I speak of a country disappearing and the impossibility of its replacement except within the tobacco-
scented clench of your embrace.
I can tell you I am weary of games, though they continue. Manila’s streets are suffused with protesters
clamoring for an adulterer’s impeachment. Their t-shirts are white to symbolize their demand for “purity.”
Space contains all forms, which means it lack geometry. My lucid tongue has tasted the dust from
monuments crumbling simply because seasons change.
Because I do know English, I have been variously called Miss Slanted Vagina, The Mail Order Bride,
The
One With The Shoe Fetish, The Squat Brunette Who Wears A Plaid Blazer Over A Polka-Dot Blouse,
The Maid.
When I hear someone declare war while observing a yacht race in San Diego, I understand how
“currency” becomes “debased.”
They have named it The Tension Between The Popular Vote And The Electoral College.
I do know English.
V. Reflection
1. What significant insights have you learned from the exercise above?
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