THE LIVING PHOTOGRAPH BY JACKIE KAY - FROM TEAM ENGLISH HACKERS

Wow... we have never got a project like this. we hardly can't believe that we have to create a blog together. Thanks to the members who work together and helping on the same time to get this project done.

   Clearly, this project has to do something with form 4 students and blog creators are form 4. So, it obvious that you readers want to gain knowledge or information as a reference. Isn't it.

   There you go. The literature text book that will be using for this year.


                                                     


and that is the poem that we will be sharing with you and so on. The title is ' The Living Photograph'. Hopefully, all readers would continue reading the contents and enjoy it. To all the readers, wish us good luck on this project 'coz'

If there are a hundred people who success, I am among them,

If there are ten people who success, I am the first,

And if there is one person who is successful, I am the one.

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 Author Biography

Jackie Kay was born in Edinburgh in 1961 to a Scottish mother and a Nigerian father. She was adopted as a baby by a white Scottish couple, Helen and John Kay, and grew up in Bishopbriggs, a suburb of Glasgow, in a 1950's-built housing estate in a small Wimpeyhouse, which her adoptive parents had bought new in 1957. They adopted Kay in 1961 having already adopted Jackie's brother, Maxwell, about two years earlier. Jackie and Maxwell also have siblings who were brought up by their biological parents. Her adoptive father worked for the Communist Party full-time and stood for Member of Parliament, and her adoptive mother was the Scottish secretary of Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. In August 2007, Jackie Kay was the subject of the fourth episode of the BBC Radio 4 series The House I Grew Up In, in which she talked about her childhood.

 The Living Photograph

My small grandmother is tall there, 

straight-back,white broderie anglaise shirt,

pleated skirt,flat shoes,grey bun, 

a kind,old smile round her eyes. 

Her big hand holds mine, 

white hand in black hand. 

Her sharp blue eyes look her own death in the eye.

It was true after all that look. 

My tall grandmother became small. 

Her back round and hunched. 

Her soup forgo to boil. 

She went to the awful place grandmothers go. 

Somewhere unknown, unthinkable.

But there she is still, 

in the photo with me at three, 

the crinkled smile is still living ,breathing.

THE SONG THAT RELATED WITH THE POEM
   Photograph by Ed Sheeran