Better English Pronunciation with Poetry Stanley Kunitz

Better English Pronunciation with Poetry Stanley Kunitz For a few months now Ive been working with one of our favorite students. His English grammar is nearly perfect, but he has great difficulty with pronunciation. Most of our lessons have therefore focused on reading very elementary texts that focus on sounds and syllables, but dont offer much in the way of intellectual stimulation.Stanley KunitzFinally last night, it hit me that poetry might be the way to go. It offers intense training on the sounds of English, along with something intellectual. For some reason I started him off on Walt Whitman, who is no doubt a great American poet, but who often uses vocabulary and constructions that are outdated by about 100 years. After the class I searched my book shelf and came across a collection of poems by Stanley Kuntiz, the 10th Poet Laureate of the United States.So Then I started thinking that a really great way to practice would be for students to not only be able to read great poetry, but also hear it read by a native English speaker. I g ot Teauna to read the poem, because everyone says shes got the clearest voice.Our resources are admittedly limited at this point, so the sound and quality of the below video of Teauna reading the poem may not be the best. Anyway, we hope that this, combined with the original text of Halleys Comet provided below will help you work on your English pronunciation. Expect more of these in the future! Halleys Cometby Stanley KunitzMiss Murphy in first gradewrote its name in chalkacross the board and told usit was roaring down the stormtracksof the Milky Way at frightful speedand if it wandered off its courseand smashed into the earththered be no school tomorrow.A red-bearded preacher from the hillswith a wild look in his eyesstood in the public squareat the playgrounds edgeproclaiming he was sent by Godto save every one of us,even the little children.Repent, ye sinners! he shouted,waving his hand-lettered sign.At supper I felt sad to thinkthat it was probablythe last meal Id sharewith my mother and my sisters;but I felt excited tooand scarcely touched my plate.So mother scolded meand sent me early to my room.The whole familys asleepexcept for me. They never heard me stealinto the stairwell hall and climbthe ladder to the fresh night air.Look for me, Father, on the roofof the red brick buildingat the foot of Green Streetâ€"thats where we live, you know, on the top floor.Im the boy in the white flannel gownsprawled on this coarse gravel bedsearching the starry sky,waiting for the world to end.