21 October 2012

Syllabus for Polytechnic Lecturers

English Syllabus for Polytechnic Lecturers


I.                     Writers and Texts

1)       William Shakespeare "Hamlet", "Tempest"
2)       John Milton "Paradise Lost"-Book 1 and 9
3)       William Wordsworth “Immortality Ode”, "Tintern Abbey"
4)       John Keats “Ode to a Nightingale”, “To Autumn”
5)       Robert Browning “My Last Duchess”, “The Last Ride Together”
6)       Charles Dickens David Copperfield
7)       TS Eliot “The Waste Land”, "Murder in the Cathedral"
8)       GB Shaw "Saint Joan"
9)       Virginia Woolf “A Room of One’s Own”
10)   Samuel Beckett "Waiting for Godot"
11)   William Golding "Lord of the Flies"
12)   Robert Frost “Home Burial”, “The Road Not Taken”
13)   Eugene O’Neill "The Hairy Ape"
14)   Toni Morrison "Beloved"
15)   Mulk Raj Anand "Untouchable"
16)   AK Ramanujan “Love Poem for a Wife”, “Small-Scale Reflections on a Great House”
17)   Girish Karnad "Hayavadana"
18)   Salman Rushdie "Midnight’s Children"
19)   Chinua Achebe "Things Fall Apart"
20)   Margaret Atwood "Edible Woman"
21)   AD Hope “Australia”, “Crossing the Frontier”
22)   Bessie Head "A Question of Power"

II.                  English Language Teaching

1)        ELT in India: (History and status of English in India; English as Second Language,
English as Foreign Language and English as Global Language).
2)       Methods and Approaches: (Grammar Translation method, Direct method, Audio-Lingual method; Structural approach, Communicative language teaching)
3)       Teaching of Language Skills: (Teaching of Listening, Speaking, Reading, and Writing
Skills; Teaching of Grammar and Functional English; Teaching of Vocabulary; Classroom
techniques; Use of authentic materials)
4)       Testing and Evaluation: (Principles, Types, Objectives of testing and evaluation)

Robert Browning's

The Last Ride Together

I said---Then, dearest, since 'tis so,
Since now at length my fate I know,
Since nothing all my love avails,
Since all, my life seemed meant for, fails,
Since this was written and needs must be---

My whole heart rises up to bless
Your name in pride and thankfulness!
Take back the hope you gave,---I claim
---Only a memory of the same,
---And this beside, if you will not blame,
Your leave for one more last ride with me.

My mistress bent that brow of hers;
Those deep dark eyes where pride demurs
When pity would be softening through,
Fixed me, a breathing-while or two,

With life or death in the balance: right!
The blood replenished me again;
My last thought was at least not vain:
I and my mistress, side by side

Shall be together, breathe and ride,
So, one day more am I deified.
Who knows but the world may end tonight?

Hush! if you saw some western cloud
All billowy-bosomed, over-bowed
By many benedictions---sun's
And moon's and evening-star's at once---
And so, you, looking and loving best,
Conscious grew, your passion drew

Cloud, sunset, moonrise, star-shine too,
Down on you, near and yet more near,
Till flesh must fade for heaven was here!---
Thus leant she and lingered---joy and fear!
Thus lay she a moment on my breast.

Then we began to ride. My soul
Smoothed itself out, a long-cramped scroll
Freshening and fluttering in the wind.
Past hopes already lay behind.

What need to strive with a life awry?
Had I said that, had I done this,
So might I gain, so might I miss.
Might she have loved me? just as well

She might have hated, who can tell!
Where had I been now if the worst befell?
And here we are riding, she and I.

Fail I alone, in words and deeds?
Why, all men strive and who succeeds?
We rode; it seemed my spirit flew,
Saw other regions, cities new,

As the world rushed by on either side. 
I thought,---All labour, yet no less
Bear up beneath their unsuccess.
Look at the end of work, contrast
The petty done, the undone vast,
This present of theirs with the hopeful past!
I hoped she would love me; here we ride.

What hand and brain went ever paired?
What heart alike conceived and dared?
What act proved all its thought had been?
What will but felt the fleshly screen?
We ride and I see her bosom heave. 

There's many a crown for who can reach,
Ten lines, a statesman's life in each!
The flag stuck on a heap of bones,

A soldier's doing! what atones?
They scratch his name on the Abbey-stones.
My riding is better, by their leave.

What does it all mean, poet? Well,
Your brains beat into rhythm, you tell
What we felt only; you expressed
You hold things beautiful the best,

And pace them in rhyme so, side by side.
'Tis something, nay 'tis much: but then,

Have you yourself what's best for men?
Are you---poor, sick, old ere your time---

Nearer one whit your own sublime
Than we who never have turned a rhyme?
Sing, riding's a joy! For me, I ride.

And you, great sculptor---so, you gave
A score of years to Art, her slave,

And that's your Venus, whence we turn
To yonder girl that fords the burn!
You acquiesce, and shall I repine?
What, man of music, you grown grey
With notes and nothing else to say,

Is this your sole praise from a friend,
``Greatly his opera's strains intend,
``Put in music we know how fashions end!''
I gave my youth; but we ride, in fine.

Who knows what's fit for us? Had fate
Proposed bliss here should sublimate
My being---had I signed the bond---
Still one must lead some life beyond,
Have a bliss to die with, dim-descried. 
This foot once planted on the goal,
This glory-garland round my soul,

Could I descry such? Try and test!
I sink back shuddering from the quest. 
Earth being so good, would heaven seem best?
Now, heaven and she are beyond this ride.

And yet---she has not spoke so long!
What if heaven be that, fair and strong
At life's best, with our eyes upturned
Whither life's flower is first discerned,

We, fixed so, ever should so abide?
What if we still ride on, we two
With life for ever old yet new,
Changed not in kind but in degree,
The instant made eternity,---
And heaven just prove that I and she
Ride, ride together, for ever ride?

A.D. Hope's


A Nation of trees, drab green and desolate grey 
In the field uniform of modern wars, 
Darkens her hills, those endless, outstretched paws 
Of Sphinx demolished or stone lion worn away. 

They call her a young country, but they lie: 
She is the last of lands, the emptiest, 
A woman beyond her change of life, a breast 
Still tender but within the womb is dry. 

Without songs, architecture, history: 
The emotions and superstitions of younger lands, 
Her rivers of water drown among inland sands, 
The river of her immense stupidity 

Floods her monotonous tribes from Cairns to Perth. 
In them at last the ultimate men arrive 
Whose boast is not: "we live" but "we survive", 
A type who will inhabit the dying earth. 

And her five cities, like five teeming sores, 
Each drains her: a vast parasite robber-state 
Where second hand Europeans pullulate 
Timidly on the edge of alien shores. 

Yet there are some like me turn gladly home 
From the lush jungle of modern thought, to find 
The Arabian desert of the human mind, 
Hoping, if still from the deserts the prophets come, 

Such savage and scarlet as no green hills dare 
Springs in that waste, some spirit which escapes 
The learned doubt, the chatter of cultured apes 
Which is called civilization over there.

A D Hope's

Crossing the Frontier

 Crossing the frontier they were stopped in time, 
Told, quite politely, they would have to wait: 
Passports in order, nothing to declare 
And surely holding hands was not a crime 
Until they saw how, ranged across the gate, 
All their most formidable friends were there. 

Wearing his conscience like a crucifix, 
Her father, rampant, nursed the Family Shame; 
And, armed with their old-fashioned dinner-gong, 
His aunt, who even when they both were six, 
Had just to glance towards a childish game 
To make them feel that they were doing wrong. 

And both their mothers, simply weeping floods, 
Her head-mistress, his boss, the parish priest, 
And the bank manager who cashed their cheques; 
The man who sold him his first rubber-goods; 
Dog Fido, from whose love-life, shameless beast, 
She first observed the basic facts of sex. 

They looked as though they had stood there for hours; 
For years - perhaps for ever. In the trees 
Two furtive birds stopped courting and flew off; 
While in the grass beside the road the flowers 
Kept up their guilty traffic with the bees. 
Nobody stirred. Nobody risked a cough. 

Nobody spoke. The minutes ticked away; 
The dog scratched idly. Then, as parson bent 
And whispered to a guard who hurried in, 
The customs-house loudspeakers with a bray 
Of raucous and triumphant argument 
Broke out the wedding march from Lohengrin. 

He switched the engine off: "We must turn back." 
She heard his voice break, though he had to shout 
Against a din that made their senses reel, 
And felt his hand, so tense in hers, go slack. 
But suddenly she laughed and said: "Get out! 
Change seatsl Be quickl" and slid behind the wheel. 

And drove the car straight at them with a harsh, 
Dry crunch that showered both with scraps and chips, 
Drove through them; barriers rising let them pass 
Drove through and on and on, with Dad's moustache 
Beside her twitching still round waxen lips 
And Mother's tears still streaming down the glass.


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