Salsa and Jazz Band Enchants Lehman

The Lehman Center for the Performing Arts kicked off its 32nd season with performances by Michel Camilo and Tipica ’73. On Saturday, September 15, jazz and salsa lovers alike came together to enjoy the works of pianist Michel Camilo, and to celebrate the 40th anniversary of salsa band Tipica ‘73. The concert was held at the Concert Hall and while the audience was predominately of an older crowd, none lacked rhythm. They swayed and clapped their hands when legendary Dominican pianist Michel Camilo took the stage. The trio recently got signed to Universal Records and features Giovanni Hidalgo on small percussion, and Lincoln Goins, who played the bass. They created a light, yet still powerful, sound; representative of Afro-Caribbean jazz. The trio performed Rumba Jazz pieces that were contemporary and modern. A crowd favorite was Giovanni Hidalgo. He played the conga drums effortlessly, and during his merengue tribute, his hands seemed unattached to his body as they moved at an incredible speed. The crowd clapped and cheered, and some even danced in their chairs. Grammy winner Michel Camilo’s piano playing was exceptionally well, due to the classical feel his performance delivered and his ability to control the dynamic ranges of the piano. Audience member Al Quiñones, resident and community organizer of the South Bronx, described Camilo as a “Dominican brother who is a virtuoso. He is every piano player’s nightmare, because he is just that good.” Quiñones also described the trio’s formation as a “thinking-out-the-box” jazz and Latin music progressive. “I always liked Jazz,”Quiñones said. “It has a never-ending period, while Latin usually has a period end. The two together created a new form of Jazz.” The second half of the performance was a reunion of the salsa group Tipica ‘73. Originally formed in New York City, the band was influential in the salsa progressive movement. Although all of the group’s members were not present, Aldaberto Santiago, lead singer of the band, sang along to many of the group’s hit classics, while also introducing members Tito Allen and Camilo Azuquita. Tipica ‘73 was known for playing salsa and the style of music called “Charanga.” The instruments that were featured were the flute, violin, and the percussions. “Yo Camino Mas,” was performed by guest star Frankie Vasquez and brought the crowd out their seats to dance to the music they grew up with. Jamie Alvarez, a resident of Bushwick, Brooklyn, expressed how happy he was to witness the event in the Bronx, the “borough of salsa.” To Alvarez, the reunion was a tribute to a “special time in history, and included many special guest stars.” The reunion was concluded with a jam session, which featured guest stars Orestes Vilato, Nicky Marrero, and Jimmy Delgado. The Bronx lived up to its “borough of salsa” title, bringing out the inner dancer out of audience members.

Rumpelstiltskin Musical (Meridian Newspaper)

Hide all of your children because Rumpelstiltskin is coming to Lehman. Media Credit: Lehman Today From May 9 to May 11, the popular childhood tale will be gracing the Lehman Stages in form of a musical featuring Lehman students and faculty as cast members. Dr. Penny Prince will be directing the musical rendition of this tale for the second time at Lehman. She believes her first production did not capture the story’s true essence. The musical will feature the same songs, new cast, but a brand new script. Prince has composed numerous musical theater pieces. She is a recipient of ten consecutive ASCAP merit awards for children and educational music. The Rumpelstiltskin tale originated in Germany and features a greedy king who is looking for a way to profit from his poor villagers. A miller hears of the king’s conquest and to feel important, he lies about his daughter’s ability to turn straw into gold. Enchanted by the fib, the king demands that the girl spend three nights turning all his excess straw to gold. Unable to make this happen the miller’s daughter becomes hopeless; until a gnome-like creature appears who seems to be the answer to her problems. The creature helps her spin straw into gold in exchange for jewelry, but once the girl runs out of items to give, the gnome asks the girl for a rare collateral – her first born child. The king then marries the miller’s daughter and when her first child is born the gnome appears ready for what they bargained. “Stories themselves have meaning, but it is important to know the psychological meaning behind the story,” Prince said. Through a creative process of improvisation Prince likes to use, the cast will write the Rumpelstiltskin script in its entirety. Prince said that she chose this method to help unravel a new side of the story. “The actors will explore these motives by questioning the actions of their characters and trying to come to a conclusion [about] why they behaved as they did,” she said. Prince believes that maintaining a creative mindset will empower her actors, granting them freedom and a special connectivity to their roles. To ensure that this happens, the cast members will meet once a week. Improvisation games will be used for warm ups and after that, the actors will get straight to work. In the first five weeks, the script is written as small groups work together to create dialogue that they believe will best embody their character. The group then comes together to focus on the musical component of this production. The music will be an outline to the story, the dialogue a partner. All of the musical pieces have been composed by Prince herself. When asked why Prince chose to make the Rumplestiltkin tale into a musical, she smiled. “Music is my thing” she said. “Songs are an expression of the being of the character. It is not a play with music, it is a musical. I also noticed Lehman’s lack of involvement in musical theater and wanted to change that.” Prince hopes that “Rumpelstiltskin” delivers a positive message to her audience and that they are reminded “to always look within a person to understand their actions.” She thinks that doing so is a direct combat against bullying and ultimately may encourage college students and others to do the same. Rumplestiltskin will be performed on Thursday May 9 at 7 p.m., Friday May 10 at 11 a.m. and 1 p.m., Saturday May 11 at 2 p.m., and it will be featured on select airings for Bronxnet in June.

Animal Folk Tale : ELL ( Why Mosquitoes Buzz in People’s Ears: A West African Tale INSPIRED

In the muddy deeps of the Congo Basin, animals were trying to find a new way of living. The ones they had called two legged savages had established order before they had. The animals decided that order was needed, and had gathered together by the “big stump” to try and appoint a leader.



Billy Bonobo: As a representative of the monkey family we believe that the Congo should have NO ruler. This is our home and home to every species, by voting for a King it will bring turmoil, destruction and jealousy. WE MUST ALL BE KINGS.



(Animals whispering)

Silverus Slither , slithered up to Bonobos feet, interrupting all further thoughts.

“FFFFFOLISHNESS.. There has to be a king, I suggest it be someone who is not hunted for their meat as often, a graceful creature one that has agility and could kill the two legged creature with one bite.’’

Melvin Mosquito: I agree! Not to sound conceited but I am in the best position for the job , thank you for your recognition Silverus.

Slither: BUZZ OFF!

The animals snickered.

SILENCEEE OPAL OKAPI SCREAMED. It was the first time the animals has seen such a beautiful figure like herself enraged. They knew that she meant business. “Tommy the Tortoise has something to say”.

Tommy Tortoise: Well ……………. I …. Know …. That…. You ….. All …. Probably

MOOVVVE OUT THE WAY OLD MAN! A VOICE ROARED

Tall bulky shadows now surrounded the treetop, where the animals were. It was the elephants. They terrorized that the animals, knocking down everything in their paths, two destroying crops and homes. The animals knew they were a force not to be reckoned with.



“WEE ARE THE KINGS” Elliot Phant SAID. His voice alone sent vibrations through the other animal’s bodies.

Okapi mustered up every ounce of courage she had : “Elliot, we are voting on our leader, this is out of your hands.”

“ NOTHING IS OUT OF MY HANDS!” ELLIOT RESPONDED! US ELEPHANTS ARE THE ALL MIGHTY ONES” he yelled, swinging his trunk from side to side.

“Please leave” the animals cooed in unison.

“WE SHALL QUENCH OUR THIRST FOR POWER, IF NOT WE SHALL QUENCH OUR THIRST FOR BLOOD!” Elliot stamped out of vision while the rest of his tribe behind him.

The other animals were scared, “OH NO’s filed the air.

“Calm down guys, enough.” Okapi said trying to hold her own fear. “They will not hurt us, tonight there will be a ballot, and each member has to write the name of who they think will be leader in front of their homes” she said while passing around thin sheets of wood.

The animals all got a piece, crawling on the forestry back into their own homes. Later that night Elliot and the tribe decided they would control the ballots and waited for the sun to set. As the darkness consumed the Congo, the Elephants truly mastered the art of creeping. They approached then monkey’s home, which was high above the trees. The monkeys had their ballots neatly stacked ready for collection.



Elliot the Elephant raised his trunk, about to signal his partners in crime to do the same, when he felt an unfamiliar feeling dissatisfaction. It ran through his blood and squeezed his tung, it brought pain and sadness. Elliot ran to the water ducking his trunk trying to nourish this strange feeling, his gang doing the same afraid of what would happen if they did not. Elliot the Elephant and his gang are told to be doing the same thing until this day.

Vanity Affair (Short Story ) Oedipus Complex

At the end of the street an empty house lay, not common among most towns in New Orleans. Empty with people soon empty with furniture as well... at night it is said you can hear the rustling spirits breaking glass. This is what haunts fellow people of Bywater, the one night when the strong sound of trumpets and saxophone playing wasn’t prevalent instead the sound of a desperate plea.
Mover1”you lift as I lift, why I feel like I’m carrying the whole damn dresser”
Mover2” it’s a vanity, and I am lifting its just feels like it weighs a ton”
Mover1”alrite aright on to the truck then, watch it this VANITY is already paid for you scratching it up”
Mover 2” I think that was already on there, and what’s that big burgundy stain?
Mover 1” Bad Paint Job?”
 Mover 1:  What you mean it aint paint? The couple that lived here kids probably had an accident, that’s all.”
Mover 2: accident? What kind of accident you think causes that much blood? You know I have heard stories about this place
 Mover 1: I heard some too, but the way you talkin man, I’m not too sure if we're on the same page. What did you hear?
 Mover 2:" you know man the whole thing with old lady messing around with the milk man and her husband came home early and found out and shot them both"
 Move 1: Don't you think that’s a little extreme? I heard the husband was abusive, obsessive and became jealous and tried to burn the house down
 Mover 2: well you know gossip in this town, never know what’s what
 Mover 1: You're right... This place is giving me the creeps though.  The mover puts on his bright orange jacket, man I don’t even want to take the vanity any more. Leave it there Phil

“Henry, come give me a hand with this vanity!”
“Mom give me five minutes, I’m almost done with this stage” focusing on his video game Henry was tired of his mom rearranging furniture all day. “What did she want from my life now?” he thought briefly.
“I said now” his mother said.
“Why do you need this? We haven’t got much room.” Henry said.
“Yes we do and it is not for me I’m holding it for a friend of mine.” Amy replied.
  Henry reluctantly got up from his chair, sucked his teeth and began to lug the furniture up the stairs.
Henry and his mother had just moved to Bywater, New Orleans. He had never known his father, and was told that dad died when he was little. Henry loved his mother and she was his everything. Everyone he came in contact with said he was an extreme mama’s boy, he did not have any friends, Mother was all he needed.
    After a few hours, most of the furniture was in place and Henry realized that he had never lived in such a big house before. Henry and his mother Amy were poor; they had always lived in a small apartment. The house was on the market for a really small price, and Henry wondered why. Was there something wrong with this house? He heard that a crazy old widow lived here before them, killing all the men she brought home before finally killing herself. Henry shuddered in fear at the fact that he would have his own room. Who would be there when he had his daily nightmares? Mother would be all the way down at the far end the hall.
Later that night Henry felt his throat tighten; once again found he awakend with sweaty palms and a beating pulse. He saw her again, this time she was trapped behind glass. Her long brunette hair clung to her back; her studded pearls lay quaint on her earlobe, a long robe hugged her shoulders, tears rolled down her eyes. Henry longed to be in her world. He belonged with her. Henry’s palm lay on the glass and he was unable to move them. He felt lifeless as he watched her run away. “Wait!” he would scream. “Please don’t leave” I need you! She would ignore his cry. He felt abandoned and alone.
“MOOOOOTHER” Henry screamed awoken quickly from his nightmare.
His eyes darted over his room; he forgot where he was at the moment. Brown boxes were everywhere. The only thing that seemed to belong was his mother’s large vanity.  It was sturdy, and had flower embroidery along its legs.
Henry thought his cry would have awakened his mother but there was mere silence in the house, something foreign to Henry because of his last home in the city. “MOM?”, “Mom, where are you?!!” Henry found himself screaming and realized only his echoes replied, so he then decided to leave his bedroom in search for his mother.
Henry went from room to room and discovered he was alone. Where could his mom have gone? Did she forget to mention she was leaving? Instead of feeling concerned by his mother’s disappearance, Henry started to become enraged. His thoughts changed from where could she have gone to who could she have went to see?
    Henry remembered the man who would come to the old apartment some days and sit with mother in the living room. Who Henry had started to notice a few months before the move, he was a middle aged man. He had ruffled thick brown hair, bags under his eyes and facial hair along his cheeks. His eyelashes were extremely long and his teeth were the definition of yellow. Henry hated his face and saw the man in the most weirdest and unexplainable places. When they met they never talked, just stared into each other’s eyes. When he would ask his mother about him, she would remain in silence. Henry gave the man the name Mr. Weathers.
    Was Mr. Weathers the man his mother ran off with in the middle of the night? He thought. How could she leave me here all by myself? I feel so alone, all I want is to hug her and have her scent about me, feel her skin against mine….. Henry was furious that Mr. Weathers had his mother away for the night. What was he doing to her? If only I knew where the bastard Weathers lived, thought Henry.
Henrys multiple emotions filled his mind until he fell back asleep. He awoke the next morning to the smell of hot cakes and grits. Following the sweet aroma down the stairs Henry found his mom in the kitchen behind the stove.
“Good Morning honey, how’d you sleep?”. Remembering his abandonment the night before, Henry disregarded his moms question and started his own investigation. “Where were you last night?”. His mom looked at her son puzzled and answered “sound asleep in bed, where else?”. Furious by this answer Henry yelled out “NO YOU WERENT!”. Henrys mom had never witness her son raise his voice to her, something was wrong.
    She was shocked. She began to shout “Excuse me, boy-“but was cut off by Henry “I awoke last night, you were not home! I called out for you! Who were you with!? ANSWER ME!” Amy replied “Boy, this is no time for interrogation! Get your breakfast before the bus leaves you, you need fresh air. ”
“Good” Henry shouted.
‘’ I’ll walk!” he said.
 While Henry was out, he stopped at the park. He wasn’t even concerned about him not making it a productive day. Thoughts of Mr. Weathers and mother flooded his mind. “
“Why does mama need anyone else? Why is that guy around? I’m a young boy! Mother doesn’t need him, I’m going to be her baby, forever!” The jealousy of someone else having Mother was overwhelming.
    Nightfall approached Henry knew his mother would worry so he waited for his bus and boarded. It took a long half hour to get back to the house. Once out the bus, he noticed the light on in the living room. He peered in through the window and saw Mr. Weathers and mother sitting in the living room. His mother was drinking out of his favorite pink flower mugs, watching the television. Mr. Weather was quiet and still. His baggy eyes were prominent, his black hair was ruffled. He noticed Henry as soon as he approached the mirror and stared blankly back at him. A familiar feeling began to come over Henry as his throat tightened, his palms became sweaty. The bushes under the window sill scratched his leg, while the dirt clung to his feet. Why was Mr.Weather staring at him like that? What was he to do? His body leaned forward, as his knees began to give out and as he did Mr. Weather came closer as well. Mr. Henry sat on the ground and covered his face with his hands embarrassed he had been spying on them a gotten caught, after a few minutes; he heard a car pass by. Mr. Weathers must have left.
Henry sprang up and began to fumble around his pocket; he then found his keys and jolted inside. "Mother?" Henry said while entering the kitchen. “Why hello my Henry.” she replied, while bent over the stove. “Our appetizers are ready monsieur” she said in a fake French accent. “Mother your friend said he had to run, he’s not here” he said. “ Why Henry what are you? … Oh him …okay” she replied nervously. She must not think I know Henry thought. “I’m going upstairs. '' He said. “You don’t want anything to eat Henry?” Amy questioned “No, I'm fine” Henry headed to the staircase. While on the long journey to his room, Henry's thoughts flooded his head. The image of his mother, and the way Mr. Weather blankly stared at him was terrifying. Henry opened the door and sat on the chair facing the glass mirror of the vanity. The glass mirror needed to be clean, dirt clenched on to various spots.
Henry stared at what it looked to be a weird reflection; he did not know whose eyes were looking back at him. He didn’t recognize his face, his eyes had bags under them.. Everything just did not seem right. It must be this mirror he thought, no wonder mother hated it. I need a good sleep he thought, I am a growing boy he thought I need sleep, so I be big and strong like Daddy he told himself. Henry folded his arms and laid his head down on the vanity. While his disturbing dream came back for one last visit.
His glass beauty, this time was slightly different. Her long brunette hair clung to her back; her studded pearls lay quaint on her earlobe, a long robe hugged her shoulders, the warmth escaped from her smile, she was full of youth…. But suddenly a big grayish figure was beside her. The figure was hunched over as almost if he was carrying the burden of age. RUN! RUN! He couldn’t even see her anymore. His palms were trapped on the glass; his feet were hard as stone. All he could do was watch from a distance.
DING DING DING
Henry the loud noise of bells rang through Henry’s ears.
He opened his eyes, and peered around. It was one pm and he awoke to a man in the mirror. This time Henry viewed his face more clearly. The man had a patch of facial hair; his eyelashes contained a blank stare. I can’t let this happen to me, Henry thought. He covered his hands with his face and waited for Mr. Weathers to leave. I need to give him his stupid vanity back Henry thought. He first tried pushing it out of his room, it just would not budge. I’ll take it apart, starting with this old dusty mirror. Henry went in the back of the vanity, spotted two golden knobs and began unscrewing the brown back covering dropped in his hands. Henry took out the mirror and began to run. It was heavy so him down he was careful not to drop it “MOOOOTHER” Henry screamed in the halls, “I’m outside on the porch” he heard her say from a distance. His mother was on a orange porch chair, the sun beamed down on her back, her skin looked so smooth he just wanted to touch it. Henry tried to open the porch door but he couldn’t. He was stunned. Mr. Weathers was there once again, staring at him, what a evil face he had. His mother headed to greet Henry. His mother opened the porch door, and Mr. Weather stood by the side. “Ugh he is here, Get away, Please” he cried. His mother held out her hand “Give me the mirror Henry, come eat lunch” she said. Henry saw Mr. Weathers in the corner of his eye. Henry gasped “LEAVE US ALONE, YOU ARE RUINING US” he yelled. “Henry his mother yelled, pass me the mirror… PASS IT TO ME NOW!” Suddenly a loud crash echoed to the sky the mirror shatter into a million pieces, blood was everywhere. The sun beamed on the different shards of glass… while blood seeped on top. His mother’s lifeless body lay at Henry’s feet, glass in her eyes, her neck, protruding from the back of her neck. Henry’s eyes darted from side to side. Henry spotted a large piece of broken glass and Mr. Weathers had big eyes stared back at him. Henry darted inside the house and grabbing a knife out of the drawer he closed his eyes, plunging the knife into his heart. He heard a laugh in the distance, and his knees then sank towards the floor, blood escaping his tongue forming around a deranged smile. What an ugly face.

Window Pane

( Inspired by image below)
http://www.google.com/imgres?um=1&hl=en&safe=off&client=firefox-a&sa=N&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&biw=128


When I wake up
I try and get some light but it doesn’t seep in
Waiting for the joy that you gave me but it never seems to begin
It started out when you came in town
The birds always chirped and I wore no frowns
I built my castle and gave you the crown
Now I’m stuck in black and I’m feeling way down

I wait for you to unveil my window pane
You've covered it in black yes you did
Now I can never forgive

Who would have thought what we had would fall right down into pieces
Who would have thought you would just up and leave without giving me a reason
Now I sit and I just mope
Strung out on you like you were some dope
Goodbye to the summers
The flowers, the bloom
Now I sit here in some darkness and gloom

I wait for you to unveil my window pane
You've covered it in black yes you did
Now I can never forgive

You don’t know how cold it was
Ever since you left me
Now I’m stuck with the pieces you laid by my side
But I’m sure that ill correct me
See i was strong way before you came in
But I’ll know ill together again
I sit and look at the window pane
and i know that you are the one to blame

So I wait for you to unveil my window
you’ve covered it in black yes you did
Now I can never forgive

I wait for you to unveil my window pane
You've covered it in black yes you did

Now I can never forgive (4x)

Personal Narrative Mr.Boone

It is Eight A.M: Little feet are everywhere, clenching to hands attached to five feet giants. The feet are heading to the same destination, a large brick red building labeled P.S. 98. One can agree every little face was painted with fear. They were entering a new world, one they had never been to before. The feet entered inside, and walked to a big multi-colored door that was decorated by a WELCOME K-203! sign. This sign was familiar to me, because I had seen it a couple weeks before. When it is then time for the giants to leave, I watched in awe. Snot flew from noses, “Mommy NOs!” rang in unison and tears streamed down cheeks. They were terrified while I on the other hand, was anxious. I squeezed my giants hand, I knew she had to leave but I was not ready to let her out of my sight. We hugged and then watched her brown shoes walk to her very own classroom, class 4-505.My mother, Ms. Enrique was not only a teacher at P.S. 98, but she was my very first teacher. She embodied me with the passion to read and write, which then later became a gateway to creativity. Her dedication to my early learning granted a head start in my development, this head start put me above my peers and filled a sense of pride and confidence within. My mother helped build the mold of the person I am today.

One of my very first memorabilia’s I could remember receiving from my mother, was a black and white composition book. This book contained alphabet written in her neat almost godly-like hand writing to me. I wrote each letter under her own, and even though my A slanted, my F was timid. She smiled as if it were perfect. I adored this smile and it became one I wanted to put on her face every as much as I could. My composition book became a part of my family; it went everywhere that I did. Vowels now traveled with me to the zoo, on the bus and even when walking home with my mother from her summer job in the school cafeteria. She would sound out the vowel “AHHH” and then tell me words in the “A” family. “BAADDD , SAAAD” she would sound out. I would then continue where she left off and would take it into my own hands. “Is HAAAAD a word mommy?” I asked. “Yes” she replied. “Good Kayla.” This praise was something I wanted constantly and I would try to read everything in my sight for her praise. She then brought home flash cards and small picture books that she told me I would finish instantly. I loved to read, it was something that came naturally and easily to me, a gift I realized not to many of my peers had shared once I started school.

Being the only African-American in K-203 was quite difficult, not many talked to me and being an only child at home it was a hard thing dealing with, but I knew every day after lunch I would achieve the stage that I longed for. Mrs. Perkins would put up a word on the board, while her assistant Ms.Mercardo passed out large sheets of double lined paper. “Try and copy each letter in this word she would say”. I would do as told, “DONE!” I would say. I looked around watching the two teachers run around the room assisting kids who had trouble holding their pencil and writing the word. “Good Job Kayla” she would tell me, as I would smile from ear to ear as the star sticker laid on top of my proud piece. I was a star and at young, although I faced discrimination from my peers who would tell me differently, I had my mother and various teachers reminding me of this. It was then confirmed when I was awarded with having the top ELA reading and writing scores in school District Six.

My mother introducing me to reading and writing at an early age formed my passion for the two. Being so dedicated to being the best reader and writer allowed me to establish a sense of pride and confidence in the skill. If it was not for this confident I may have not be able to brush off the discrimination I received from my peers at such a young age. I am and will be forever grateful for my mother’s teachings.

ENGLISH GENRES : WOLF Professor Francis

WOLF

The sun shines through the blinds
Yet the heat does not warm me
My soul is wandering with an unconnected mind
Left in one big surreal, left cut open
Longing to feel

Moments are now temporary
Your smile is deranged
The face prominent in the pebbles in my head
Now turned to grain
I wait for you to walk in, to return the glow to my cheeks
Give the beat to my heart , the movement to my feet

I have hung you in my closet, then back on the shelf
I have thought of your demise, and claimed you for self.
Saying "we will come back", my tung speaks these lies , our future unfamiliar in your doe like brown eyes

I have killed you off and thus brought you to life
Worn the apron as your mother
And the veil as your wife
Gave the water as your coach
Instead you ripped my heart , drew a pin now wear it as a broach

Forcing myself to tell not a soul
My true feelings I put on hold
I regret to accept that our young love grew old
Until then , I will wait for my heart to mend
This dark shadow to move
This rainstorm to end
Not bitter from the absence of love
But more abandonment from a friend

My hands now are cold
My words lack feelings
I'm back to square one
While I wait for true healing once again solo

My lone wolf now revealing

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Explanation of Wolf.

I chose the style of confessional because I admired the way Sylvia Plath could so easily get her ideas on to the
paper without being judged. When people read the confessional I realized that she was able to speak to
the whole world. No one shunned her or said they couldn’t read this , everyone listened. She was then
able to find peace within herself. I wanted to create an art , similar to her. Which is why I created wolf.

Writing this poem was difficult because I had to bear my soul to the page. I also had to return to a place
I have not went to in a long time.