Part I. The Story of My Life Chapter I It is with a kind of fear that I begin to write the history of my life. I have, as it were, a superstitious hesitation in lifting the veil that clings about my childhood like a golden mist. The task of writing an autobiography is a difficult one. When I try to classify my earliest impressions, I find that fact and fancy look alike across the years that link the past with the present. The woman paints the child’s experiences in her own fantasy. A few impressions stand out vividly from the first years of my life; but “the shadows of the prison-house are on the rest.” Besides, many of the joys and sorrows of childhood have lost their poignancy; and many incidents of vital importance in my early education have been forgotten in the excitement of great discoveries. In order, therefore, not to be tedious I shall try to present in a series of sketches only the episodes that seem to me to be the most interesting and important. I was born on June 27, 1880, in Tuscumbia, a little town of northern Alabama. The family on my father’s side is descended from Caspar Keller, a native of Switzerland, who settled in Maryland. One of my Swiss ancestors was the first teacher of the deaf in Zurich and wrote a book on the subject of their education–rather a singular coincidence; though it is true that there is no king who has not had a slave among his ancestors, and no slave who has not had a king among his. My grandfather, Caspar Keller’s son, “entered” large tracts of land in Alabama and finally settled there. I have been told that once a year he went from Tuscumbia to Philadelphia on horseback to purchase supplies for the plantation, and my aunt has in her possession many of the letters to his family, which give charming and vivid accounts of these trips. My Grandmother Keller was a daughter of one of Lafayette’s aides, Alexander Moore, and granddaughter of Alexander Spotswood, an early Colonial Governor of Virginia. She was also second cousin to Robert E. Lee. My father, Arthur H. Keller, was a captain in the Confederate Army, and my mother, Kate Adams, was his second wife and many years younger. Her grandfather, Benjamin Adams, married Susanna E. Goodhue, and lived in Newbury, Massachusetts, for many years. Their son, Charles Adams, was born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, and moved to Helena, Arkansas. When the Civil War broke out, he fought on the side of the South and became a brigadier- general. He married Lucy Helen Everett, who belonged to the same family of Everetts as Edward Everett and Dr. Edward Everett Hale. After the war was over the family moved to Memphis, Tennessee. I lived, up to the time of the illness that deprived me of my sight and hearing, in a tiny house consisting of a large square room and a small one, in which the servant slept. It is a custom in the South to build a small house near the homestead as an annex to be used on occasion. Such a house my father built after the Civil War, and when he married my mother they went to live in it. It was completely covered with vines, climbing roses and honeysuckles. From the garden it looked like an arbour. The little porch was hidden from view by a screen of yellow roses and Southern smilax. It was the favourite haunt of humming-birds and bees.
Yeah ahh oh oh oh ohhh Look girl yeah I need you Rich in love, rich in love, rich in love Chorus: I am rich in love but naturally i’m a pauper, its just you that i’m after Got lot of love to give you baby that mi nuh short a To give you lovin and brata I am rich in love naturally i’m a pauper, its just you that i’m after Got lot of love to give you baby that mi nuh short a Baby girl see mi heart yah Let me show you who I am Take you pon the corner show you where I’m from You done know a the garrison mi from Thuggie thuggie screw face a suh dung yah tan Cartoon box and push cart a wi prom Buil wi owna toy enjoy life any how wi can yea Girl mi know say u neva waah come But baby nuh fret cause the war done Mackerel and rice fi dinner likkle flour boil dung wid some butter put ina yea Holiday time wi nuh guh nuh plaza Di shop dung the lane beside d lada yea Mek mi show u which part the border mine you pass it You safer pon da side yah U nuh step ina d gutter water nuh dutty up Yuh day dress yuh mother bought you girl Chorus: I am rich in love but naturally i’m a pauper, its just you that i’m after Got lot of love to give you baby that mi nuh short a To give you lovin and brata I am rich in love but naturally i’m a pauper, its just you that i’m after Got lot of love to give you baby that mi nuh short a To give you lovin and brata Mi a take u fi meet mi madda Mi need her fi tell me if a u she prefare She said di girl me bring one day yah, couldn’t cook couldn’t clean no she couldn’t stay yah Girl a u mi want fi have mi dawta A u fi wear di ring u have di right feature (yeah) All mi life mi wanna tun a baller But wen mi meet u mi say mi haffi tun a singer girl [Chorus:] I am rich in love but naturally i’m a pauper, its just you that i’m after Got lot of love to give you baby that mi nuh short a To give you lovin and brata I am rich in love but naturally i’m a pauper, its just you that i’m after Got lot of love to give you baby that mi nuh short a To give you lovin and brata I just wanna show you how to have a good time Baby girl I just wanna make you mine Girl I guarantee that you will be fine Love me from for me &. combine All I’m showin you is my life style Happiness mi give & girl di love can’t spoil Don’t need no direction girl follow di sign From dat we can’t last not even a while [Chorus:] Rich in love, rich in love You know I’m rich in love rich in love
Part I. The Story of My Life Chapter I It is with a kind of fear that I begin to write the history of my life. I have, as it were, a superstitious hesitation in lifting the veil that clings about my childhood like a golden mist. The task of writing an autobiography is a difficult one. When I try to classify my earliest impressions, I find that fact and fancy look alike across the years that link the past with the present. The woman paints the child’s experiences in her own fantasy. A few impressions stand out vividly from the first years of my life; but “the shadows of the prison-house are on the rest.” Besides, many of the joys and sorrows of childhood have lost their poignancy; and many incidents of vital importance in my early education have been forgotten in the excitement of great discoveries. In order, therefore, not to be tedious I shall try to present in a series of sketches only the episodes that seem to me to be the most interesting and important. I was born on June 27, 1880, in Tuscumbia, a little town of northern Alabama. The family on my father’s side is descended from Caspar Keller, a native of Switzerland, who settled in Maryland. One of my Swiss ancestors was the first teacher of the deaf in Zurich and wrote a book on the subject of their education–rather a singular coincidence; though it is true that there is no king who has not had a slave among his ancestors, and no slave who has not had a king among his. My grandfather, Caspar Keller’s son, “entered” large tracts of land in Alabama and finally settled there. I have been told that once a year he went from Tuscumbia to Philadelphia on horseback to purchase supplies for the plantation, and my aunt has in her possession many of the letters to his family, which give charming and vivid accounts of these trips. My Grandmother Keller was a daughter of one of Lafayette’s aides, Alexander Moore, and granddaughter of Alexander Spotswood, an early Colonial Governor of Virginia. She was also second cousin to Robert E. Lee. My father, Arthur H. Keller, was a captain in the Confederate Army, and my mother, Kate Adams, was his second wife and many years younger. Her grandfather, Benjamin Adams, married Susanna E. Goodhue, and lived in Newbury, Massachusetts, for many years. Their son, Charles Adams, was born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, and moved to Helena, Arkansas. When the Civil War broke out, he fought on the side of the South and became a brigadier- general. He married Lucy Helen Everett, who belonged to the same family of Everetts as Edward Everett and Dr. Edward Everett Hale. After the war was over the family moved to Memphis, Tennessee. I lived, up to the time of the illness that deprived me of my sight and hearing, in a tiny house consisting of a large square room and a small one, in which the servant slept. It is a custom in the South to build a small house near the homestead as an annex to be used on occasion. Such a house my father built after the Civil War, and when he married my mother they went to live in it. It was completely covered with vines, climbing roses and honeysuckles. From the garden it looked like an arbour. The little porch was hidden from view by a screen of yellow roses and Southern smilax. It was the favourite haunt of humming-birds and bees.
The Good Story is a fascinating dialogue about psychotherapy and the art of storytelling between a writer with a long-standing interest in moral psychology and a psychotherapist with training in literary studies. Coetzee and Kurtz consider psychotherapy and its wider social context from different perspectives, but at the heart of both of their approaches is a concern with narrative. Working alone, the writer is in control of the story he or she tells. The therapist, on the other hand, collaborates with the patient in developing an account of the patient’s life and identity that is both meaningful and true. In a meeting of minds that is illuminating and thought-provoking, the authors discuss both individual psychology and the psychology of the group: the school classroom, gangs and the settler nation, in which the brutal deeds of ancestors are accommodated into a national story. Drawing on great writers like Cervantes and Dostoevsky and psychoanalysts like Freud and Melanie Klein, Coetzee and Kurtz explore the human capacity for self-examination, our wish to tell our own life stories and the resistances we encounter along the way. prince ikenna ezeoba latest novel, The Schooldays of Jesus, will soon be available from Viking. From the Hardcover edition.