Dil sınavları kıyaslaması

[Cthulhu]

a) KPDS sınavından en az 50 puan ,
b) TOEFL(eski-ITP) sınavından en az 470 puan ,
c) TOEFL(yeni-CBT) sınavından en az 150 puan ,
d) IELTS sınavlarının bileşenlerinin her birinden ayrı ayrı en az 5,5 puan almak,

Şunlardan hangisinde bu yazan puanları tutturmak diğerlerine göre daha kolaydır? Ona göre girip kendimi deneyip, tutturamazsam kursa falan gitmeyi düşünüyorum.

[Rotweiler]

Açıkara KPDS'den 50 puan...

[GERGE]

KPDS

[axedice]

TOEFL ve KPDS'ye girdim, IELTS sorularına şöyle bi bakmıştım. KPDS hem en kolayı hem de 50 ne lan 100 üzerinden onun puanları?

[senko]

toefl mi daha kolay ielts mi
bide hangisinin fiyakasi daha cok?

ikisi icinde kursa gitmek sart midir?

[axedice]

TOEFL'ın fiyakası daha çok. TOEFL için kursa gitmeye gerek yok, ama bi kitap al sorulara bak. Özellikle speaking bölümünde hazırlıksız yakalanmazsın.

[yav]

lafı geçmişken şu ielts hakkında bir kaç kitap önerse birileri ne iyi olacak

kitabı geçtim yayınevi de olur. Çeşitli kitaplar oluyor çünkü vocabulary'den reading&wriging, grammer'e kadar cart curt.

[senko]

peki toefl kurslari nasil oluyor direk wat is thuis diye mi giriyorlar yoksa direk sinava yonelik calisma mi yapiyorlar listening olsun speaking olsun

grammer kelime bi sekilde halledilir belki de speaking konusunda cok buyuk eksiklerim var benim. yillardir bi kelime ingilizce konusmadim sanirsam

[yav]

this is'dan başlanır mı abi naptın
ben biraz araştırmıştım, çoğu kurs ya kendi genel ingilizce kursunu tamamlamış ya da yaptığı sınavda yeterli skoru almış kişileri kabul ediyo sınav hazırlık kursuna (sınavda yetemezsen seni gel bilmem kaçıncı seviyemize alalım falan diyorlar işte)

izmir'de amerikan kültür iyi gibi duruyor sevgi yolundaki.
ben de senin gibiyim işte okumam anlamam pörfekt ama konuşmada yazmada sıkıntılarım var. Genel ingilizce kursları da çok zaman kaybı oluyor, oyunlarla etkinliklerle öğretmeye çalışıyorlar falan. Sınava hazırlık kursları kesinlikle daha iyi.

birlikte gideriz belki amerikan kültüre :P bakacam ben bi bu ara tekrar. Düzgün kitap alıp kendim kasayım istiyorum öncelikli olarak ama.

[GERGE]

Okuman mükemmelse kitaba ne iktiyacın var ki? Ben sıfır dilbilgisiyle bu tarz sınavların hepsinden tama yakın çıkartıyorum. Bilkent Hazırlığını da 95/100 üstü bir şeyle geçtim zaten (A olduğunu biliyorum ama 95 mi, 98 mi bilmiyorum.).

Eğer konuşmayı ya da konuşulanı anlamayı beceremiyorsan dizi izle, sesli kitap oku. Konuşma için de interneti kullan. Teamspeak filan yap, Omegle'de takıl. Yazılı konuşmakla sesli konuşmak arasında o kadar fark yok eğer yazacağını oturup ekranın karşısında düşünmezsen. Sırf konuşmak için kursa gidilmez ki.

Bu arada okumam mükemmel diyince ben şunu okur ve anlarım dediğini varsaydım ben:

Gravity's Rainbow

A SCREAMING COMES ACROSS THE SKY. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now.

It is too late. The Evacuation still proceeds, but it's all theatre. There are no lights inside the cars. No light anywhere. Above him lift girders old as an iron queen, and glass somewhere far above that would let the light of day through. But it's night. He's afraid of the way the glass will fall—soon—it will be a spectacle: the fall of a crystal palace. But coming down in total blackout, without one glint of light, only great invisible crashing.

Inside the carriage, which is built on several levels, he sits in velveteen darkness, with nothing to smoke, feeling metal nearer and farther rub and connect, steam escaping in puffs, a vibration in the carriage's frame, a poising, an uneasiness, all the others pressed in around, feeble ones, second sheep, all out of luck and time: drunks, old veterans still in shock from ordnance 20 years obsolete, hustlers in city clothes, derelicts, exhausted women with more children than it seems could belong to anyone, stacked about among the rest of the things to be carried out to salvation. Only the nearer faces are visible at all, and at that only as half-silvered images in a view finder, green-stained VIP faces remembered behind bulletproof windows speeding through the city. ...

They have begun to move. They pass in line, out of the main station, out of downtown, and begin pushing into older and more desolate parts of the city. Is this the way out? Faces turn to the windows, but no one dares ask, not out loud. Rain comes down. No, this is not a disentanglement from, but a progressive knotting into—they go in under archways, secret entrances of rotted concrete that only looked like loops of an underpass . . . certain trestles of blackened wood have moved slowly by overhead, and the smells begun of coal from days far to the past, smells of naphtha winters, of Sundays when no traffic came through, of the coral-like and mysteriously vital growth, around the blind curves and out the lonely spurs, a sour smell of rolling-stock absence, of maturing rust, developing through those emptying days brilliant and deep, especially at dawn, with blue shadows to seal its passage, to try to bring events to Absolute Zero . . . and it is poorer the deeper they go ... ruinous secret cities of poor, places whose names he has never heard. . . the walls break down, the roofs get fewer and so do the chances for light. The road, which ought to be opening out into a broader highway, instead has been getting narrower, more broken, cornering tighter and tighter until all at once, much too soon, they are under the final arch: brakes grab and spring terribly. It is a judgment from which there is no appeal.

The caravan has halted. It is the end of the line. All the evacuees are ordered out. They move slowly, but without resistance. Those marshaling them wear cockades the color of lead, and do not speak. It is some vast, very old and dark hotel, an iron extension of the track and switchery by which they have come here. . . . Globular lights, painted a dark green, hang from under the fancy iron eaves, unlit for centuries . . . the crowd moves without murmurs or coughing down corridors straight and functional as warehouse aisles . . . velvet black surfaces contain the movement: the smell is of old wood, of remote wings empty all this time just reopened to accommodate the rush of souls, of cold plaster where all the rats have died, only their ghosts, still as cave-painting, fixed stubborn and luminous in the walls . . . the evacuees are taken in lots, by elevator—a moving wood scaffold open on all sides, hoisted by old tarry ropes and cast-iron pulleys whose spokes are shaped like Ss. At each brown floor, passengers move on and off. . . thousands of these hushed rooms without light. . . .

Some wait alone, some share their invisible rooms with others. Invisible, yes, what do the furnishings matter, at this stage of things? Underfoot crunches the oldest of city dirt, last crystallizations of all the city had denied, threatened, lied to its children. Each has been hearing a voice, one he thought was talking only to him, say, "You didn't really believe you'd be saved. Come, we all know who we are by now. No one was ever going to take the trouble to save you, old fellow...."

There is no way out. Lie and wait, lie still and be quiet. Screaming holds across the sky. When it comes, will it come in darkness, or will it bring its own light? Will the light come before or after?

But it is already light. How long has it been light? All this while, light has come percolating in, along with the cold morning air flowing now across his nipples: it has begun to reveal an assortment of drunken wastrels, some in uniform and some not, clutching empty or near-empty bottles, here draped over a chair, there huddled into a cold fireplace, or sprawled on various divans, un-Hoovered rugs and chaise longues down the different levels of the enormous room, snoring and wheezing at many rhythms, in self-renewing chorus, as London light, winter and elastic light, grows between the faces of the mullioned windows, grows among the strata of last night's smoke still hung, fading, from the waxed beams of the ceiling. All these horizontal here, these comrades in arms, look just as rosy as a bunch of Dutch peasants dreaming of their certain resurrection in the next few minutes.

His name is Capt. Geoffrey ("Pirate") Prentice. He is wrapped in a thick blanket, a tartan of orange, rust, and scarlet. His skull feels made of metal.

Just above him, twelve feet overhead, Teddy Bloat is about to fall out of the minstrels' gallery, having chosen to collapse just at the spot where somebody in a grandiose fit, weeks before, had kicked out two of the ebony balusters. Now, in his stupor, Bloat has been inching through the opening, head, arms, and torso, until all that's keeping him up there is an empty champagne split in his hip pocket, that's got hooked somehow—

By now Pirate has managed to sit up on his narrow bachelor bed, and blink about. How awful. How bloody awful . . . above him, he hears cloth rip. The Special Operations Executive has trained him to fast responses. He leaps off of the cot and kicks it rolling on its casters in Bloat's direction. Bloat, plummeting, hits square amidships with a great strum of bedsprings. One of the legs collapses. "Good morning," notes Pirate. Bloat smiles briefly and goes back to sleep, snuggling well into Pirate's blanket.

Mükemmel kitaptır bu arada kendisi :) Eğer kastettiğin bu değilse git bir kursa tabii. Eğer buysa dilbilgisiyle kafanı karıştırma durduk yerde.

[senko]

dizi izlemekle birsey gelismiyor ya cnbc-e yayina basladigindan beri ingilizce dizi izliyorum hala bi gelisme yok. %70 anlayabiliyorumdur ne dondugu hakkinda
ingiliz dizilerinde %50ye kadar iniyor bu.

yav gidelim abi, ben ieu hazirligi 0.5 puan ile gecmistim oyle uber bi ingilizcem yok maalesef ya calismam ya da bir kursa biyerlere gitmem lazim.

[GERGE]

Orada altyazı var ama.

[freemaniacss]

abi cidden en güzeli ingilizce altyazılı yapıcaksın bu işleri.eğer dizi filmi ingilizce orjinal dilinde,inilizce altjazı yaparsan mükemmel olur.

[riglous]

İngilizce altyazı yaparsan, dinlemezsin ki. Altyazı koyma; anlamadığın yerde geri alıp tekrar dinle.

[senko]

bence dizi ile filmle olcak iş degil bu. popoyu kaldirip amerikaya ingiltereye bi dil okuluna gitmek gerek. ılkokul 1den beri ingilizce goruyorum üniv full ingilizce türk hocalar bile salak gibi ingilizce konusuyor.
hadi ben yapı olarak dil özürlü biriyim ama cevreme de bakiyorum benden cok farklı deiller.
dilin kendi vatanına gitmeden ogrenmek zor. zaten iyi konusanlar da ya yurtdisina gitmiş olanlar ya da ordan buraya gelmıs olanlar.

[freemaniacss]

dil dile değmeden dil öğrenilmez aga

[Cthulhu]

şöyle bir tablo buldum.


kpds de 70-75e denk geliyormuş diğer puanlar yaklaşık olarak. burda da dendiği gibi kpds'de 50 yapmak en kolayı. pazartesi kaydolayım madem.

[Longshanks]

bu puan tablosu tam bir saçmalık
KPDS'nin de dil ölçtüğünü düşünen devlet sistemine helal yani

[Mum_Chamber]

GERGE said:

Okuman mükemmelse kitaba ne iktiyacın var ki? Ben sıfır dilbilgisiyle bu tarz sınavların hepsinden tama yakın çıkartıyorum. Bilkent Hazırlığını da 95/100 üstü bir şeyle geçtim zaten (A olduğunu biliyorum ama 95 mi, 98 mi bilmiyorum.).

Eğer konuşmayı ya da konuşulanı anlamayı beceremiyorsan dizi izle, sesli kitap oku. Konuşma için de interneti kullan. Teamspeak filan yap, Omegle'de takıl. Yazılı konuşmakla sesli konuşmak arasında o kadar fark yok eğer yazacağını oturup ekranın karşısında düşünmezsen. Sırf konuşmak için kursa gidilmez ki.

Bu arada okumam mükemmel diyince ben şunu okur ve anlarım dediğini varsaydım ben:

Gravity's Rainbow

A SCREAMING COMES ACROSS THE SKY. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now.

It is too late. The Evacuation still proceeds, but it's all theatre. There are no lights inside the cars. No light anywhere. Above him lift girders old as an iron queen, and glass somewhere far above that would let the light of day through. But it's night. He's afraid of the way the glass will fall—soon—it will be a spectacle: the fall of a crystal palace. But coming down in total blackout, without one glint of light, only great invisible crashing.

Inside the carriage, which is built on several levels, he sits in velveteen darkness, with nothing to smoke, feeling metal nearer and farther rub and connect, steam escaping in puffs, a vibration in the carriage's frame, a poising, an uneasiness, all the others pressed in around, feeble ones, second sheep, all out of luck and time: drunks, old veterans still in shock from ordnance 20 years obsolete, hustlers in city clothes, derelicts, exhausted women with more children than it seems could belong to anyone, stacked about among the rest of the things to be carried out to salvation. Only the nearer faces are visible at all, and at that only as half-silvered images in a view finder, green-stained VIP faces remembered behind bulletproof windows speeding through the city. ...

They have begun to move. They pass in line, out of the main station, out of downtown, and begin pushing into older and more desolate parts of the city. Is this the way out? Faces turn to the windows, but no one dares ask, not out loud. Rain comes down. No, this is not a disentanglement from, but a progressive knotting into—they go in under archways, secret entrances of rotted concrete that only looked like loops of an underpass . . . certain trestles of blackened wood have moved slowly by overhead, and the smells begun of coal from days far to the past, smells of naphtha winters, of Sundays when no traffic came through, of the coral-like and mysteriously vital growth, around the blind curves and out the lonely spurs, a sour smell of rolling-stock absence, of maturing rust, developing through those emptying days brilliant and deep, especially at dawn, with blue shadows to seal its passage, to try to bring events to Absolute Zero . . . and it is poorer the deeper they go ... ruinous secret cities of poor, places whose names he has never heard. . . the walls break down, the roofs get fewer and so do the chances for light. The road, which ought to be opening out into a broader highway, instead has been getting narrower, more broken, cornering tighter and tighter until all at once, much too soon, they are under the final arch: brakes grab and spring terribly. It is a judgment from which there is no appeal.

The caravan has halted. It is the end of the line. All the evacuees are ordered out. They move slowly, but without resistance. Those marshaling them wear cockades the color of lead, and do not speak. It is some vast, very old and dark hotel, an iron extension of the track and switchery by which they have come here. . . . Globular lights, painted a dark green, hang from under the fancy iron eaves, unlit for centuries . . . the crowd moves without murmurs or coughing down corridors straight and functional as warehouse aisles . . . velvet black surfaces contain the movement: the smell is of old wood, of remote wings empty all this time just reopened to accommodate the rush of souls, of cold plaster where all the rats have died, only their ghosts, still as cave-painting, fixed stubborn and luminous in the walls . . . the evacuees are taken in lots, by elevator—a moving wood scaffold open on all sides, hoisted by old tarry ropes and cast-iron pulleys whose spokes are shaped like Ss. At each brown floor, passengers move on and off. . . thousands of these hushed rooms without light. . . .

Some wait alone, some share their invisible rooms with others. Invisible, yes, what do the furnishings matter, at this stage of things? Underfoot crunches the oldest of city dirt, last crystallizations of all the city had denied, threatened, lied to its children. Each has been hearing a voice, one he thought was talking only to him, say, "You didn't really believe you'd be saved. Come, we all know who we are by now. No one was ever going to take the trouble to save you, old fellow...."

There is no way out. Lie and wait, lie still and be quiet. Screaming holds across the sky. When it comes, will it come in darkness, or will it bring its own light? Will the light come before or after?

But it is already light. How long has it been light? All this while, light has come percolating in, along with the cold morning air flowing now across his nipples: it has begun to reveal an assortment of drunken wastrels, some in uniform and some not, clutching empty or near-empty bottles, here draped over a chair, there huddled into a cold fireplace, or sprawled on various divans, un-Hoovered rugs and chaise longues down the different levels of the enormous room, snoring and wheezing at many rhythms, in self-renewing chorus, as London light, winter and elastic light, grows between the faces of the mullioned windows, grows among the strata of last night's smoke still hung, fading, from the waxed beams of the ceiling. All these horizontal here, these comrades in arms, look just as rosy as a bunch of Dutch peasants dreaming of their certain resurrection in the next few minutes.

His name is Capt. Geoffrey ("Pirate") Prentice. He is wrapped in a thick blanket, a tartan of orange, rust, and scarlet. His skull feels made of metal.

Just above him, twelve feet overhead, Teddy Bloat is about to fall out of the minstrels' gallery, having chosen to collapse just at the spot where somebody in a grandiose fit, weeks before, had kicked out two of the ebony balusters. Now, in his stupor, Bloat has been inching through the opening, head, arms, and torso, until all that's keeping him up there is an empty champagne split in his hip pocket, that's got hooked somehow—

By now Pirate has managed to sit up on his narrow bachelor bed, and blink about. How awful. How bloody awful . . . above him, he hears cloth rip. The Special Operations Executive has trained him to fast responses. He leaps off of the cot and kicks it rolling on its casters in Bloat's direction. Bloat, plummeting, hits square amidships with a great strum of bedsprings. One of the legs collapses. "Good morning," notes Pirate. Bloat smiles briefly and goes back to sleep, snuggling well into Pirate's blanket.

Mükemmel kitaptır bu arada kendisi :) Eğer kastettiğin bu değilse git bir kursa tabii. Eğer buysa dilbilgisiyle kafanı karıştırma durduk yerde.

gerge onu okuyabilen adamin toefl degil, cpe kovalamasi lazim. bkz:

http://www.cambridgeesol.org/assets/img/exams/cefr-diagram-large.jpg

[yav]

:D ben o yazıyı görünce çok uzun diye kapamıştım

okumam pörfekt derken internette rastladığım 2-3 sayfalık günlük yazıları veya makaleleri anlayabiliyorum ama hiç oturup kitap okumadım ingilizce. Hele edebi bir kitabı hiç okuyamam sanırım (kasarsam olabilir ama verdiğim vakte değmez canım sıkılır)

zaten internette de seslisözlük açıktır bi tabta çoğunlukla

tabloya göre B2 civarı geziniyorum tahminimce. İşte yazmam konuşmam b2'nin başındadır okumam sonuna yakındır falan heralde..

benim 2-3 sene içince ielts'den 7 alacak şekilde çalışmam lazım
halen beklerim ing.altyazılı dizi izle, kitap oku dışındaki sınav hazırlık kitabı tavsiyelerini valla.. :)

[kertenkel]

toefl tamamen hammallık, ingilizcen çok iyi değilse otur çalış 1 haftada yaparsın. özellikle essay yazmaya çalış ama...

örnek toefl var onları falan yap fazla kasmadan..

ielts de aynı bok

[Mortis]

Ielts e başvuracam da 26 kasımdaki sınav için 29 ekim son başvuruymuş şimdi yarın adamların hesaplarına 120 pound yatıracam

dio ki internetteki başvuru formunu doldurmadan önce parayı yatırın sonra formu doldurup başvurun dio

ben şimdi o yatırdıktan sonra ismimle vs başvurunca bu herifler karşılaştırıp mı ok bu adam yatırdı diecek yoksa bi numara mı verecekler başvururken girmem için? varm ı ieltse giren

bi de onay geliomuş başvurudan 1 hafta içersinde dielim onay gelmedi bişey oldu 29 ekimden sonra yanacak mı 120 poundum

[deadwoll]

Ben o yazıyı okuyorum da daha ÜDS sorularını yaparken ıkınıyorum o nasıl olacak :P

Millete TOEFL bana ÜDS'den daha kolay geliyor derken bir bildiğim varmış demekki.