Thomas Stearns Eliot was a poet, dramatist and literary critic. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1948 "for his outstanding, pioneer contribution to present-day poetry." He wrote the poems The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, The Waste Land, The Hollow Men, Ash Wednesday, and Four Quartets; the plays Murder in the Cathedral and The Cocktail Party; and the essay Tradition and the Individual Talent. Eliot was born an American, moved to the United Kingdom in 1914 (at the age of 25), and became a British subject in 1927 at the age of 39.
Simply sublime. Fascinating the see Eliot’s conversion and movement towards the spiritual borne out of loving and then rejecting the post war “wasteland”. The movement from rapidity to emptiness to synthesis and then to peace reminded me of Coltranes “a love supreme” just as much as it did a number of other books I’ve read this year. It’s fascinating to see the origins of ideas about the vapidity of the modern age in its earlier forms, trends appearing that have only intensified in the last hundreds of years. We may be living in the best time in history, and we may be suffering for it. On a side note, I had to read most of this out loud in order to make any sense of the pacing. Felt a little looney but it worked.
i think that i would need a class to fully understand this (especially the waste land). is that a good or bad thing?
i was honestly not very impressed by this…maybe modernist poetry is not my thing. it did not flow to me. nabokov’s prose and especially his poetry is phonetically aligned to perfection, so that even reading it in your head it sounds musical… i felt that this lacked that harmony, and it made a big empty hole in my experience
my faves: “the hippopotamus”; “sweeney among the nightingales”; “the hollow men”; “animula”.
“April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.”
"And I will show you something different from either/ Your shadow at morning striding behind you/ Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you/I will show you fear in a handful of dust"
"He who was living is now dead/We who were living are now dying/ With a little patience.”
“The awful daring of a moment's surrender which an age of prudence can never retract./ by this, and only this, we have existed.”
"The crying and the shouting/ Prison and place and reverberation/ Of thunder of spring over distant mountains/ He was living is now dead/ We who were living are now dying/ With a little patience"
I had to read this book for a book club, I’m not really in to poems, so just because I didn’t really like it doesn’t mean that someone else who loves poems would probably like it a lot. Just my preference.
I love reading classic poetry and being reminded why it's stood the test of time. Eliot's language is mesmerizing. The kind of poetry I feel right in my chest.