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arthuriana's review against another edition
4.0
a poetry of contradiction: in the internal is the universal. what is profound never ends, never begins, but is existing always. the end is the beginning is the end.
kelseywho's review against another edition
5.0
Beautiful. "Rhapsody on a Windy Night" and "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" are my absolute favorites.
haoyang's review against another edition
5.0
A friend of mine said that Eliot's style can be a bit of a turn-off at times and I think I understand where he comes from. Eliot's writing can be hopelessly enigmatic and obfuscatory which leaves you mining each line for meaning while reading, and I guess that inability to comprehend can be uninviting. But for me the enigmatic nature of his words, instead of repelling me, draw me closer and compel me to read on; it just has that strange, almost spiritual appeal. Perhaps it's the halo effect -- me knowing Eliot as a great canonical poet, treating his word as the Word. However, even though there were large segments that read like Greek to me (and there are Greek texts in his writing), all that incomprehensibilty is made up for with the immensely gratifying, albeit rare, moments of understanding, of being able to say "I get it." This is not to say that reading Eliot is a cerebral activity; there is humanity and humility in his words. And personally I find joy, fulfilment, in reading analyses of his poetry, especially since they are so loaded with historical and cultural significance, and also because he strived to, and I believe succeeded, in achieving 'impersonality' in his writing (that is, to avoid indulging in the lyrical mode and instead appealing to a universal human condition, transcending time and space).
Eliot's writing, even if we consider only such classic works as The Waste Land and his Four Quartets, approaches timelessness. I, for one, cannot divorce the sterility and despair of the former with the impending environmental catastrophe that we are headed towards (or already living in). From time to time, Eliot's "words echo / Thus, in [my] mind", resounding like a sort of prayer in this suffocating world.
Eliot's writing, even if we consider only such classic works as The Waste Land and his Four Quartets, approaches timelessness. I, for one, cannot divorce the sterility and despair of the former with the impending environmental catastrophe that we are headed towards (or already living in). From time to time, Eliot's "words echo / Thus, in [my] mind", resounding like a sort of prayer in this suffocating world.
zzzkelly's review against another edition
"And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."
I don't consider myself a poetry person but The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock is the one poem that I'm completely in love/awe with. I've read and re-read it many many times and it just keeps getting better. It's up there as the most beautiful piece of writing I've ever read. This collection can get put in 'favourites' for that alone.
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."
I don't consider myself a poetry person but The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock is the one poem that I'm completely in love/awe with. I've read and re-read it many many times and it just keeps getting better. It's up there as the most beautiful piece of writing I've ever read. This collection can get put in 'favourites' for that alone.
fizreads's review against another edition
5.0
Beautiful…absolutely beautiful….saying this with a bunch of tissues in the bin and my cheeks still wet.
Favourite poems in the collection are:
Hysteria-(Prufrock 1917)
II. A Game of Chess (The Waste Land-1922)
The Hollow Men (1925)
If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent (Ash Wednesday 1930)
Journey of the Magi (Ariel poems- 1927)
Eyes that last I saw in tears (Minor poems)
The Eagle soars in the summit of Heaven (Choruses from ‘The Rock’ 1934)
Burnt Norton (Four Quartets-1935)
East Coker (Four Quartets- 1940)
A Dedication to my Wife (Occasional verses)- this one just had me weeping.
Favourite poems in the collection are:
Hysteria-(Prufrock 1917)
II. A Game of Chess (The Waste Land-1922)
The Hollow Men (1925)
If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent (Ash Wednesday 1930)
Journey of the Magi (Ariel poems- 1927)
Eyes that last I saw in tears (Minor poems)
The Eagle soars in the summit of Heaven (Choruses from ‘The Rock’ 1934)
Burnt Norton (Four Quartets-1935)
East Coker (Four Quartets- 1940)
A Dedication to my Wife (Occasional verses)- this one just had me weeping.
christina_sirotich's review against another edition
4.0
3.5 stars. This collection contains some of my favourite poems and many others that I enjoyed but there were quite a few that I didn't really like.