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4.03 AVERAGE
4.03 AVERAGE
challenging
reflective
medium-paced
Bro, your poems so old they almost in the public domain.
It's beautiful at times, especially the ones about nature. Mostly I don't know what the fuck he's talking about.
It's beautiful at times, especially the ones about nature. Mostly I don't know what the fuck he's talking about.
emotional
fast-paced
good poetry but i spent longer trying to translate his latin and greek than actually reading the poems
challenging
emotional
medium-paced
inspiring
reflective
slow-paced
challenging
reflective
slow-paced
I wish I'd taken a class at university that helped me understand how to read poetry better; the only primarily poetry classes on offer were more focused on writing it, and I'm not remotely talented enough for that.
That said, I'm not sure a better background in poetry is enough to get into the nitty-gritty of a poem like The Waste Land, given much of the symbolism appears to be intertextual. Perhaps in the future I need to give it another go with the poem in one hand and a book that explains the specific Arthurian, classical, historical, and religious references in the other.
That said, I'm not sure a better background in poetry is enough to get into the nitty-gritty of a poem like The Waste Land, given much of the symbolism appears to be intertextual. Perhaps in the future I need to give it another go with the poem in one hand and a book that explains the specific Arthurian, classical, historical, and religious references in the other.
challenging
"I had not thought death had undone so many"
~
My dear friend Jill can be credited as the one giving me pause to appreciate Eliot. Although it wasn't "The Waste Land," but "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" that I first encountered and was impressed by, through her introduction. And yes of course I had seen the musical cats, but let us not speak of such things. I remember reading Prufrock in college and absolutely loving the resolute rejection of societal expectations that so often develops from a conditioned preoccupation with how one ought to seem. Indeed, and sometimes I'm convinced of some sort of reciprocal relationship between the standards imposed upon one, the desire to fulfill them, and a certain surfeit of anxiety that absolves one of the desire altogether. But that is neither here nor there! I think I appreciated the obvious cynical reading of the poem and the subsequent thoughts of what the face of cynicism truly is. I've returned to it over the years and I always like a good read of it. It has a nice rhythm and rhyme; a cadence for the pensive and restless alike.
I should also mention that last Xmas, Jill got me his Old Possum's book which was fun (you can find my review here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2657696634). I decided to read this because I wanted to experience a little more Eliot, especially his most famous poem. And although I've caught snatches of Eliot's thoughts on poetry in general, which I was reminded of from the short introduction to this volume (it includes 3 or 4 choice quotes that usefully indicate his view), I have not heard all that much concerning Waste Land. Reading it for myself, I was a little disappointed. While it has some nice lines, many of them are borrowings from other poets. This is, of course, completely fine and in fact more in line with the trends and style of poetry than not borrowing lines, but I think I had wanted something different. Instead, in "The Waste Land" I found an imitation (a good one!)--a continuation--of that old tradition of erudite poetry where ruminating on death and copious references to "greats," obscure and not is a rule. Anyway, I didn't get a whole lot out of it but I did like the one line above, which as it turns out is Dante.
Oh hey I forgot I wanted to add a story! And I figured I should say a little bit more about Prufrock since it was in this collection and I do really like it. I had moved to Tacoma a few years ago (a short stay it would be-only a year) and found a nice bookstore there. It was one of those old used book stores that smells like dust, whose owner also seemed as if he had risen out of it, but it had some nice stuff. One day I decided to chat the guy up, as I am often inclined to subject myself to these painful moments of socialization. I must have picked out some volume of Eliot's cuz when I went to the counter he started up about it. I said well my favorite has got to be Prufrock and he said I dont know about that! The whole poem is just about this guy being wishywashy, I just want to yell at him "Well do it!" every time I read it. Rather than challenge him or give my contradictory take on the poem, I asked him what his favorite was. And then he started reciting some Housman, revealing that A Shropshire Lad was the best of poetry from the period. Since then I read it and while Housman is undeniably a talented poet, his poetry is quite a bit different from Eliot's much more modern style. I reflected that I wouldn't particularly compare the two even though they are relatively close in time. But back to the matter at hand. I was disappointed in this reading of Prufrock as vacillating because I find the whole point of the poem is to acknowledge the dilemma one has in pursuing desires, romantic or otherwise. It struck me as an existentially-posed dilemma-one that hearkened back to the most basic form of tragedy. And yet the refrain throughout is "there will be time." Above I glossed over all this, calling the poem resolutely cynical but no cynical attitude is adopted without passing through some stage of hopeful optimism and no true cynic exists that lives without that memory within them. I suppose, in my kinder moments when I think about the obligation one has to oneself to be positive--to expect things might turn out well, when there is no evidence to indicate it (though none to disprove it, as well)--I ponder this notion, or perhaps a slight extension: that even in light of a weight of evidence suggesting things will turn out poorly, that does not mean it will happen every time. And from here we find ourselves in a place, possibly familiar, where life is an exercise in heroic perseverance. I think it's that muddled train of thought that grips me about the poem.
The other two notable poems for me were "La Figlia Che Piange" and "Gerontion." This made me want to look into Eliot a bit more or even find a scholarly essay about him that might give a little more depth to my arguably surface readings, but I might just continue on without a solid recommendation of such an article or essay. Perhaps I will return to him someday. I also have a copy of Four Quartets I might read this year or the next that would motivate me to find something. Otherwise, I shall remain in admiration of Prufrock.
~
My dear friend Jill can be credited as the one giving me pause to appreciate Eliot. Although it wasn't "The Waste Land," but "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" that I first encountered and was impressed by, through her introduction. And yes of course I had seen the musical cats, but let us not speak of such things. I remember reading Prufrock in college and absolutely loving the resolute rejection of societal expectations that so often develops from a conditioned preoccupation with how one ought to seem. Indeed, and sometimes I'm convinced of some sort of reciprocal relationship between the standards imposed upon one, the desire to fulfill them, and a certain surfeit of anxiety that absolves one of the desire altogether. But that is neither here nor there! I think I appreciated the obvious cynical reading of the poem and the subsequent thoughts of what the face of cynicism truly is. I've returned to it over the years and I always like a good read of it. It has a nice rhythm and rhyme; a cadence for the pensive and restless alike.
I should also mention that last Xmas, Jill got me his Old Possum's book which was fun (you can find my review here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2657696634). I decided to read this because I wanted to experience a little more Eliot, especially his most famous poem. And although I've caught snatches of Eliot's thoughts on poetry in general, which I was reminded of from the short introduction to this volume (it includes 3 or 4 choice quotes that usefully indicate his view), I have not heard all that much concerning Waste Land. Reading it for myself, I was a little disappointed. While it has some nice lines, many of them are borrowings from other poets. This is, of course, completely fine and in fact more in line with the trends and style of poetry than not borrowing lines, but I think I had wanted something different. Instead, in "The Waste Land" I found an imitation (a good one!)--a continuation--of that old tradition of erudite poetry where ruminating on death and copious references to "greats," obscure and not is a rule. Anyway, I didn't get a whole lot out of it but I did like the one line above, which as it turns out is Dante.
Oh hey I forgot I wanted to add a story! And I figured I should say a little bit more about Prufrock since it was in this collection and I do really like it. I had moved to Tacoma a few years ago (a short stay it would be-only a year) and found a nice bookstore there. It was one of those old used book stores that smells like dust, whose owner also seemed as if he had risen out of it, but it had some nice stuff. One day I decided to chat the guy up, as I am often inclined to subject myself to these painful moments of socialization. I must have picked out some volume of Eliot's cuz when I went to the counter he started up about it. I said well my favorite has got to be Prufrock and he said I dont know about that! The whole poem is just about this guy being wishywashy, I just want to yell at him "Well do it!" every time I read it. Rather than challenge him or give my contradictory take on the poem, I asked him what his favorite was. And then he started reciting some Housman, revealing that A Shropshire Lad was the best of poetry from the period. Since then I read it and while Housman is undeniably a talented poet, his poetry is quite a bit different from Eliot's much more modern style. I reflected that I wouldn't particularly compare the two even though they are relatively close in time. But back to the matter at hand. I was disappointed in this reading of Prufrock as vacillating because I find the whole point of the poem is to acknowledge the dilemma one has in pursuing desires, romantic or otherwise. It struck me as an existentially-posed dilemma-one that hearkened back to the most basic form of tragedy. And yet the refrain throughout is "there will be time." Above I glossed over all this, calling the poem resolutely cynical but no cynical attitude is adopted without passing through some stage of hopeful optimism and no true cynic exists that lives without that memory within them. I suppose, in my kinder moments when I think about the obligation one has to oneself to be positive--to expect things might turn out well, when there is no evidence to indicate it (though none to disprove it, as well)--I ponder this notion, or perhaps a slight extension: that even in light of a weight of evidence suggesting things will turn out poorly, that does not mean it will happen every time. And from here we find ourselves in a place, possibly familiar, where life is an exercise in heroic perseverance. I think it's that muddled train of thought that grips me about the poem.
The other two notable poems for me were "La Figlia Che Piange" and "Gerontion." This made me want to look into Eliot a bit more or even find a scholarly essay about him that might give a little more depth to my arguably surface readings, but I might just continue on without a solid recommendation of such an article or essay. Perhaps I will return to him someday. I also have a copy of Four Quartets I might read this year or the next that would motivate me to find something. Otherwise, I shall remain in admiration of Prufrock.
medium-paced