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juleschultz's review against another edition
challenging
reflective
slow-paced
3.5
slow because it’s hard to read but it’s also poetry so realistically it doesn’t take THAT long
paul_viaf's review against another edition
3.0
I had finished reading Four Quartets prior to reading this work. I would say that while I found this work entertaining, his skills had definitely evolved by the time of the publication Four Quartets had been issued, though it is the less popular of the two. I respect the fact that he is a well-read man & that this work marks a momentus change in the style of writing but I find that he borrows far too much for it to be considered one of better works. I know this is a common knock on this writer but I do not have the same furious qualm most people have. I think it is fine to reference just not in this massive quantity. I found it interesting to see the feelings of ineptitude & envy towards Dante. It is fascinating to see that in a writer so many revere as a literary giant. My favorite poem is the The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock because it has the originality & drawings from & the ingenuity I came to respect in his later works. I will probably revisit it in the future & perhaps I will develop a new understanding & love for it.
dsundy's review against another edition
5.0
Stand on the highest pavement of the stair-Lean on a garden urn-
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair-
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise~
Fling them to the ground and turn
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
So I would have had him leave,
So I would have had her stand and grieve,
So he would have left
As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,
As the mind deserts the body it has used.
I should find
Some way incomparably light and deft, Some way we both should understand,
Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.
She turned away, but with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days,
Many days and many hours:
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.
And I wonder how they should have been together!
I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight and the noon's repose
officialkohls's review against another edition
4.0
I can't pretend I'm the biggest fan of Eliot's work (love his subject matter, tolerate his rhyme schemes). But this not only includes some classics, but also notes on the titular work from the author himself - some extremely valuable insight.
melonreadss's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
mysterious
slow-paced
3.5
heyimaghost's review against another edition
4.0
So I read The Waste Land for the third time last night (I’ve read bits of it several times, but only all the way through three times), and I even read commentaries on it. I just don’t get it. I understand what it’s about, and there are parts I can see are obviously brilliant (the scene of London bridge is more haunting than the scene in Dante he’s referencing, and that’s quite a compliment from me). And yet, I feel no connection to it. I agree with his premise, but his execution entirely fails to touch me, in any emotional sense.
Let’s take a couple lines as an example:
To Carthage then I came
Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest
burning
Now, I see the juxtaposition of Eastern and Western spirituality and all that indicates in relation to the poem as a whole, but my reaction to it is less of an enjoyment and more of knowing nod–”Yes, I see what you did there.” And that’s my reaction to the poem as a whole, really. I know that may sound like condescension, but I really don’t feel like I’m being condescending. It’s more of a cold, calculated appreciation: purely intellectual.
As a contrast, let me explain my reaction to reading Ash Wednesday. The opening line is “Because I do not hope to turn again.” When I read that, I immediately thought, “I know that line! Why do I know that line?” I had to look it up, but it’s the opening line of a poem by Guido Cavalcanti, a friend and contemporary of Dante. Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten that if I hadn’t spent the passed few months studying Dante; regardless, I got the reference and I was excited to figure it out. Whereas, the references in The Waste Land that I got–I obviously didn’t get all of them because Eliot is far more well read and more intelligent than I am–but the ones I did get, I just recognized how that reference is appropriate at that moment and moved on.
It’s not a fair comparison though, because for all its brilliance Ash Wednesday, is not The Waste Land, nor is it meant to be: it’s not the same type of poem. The two poems are meant to evoke separate reactions, and are written about two separate issues. So let me explain in a more general context. Perhaps it’s reading them back to back–not to mention this was my first time reading Ash Wednesday–but I felt like the reaction I had while reading Ash Wednesday (a gnawing in my chest that’s haunted me all morning) is the reaction good poetry ought to evoke; whereas, the reaction The Waste Land always evokes in me is the reaction one should have for a well-written essay. And whatever feeling The Waste Land should be evoking, I feel like that’s not what it is.
I’ve read a lot of Eliot’s poetry, and I like a most of it. Unfortunately, The Waste Land does not connect with me on anything beyond an intellectual level, and frankly, I’m going to stop trying to make it connect further.
Let’s take a couple lines as an example:
To Carthage then I came
Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest
burning
Now, I see the juxtaposition of Eastern and Western spirituality and all that indicates in relation to the poem as a whole, but my reaction to it is less of an enjoyment and more of knowing nod–”Yes, I see what you did there.” And that’s my reaction to the poem as a whole, really. I know that may sound like condescension, but I really don’t feel like I’m being condescending. It’s more of a cold, calculated appreciation: purely intellectual.
As a contrast, let me explain my reaction to reading Ash Wednesday. The opening line is “Because I do not hope to turn again.” When I read that, I immediately thought, “I know that line! Why do I know that line?” I had to look it up, but it’s the opening line of a poem by Guido Cavalcanti, a friend and contemporary of Dante. Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten that if I hadn’t spent the passed few months studying Dante; regardless, I got the reference and I was excited to figure it out. Whereas, the references in The Waste Land that I got–I obviously didn’t get all of them because Eliot is far more well read and more intelligent than I am–but the ones I did get, I just recognized how that reference is appropriate at that moment and moved on.
It’s not a fair comparison though, because for all its brilliance Ash Wednesday, is not The Waste Land, nor is it meant to be: it’s not the same type of poem. The two poems are meant to evoke separate reactions, and are written about two separate issues. So let me explain in a more general context. Perhaps it’s reading them back to back–not to mention this was my first time reading Ash Wednesday–but I felt like the reaction I had while reading Ash Wednesday (a gnawing in my chest that’s haunted me all morning) is the reaction good poetry ought to evoke; whereas, the reaction The Waste Land always evokes in me is the reaction one should have for a well-written essay. And whatever feeling The Waste Land should be evoking, I feel like that’s not what it is.
I’ve read a lot of Eliot’s poetry, and I like a most of it. Unfortunately, The Waste Land does not connect with me on anything beyond an intellectual level, and frankly, I’m going to stop trying to make it connect further.
gijs's review against another edition
5.0
Genius. Especially excellent narration by Ted Hughes in the audible format. Highly recommended.
hobhouchin's review against another edition
4.0
Love it. Absolutely. I can't claim that I fully understood every innuendo but I admire the words and the atmosphere Eliot created with them. Breathtaking and simply genius.