➳ [Reading] ➶ The Waste Land and Other Poems By T.S. Eliot ➩ – Saudionline.co.uk

The Waste Land and Other Poems files The Waste Land and Other Poems, read online The Waste Land and Other Poems, free The Waste Land and Other Poems, free The Waste Land and Other Poems, The Waste Land and Other Poems 70c9b7d4a Few Readers Need Any Introduction To The Work Of The Most Influential Poet Of The Twentieth Century In Addition To The Title Poem, This Selecion Includes The Love Song Of J Alfred Prufrock , Gerontion , Ash Wednesday , And Other Poems From Mr Eliot S Early And Middle Work In Ten Years Time, Wrote Edmund Wilson In Axels Castle , Eliot Has Left Upon English Poetry A Mark Unmistakable Than That Of Any Other Poet Writing In English In Mr Eliot Was Awarded The Nobel Prize For His Work As Trail Blazing Pioneer Of Modern Poetry


10 thoughts on “The Waste Land and Other Poems

  1. says:

    Eliot is such a pompous old fart, how could anyone not love him When I was still in high school if you wanted to be in the group of people who had any pretensions as intellectuals or whatever else it was we had pretensions of Eliot was de rigueur I know large slabs of this poem by heart and when I worked as a house painter would quote it at length at the top of my voice when I ran out of Irish songs to sing while I rolled the walls which probably misses the point of the poem, but I love how it feels in my mouth like having your mouth full of chocolates and then coffee and then brandy, no, better, Cointreau.There is something Romantic about this poem, despite it being the definitive Modern poem all that stuff about, The chair she sat in could be straight from Byron or Wordsworth.I love the jokes, the sex in a punt and the pocket full of currants and I still love all of the horrible sexual adventures that are all whip it in, whip it out and wipe it for the men and so totally unsatisfying for the women And that bit about fore suffering all enacted on this same divan or bed with the wee typist woman and her drying combinations, is just so damn good One final, patronising kiss and gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit.All the same, this is one of the masterworks of the language, some of it still forms a lump in my throat as the currents rise and fall and I pass through all the stages of my youth and age.Okay, so maybe I wouldn t quite agree with him now that if you want to read me, learn my language pretty much meaning learn the whole of European poetry to read a single poem but very young men find this is exactly the sort of thing that draws one to Nietzsche and Eliot was always my favourite right wing wanker.


  2. says:

    I consider The Hollow Men one of the greatest poems in the English language, and certainly the greatest from the 20th century Here s the start of it We are the hollow menWe are the stuffed menLeaning togetherHeadpiece filled with straw Alas Our dried voices, whenWe whisper togetherAre quiet and meaninglessAs wind in dry grassOr rats feet over broken glassIn our dry cellarShape without form, shade without colour,Paralysed force, gesture without motion Those who have crossedWith direct eyes, to death s other KingdomRemember us if at all not as lostViolent souls, but onlyAs the hollow menThe stuffed men. It just captures so much of the era and so much of the desolation and emptiness that followed the war it reflects the melancholy that swept through the world It s a sad poem It feels cold, detached and lonely And I love it because it is so effective If I was reviewing this book based on my opinion of that poem alone then this would be a five star rating But, alas, I am not because there is also a poem I detest in here I consider The Waste Land one of the worse poems in the English language because of it s incomprehensibleness Every time I read it I get lost Critically speaking, it a weird and wonderful construction but it is so inaccessible I ve read it several times over the years, and it really doesn t get any easier So for me this is a very mixed bag, worth a read though


  3. says:

    My ode to T.S EliotT S Eliot, You walked among the starsIn your words, light trails blazing.Master of the modern,Ruler of the poetic.There is, and was, no poet to compare.Your mythology and legend stand immense.Behold the waste land of the world,Behold the glorious prose of a world shaker.Though some have called thee,Mighty and dreadful plagiarist,Such slander upholds your greatness,The potency of your reinvention.There is a power to you in rewriting the eloquentSo behold T.S Eliot.A masterful poet.One who walked among the starsAnd brought the heavens a little nearer.What can a poet do There is a simplicity to the greatest poetry And at once there is a complexity There is a simplicity, in that the greatest works of poetry don t contain wordiness or explicitly state their intentions They strip back language to allow for a nice flow and rhythm to what they are doing But at the same time there is a complexity generated by a presumed sense of intent and knowledge The poet assumes that you will get, from the scarcity of language used, what they are aiming to convey And that is part of the beauty of language, that because the poet strips everything down, there is so much which you can read into and draw as your own understanding of what the poem is about.And that is what I sensed in The Wasteland and the other poems The Wasteland is universally accepted as one of the most important pieces of modernism regardless of all the arguments about it being a plagiarised piece of fiction For an interesting breakdown on that idea of plagiarism and literature read this article And no matter how you read Eliot s work as a reinvention of older myths and narratives as a depiction of a destroyed post war landscape and the people affected by that world or as a beautiful piece of art there is so much to gain from reading this work It really all proves that simply because older ideas are drawn upon and referenced that it doesn t have to be stealing.Upon further reading and analysis it has come to my attention that what Eliot does in this masterpiece is to both play off the worlds of the common peasants and bourgeoise with those who would be considered academic royalty He sets up a comparison of white collar and blue collar workers, essentially creating a poem that works like a giant chessgame In some ways a game of oneupmanship in which Eliot tells the reader that he is better than them but still sympathetic to them This can be seen in the classical references to high forms of literary art that Eliot draws upon But there are also elements in which Eliot shows that he is not supercilious and in fact appears to both sympathise and empathise with the proletariat working class the second section for instance and in lines such as consider Phlebas particularly seem to suggest this Regardless of how you want to read it I challenge you to go and read one of the great works of literature It is a notoriously difficult poem to understand and I know I got very little of it, but it was powerful and moving And I am now looking forward to further discussion and dissection of this in upcoming classes Isn t the greatest power of literature apparent in how it lives on after we have read it


  4. says:

    The Waste Land and Other Poems, Thomas Stearns Eliot, T.S Eliot 1888 1945 April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain.Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.And when we were children, staying at the archduke s, My cousin s, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened He said, Marie, Marie,hold on tight And down we went.In the mountains, there you feel free I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish Son of man, You cannot say, or guess 1972 1351 160 20 .


  5. says:

    The Unreal Wastelands Labyrinths What Memory Keeps and Throws Away An Exercise in Recollection in flashes and distortions ____________________________ You Hypocrite lecteur mon semblable, mon fr re ____________________________Chimes follow the Fire Sermon A rat crept softly through the vegetation departed A cold blast at the back, So rudely forc d, like Philomela.It was Tiresias , it was he who doomed all men,throbbing between two lives, knowing which Et O ces voix d enfants, chantant dans la coupole Excuse my demotic French Let us go then, him that carbuncular young man , and you In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.You may come or go, but speak not of Michelangelo.When there is not solitude even in the Mountains,When even the sound of water could dry your thirst,Then you can lift your hands and sing of dead pine trees.Have you yet been led,through paths of insidious intent,through every tedious argument,To that overwhelming question Gentile or JewO you who turn the wheel and look to windward,Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.Sweet Thames, sweating oil and tar,Sweet Thames, run on softly till I end my song,for I speak not loud or long,for I speak not clear or clean,for I speak in the hoarse whispers of the last man,for it was I who murdered you,and Ganga, right under the nose, of mighty Himavant You who were living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience Break The Bough, and hang yourself from it, Sweeney, Prufrock, The Fisher King and the sterile others, all will follow first,like corpses etherised on well lit tables Remember me, me Tiresias, once , for we are all him, yet not.The present will always look at the mirror,and see only a Wasteland,The Past is always the heavenly spring, running dry now.Perspective,Thy name is Poetry London Bridge is falling down falling down falling downThese fragments you have shored against my ruins.Why is it impossible to say just what I mean Datta Dayadhvam Damyata shantih shantih shantih ____________________________You Hypocrite reader, my likeness, my brother ____________________________Do I dare Disturb the universe


  6. says:

    Thomas Stearns Eliot A lot is hidden between those three words A whole world perhaps A depth measured by many oceans, a mystery viewed from bewitching lenses, a song marrying numerous notes, a candle thriving on inexhaustible wax.During his writing season, that spanned over three decades, T S Eliot penned many evocative and luscious poems, with his pen always leaving a signature cryptic mark over his dotted sheets Often a source of delusion to an enthusiastic poetic heart, his labyrinthine lyricism was like a lashing downpour on a parched heartland one surrendered to the torrent at the risk of bearing undecipherable strokes on one s soul I belong to this clan In this volume, his celebrated and most popular poems rub shoulders with their relatively lesser known but still dense cousins And while my soul may curse my mind for being picky about Eliot s poems, I might go asunder for a while and share with you three gems, whose themes, narratives, cadence and wholeness can be adorned by adjectives from the superlative family alone THE WASTE LAND In his most celebrated poem, his thoughts, meandering through five reverberating alleys of melancholy and despair, purport to create an image that oscillates between our meretricious values and late realizations It begins with The Burial of the Dead where a collage of pictures bearing subdued trees, stony lands, dried showers and insipid sun leaves a young girl with a heavy heart who is further introduced to the throbbing futility of it all And I will show you something different from eitherYour shadow at morning striding behind youOr your shadow at evening rising to meet you I will show you fear in a handful of dust Leading us to the next alleys, Eliot plays A Game of Chess, issues A Fire Sermon, condemns us to a Death by Water and lets us hear What The Thunder Said All through this trail, we are trembling with remorse or excitement, is something we can t guess without ambiguity Touching the themes of vengeance, repentance, nostalgia, penance and decay, he halts at Datta, Dayadhvan and Damyata as the final rousing call This mantra in Sanskrit translates to Give, Sacrifice and Control respectively This trinity, capable of resurrecting our being in a dignified and buoyant fabric, is left for the reader to comprehend and validate Datta what have we given My friend, blood shaking my heartThe awful daring of a moment s surrenderWhich an age of prudence can never retractBy this, and this only, we have existedWhich is not to be found in our obituariesOr in memories draped by the beneficent spiderOr under seals broken by the lean solicitorIn our empty rooms GERONTION Thou hast nor youth nor ageBut as it were an after dinner sleepDreaming of both Thus starts this splendid poem, which is a mighty paean to a person s journey from youth to mellow And as always detected by a fatigued eye, this journey is laden with discolored beliefs and stung steps After such knowledge, what forgiveness Think nowHistory has many cunning passages, contrived corridorsAnd issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,Guides us by vanities Think nowShe gives when our attention is distractedAnd what she gives, gives with such supple confusionsThat the giving famishes the craving Gives too lateWhat s not believed in, or is still believed,In memory only, reconsidered passion ASH WEDNESDAY We are always in a vicious circle of creation and destruction This engaging activity provides momentum to our lives and reinforces our core strength I rejoice that things are as they are andI renounce the blessed faceAnd renounce the voiceBecause I cannot hope to turn againConsequently I rejoice, having to construct somethingUpon which to rejoice A pity, then, that we can t always control this rigmarole What if, dotting the circle, we reach a point from where a deviation threatens to derail our movement, propelling our faith engine to go kaput The tumultuous fall, then becomes impossible to confine in words, for it pervades everything our skin, our bones, our heart Should we be foolish enough to expect a hand to pull us out of this ditch, at this hour, when all we have done till now, in our sturdy capacity, is overlook meek yet expectant eyes Is hope of such benevolence, an absurdity Well, there is someone, indeed, to whom we can always look upto Will the veiled sister prayFor children at the gateWho will not go away and cannot pray Pray for those who chose and oppose Shantih Shantih Shantih The Peace that passeth understanding These poems are like pearls the metaphorical oyster may pose a formidable guard but caress it with patience and stimulate it aloud and it will open up to a mesmerizing world of mellifluous prose and inspiring gist.


  7. says:

    In the upcoming book The World Broke in Two by Bill Goldstein, Virginia Woolf is pleased by hearing The Wasteland read by Eliot Several times she mentions that she has not read the poem but only listened to it I did the same with the Audible edition There is something to gain in listening.


  8. says:

    The first three published poetic volumes of T.S Eliot career were a sudden surprise upon the literary community, but it was the third that became a centerpiece of modernist poetry Published within a 5 year period during which not only Eliot s style was refined but also influenced by his personal life and health Throughout the rest of his career, Eliot would build upon and around these works that would eventually lead to the Noble Prize in Literature and a prominent place in today s literature classes.While I am right now in no way ready to critique Eliot s work, I will do so in the volume it was presented in While the publishers and editors wanted to present Eliot s work with his personal Notes or footnotes in the back of the book to preserve the author s intention of presentation, over the course of reading the exercise of going from the front of the book to the back to understand the footnotes became tiresome And while reading The Waste Land I had three places marked in my book so as to read the poem and then look at Eliot s own Notes and the publisher s footnotes, which quickly became a trial.This is a book I m going to have to re read over and over again for years to come to truly appreciate Eliot s work If you re a better rounded literary individual than I am then this volume will probably be for you as it presents Eliot s work in the forefront with no intruding footnotes at the bottom of the page however if you are a reader like myself who wants to enjoy Eliot but needs the help of footnotes I suggest getting another volume in which footnotes are closer to the text they amply.


  9. says:

    Hey, three stars from me for poetry is good Why Because I don t like the stuff Yep, I m a savage heathen I LOVED the stuff as a teen I wrote notebooks filled with poetry or at least something like poetry back then Somewhere along the line I lost my taste for it and now I can barely stand it.Enter T.S Eliot and his highly vaunted The Waste Land In some distant past, when I was in college or maybe it was even high school, I was told by teachers just how good this poem was I don t remember any of them explaining why We never read it in class, although it is fairly short I don t even recall being assigned the poem to read on my own So I didn t However, not having read something that everyone else has read really bothers me The title floats about in my subconscious mind, occasionally whispering to me, What, War and Peace That book you haven t read yet, but everyone else has Yes, that s still sitting unread on the shelf in the other roomjust a few feet away I hear it s good But it s of a book for real readers My brain is a dick But it does get me off my ass, and so I finally recently read The Waste Land and Other Poems, not to mention War and Peace.Once upon a time schools taught childrenI was going to go on, but no, that sums it up Once upon a time schools taught children They were made to learn Greek and Latin They knew the classics And some of them later became writers themselves and they wrote poems like those found in this book, filled with references lost on ill educated clods like myself One day when I grow up I m going to learn how to understand The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock and Sweeney Among the Nightingales But this is not that day No, these days I must be satisfied with remaining mired in my miserable ignorance, pleased to comprehend a mere portion of these poems I am at least thankful to have grasped, and even enjoyed, parts of The Waste Land and others To be honest, I wished I hadn t understood some of these, because they were stomach churning Sing songy purple poetry Is that a phrase It is now , whose titles I ll refrain from mentioning so as not to sour anyone s favorites, made me gag, cringe and convulse Yes, it s better than anything I ve ever written, but that doesn t improve it any in my mind This is not for me That rating includes three very subjective stars It s merely my opinion, part of which takes into account my enjoyment level while reading That pool was barely half full.


  10. says:

    Probably my favourite poet Poetry at its most incredible.


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