I had to have a poet on the countdown, and Eliot edged out William Blake.
Eliot was born in St. Louis in 1888 but moved to England at the age of 26. He became an English citizen at 39. His poems “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” The Waste Land, and “The Hollow Men” embody the modernist movement. His ability to communicate the fragmentary, degenerative, disillusioned, and disjointed condition of modern culture is incredible. Throughout his poetry, there is a multitude of great lines, fantastic imagery, and rich symbolism.
His poetry after his conversion to Christianity is also very, very good. “Ash Wednesday” and “Journey of the Magi” are my two favorites. He considered “Four Quartets” his masterpiece, as it combines Christianity sensibility with the uncertainty of post-war Europe. His essay “Tradition and the Individual Talent” is huge in the realm of literary criticism. The ideas, techniques, and content of his poetry or prose are among the most creative, innovative, and original of the twentieth century. He certainly never compromised for anything or anyone. I like his poetry because it’s extremely heavy stuff. It all appeals to both head and heart, which is what good poetry should do. He combines intellect, aesthetic, and emotion all while drawing from the past, examining the present, and looking to the future. Awesome.
A Favorite Excerpt:
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.
For I have known them all already, known them all—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
- from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"
Famous Works:
"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" (1915)
"Tradition and the Individual Talent" (1919)
The Waste Land (1922)
"The Hollow Men" (1925)
"Ash Wednesday" (1930)
Links
· http://www.whatthethundersaid.org/
· http://www.english.illinois.edu/maps/poets/a_f/eliot/eliot.htm
Next Week: #5.
Hint: He's a medievalist scholar and writer of children's fantasy fiction.
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