[Download] ➾ The Waste Land and Other Poems ➹ T.S. Eliot – Loanexpress.us

The Waste Land and Other Poems 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

[Download] ➾ The Waste Land and Other Poems  ➹ T.S. Eliot – Loanexpress.us
  • Paperback
  • 88 pages
  • The Waste Land and Other Poems
  • T.S. Eliot
  • English
  • 07 January 2019
  • 015694877X

    10 thoughts on “[Download] ➾ The Waste Land and Other Poems ➹ T.S. Eliot – Loanexpress.us


  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 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:

    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 mast 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.Whatcan 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


  3. 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, c 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


  4. 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 l 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 allAnd 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 dustLeading 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 tremblingwith remorse or excitement, is something we can t guess without ambiguity Touching the themes of vengeance, repentance, nostalgia, penance and decay, he halts atDatta, Dayadhvan and Damyataas the final rousing call This mantra in Sanskrit translates to Give, Sacrifice and Control respectively This trinity, capable of resurrecting our being in adignified and buoyant fabric, is left for the reader to comprehend and validateDatta 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 roomsGERONTIONThou hast nor youth nor ageBut as it were an after dinner sleepDreaming of bothThus 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 stepsAfter 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 passionASH WEDNESDAY We are always in a vicious circle of creation and destruction This engaging activity provides momentum to our lives and reinforces our core strengthI 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 rejoiceA 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 uptoWill the veiled sister prayFor children at the gateWho will not go away and cannot pray Pray for those who chose and opposeShantih 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


  5. 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.


  6. 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 reme 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 sof 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


  7. says:

    Probably my favourite poet Poetry at its most incredible.


  8. says:

    This is one of my favorite books of all time and to prove it, I named my dog Prufrock I wanted to put a picture of him here for you SO BAD that after stoically refusing for a million years, I finally opened a Flickr account so I upload my pix on GR So here is a shot of the time the cutest dog ever did the cutest thing ever and I actually died.


  9. says:

    I think The Waste Land and the other poems in this collection Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, and Gerontion, Portrait of a Lady and Four Quartets are brilliant That said, I have to sort of hold T.S Eliot responsible for everything I hate about modern poetry Obviously T Stearns isn t wholly to blame, and I think he has a genius of his own, but I think that his influence on many of his poetic successors has mostly led to a disgusting pretension in poetry, which superficially veils I think The Waste Land and the other poems in this collection Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, and Gerontion, Portrait of a Lady and Four Quartets are brilliant That said, I have to sort of hold T.S Eliot responsible for everything I hate about modern poetry Obviously T Stearns isn t wholly to blame, and I think he has a genius of his own, but I think that his influence on many of his poetic successors has mostly led to a disgusting pretension in poetry, which superficially veils emotions, quotes Latin, and ranks obscurity and abstruseness above art Yea, I m staking the claim T.S Eliot is the father of the hipster movement I mean, what could behipster than saying that Coriolanus is the greater tragedy to Hamlet Right Oh yes, of course Fleetwood Mac s Rumours was great and all, but have you heard their earlier demos, with Stevie singing in iambs, accompanying herself on the tambourine, and Lidnsay Buckingham on the zithern Oh you haven t It s sublime For a American expat working as a bank clerk in London, Eliot was perhaps the first visionary of the caffeinated Brooklyn counterculture turned mainstream turned counter counter culture ad infinitumLet us go, through certain half deserted streets,The muttering retreatsOf restless nights in one night cheap hotelsAnd sawdust restaurants with oyster shells Streets that follow like a tedious argumentOf insidious intentTo lead you to an overwhelming question Oh, do not ask, What is it Yea, T Stearns, let s traipse around Bensonhurst late at night when all the bars stop selling PBRs and take the dusty mixed nut bowls off the counter, let s wipe the dust off of our hemp sewn socks, and knock the much off our patent leather high top shoes, and walk alone and look at the citylights and meditate on what it all means to be alive, and why rents are so high, and what is a good synonym for boredom boredom snoredom apathy lassitude yawn pococurantism oooh that s a good one disinterest l ennui ooh, nice use of freshman year French, man, high five , and why the sea is boiling hot and weather pigs have wings, etc etc One thing Eliot does master is capturing a rhythm without necessarily having a strict structure Unlike many ofhis successors, Eliot s po etry has a meter and rhythm of itsown,maybe inconsistent, but lyriccal in its ownway not just sentences withstrange linebreaks Je ne peux pas mentir. Placet rithimorum.He is also a master of allusion, which spans all of time, and does not belong to a signular era He borrows from Shakespeare, from Homer, Henry James, all sorts of authors and thinkers and tinkerers, and blends them with the lowbrow culture which was pervasive in his day, and has a bold rhythm which is counter to its highbrow literary past However, despite the highbrow lowbrow contrast, the varied allusions form a beautiful fugue of meaning, which says something about society as a whole in a realistic way Dovetailing off of Eliot s convergence of the high and low brow cultures in poetry, there is a kind of split between the ultra obscurism of Wallace Stevens whom I adore and Hart Crane, and the self indulgent colloquiality of Auden, Berryman, etc While I think these are talented poets, I think they fall short of the kind of musicality of Eliot s poetry However, I think poetry these days which isn t to say all of it, or necessarily much of it, but rather the sort of stock persona of poetry is highly self indulgent and pretentious In the room the women come and goTalking of Michelangelo. In Williamsburg the hipsters come and goTalking of Michel Foucault

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