Today, I will be blogging about my favourite poet. His name is Thomas Stearns Eliot (1888-1965). He was born in St. Louis, Missouri, of an old New England family. He was educated at Harvard and did graduate work in philosophy at the Sorbonne, Harvard, and Merton College, Oxford. He settled in England, where he was for a time a schoolmaster and a bank clerk, and eventually literary editor for the publishing house Faber & Faber, of which he later became a director. He founded and, during the seventeen years of its publication (1922-1939), edited the exclusive and influential literary journal Criterion. In 1927, Eliot became a British citizen and about the same time entered the Anglican Church.
It was in London that Eliot came under the influence of his contemporary Ezra Pound, who recognized his poetic genius at once, and assisted in the publication of his work in a number of magazines, most notably "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" in Poetry in 1915. His first book of poems, Prufrock and Other Observations, was published in 1917, and immediately established him as a leading poet of the avant-garde. Eliot's reputation began to grow to nearly mythic proportions; by 1930, and for the next thirty years, he was the most dominant figure in poetry and literary criticism in the English-speaking world.
His poems in many respects articulated the disillusionment of a younger post-World-War-I generation with the values and conventions—both literary and social—of the Victorian era. As a critic also, he had an enormous impact on contemporary literary taste, propounding views that, after his conversion to orthodox Christianity in the late thirties, were increasingly based in social and religious conservatism.
I chose him as my favourite poet because I sincerely admire his stlye of writing poems. Besides that, I also admire him for his great achievements, most notably the nobel prize in literature that he won. I hope to learn from him and to follow his examples. Now, here are three of his best poems.
THE HIPPOPOTAMUS
THE broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.
Flesh-and-blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.
The hippo's feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.
The 'potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.
At mating time the hippo's voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.
The hippopotamus's day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way--
The Church can sleep and feed at once.
I saw the 'potamus take wing
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.
Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.
He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr'd virgins kist,
While the True Church remains below
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.
MORNING AT THE WINDOW
THEY are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens,
And along the trampled edges of the street
I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids
Sprouting despondently at area gates.
The brown waves of fog toss up to me
Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,
And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts
An aimless smile that hovers in the air
And vanishes along the level of the roofs.
THE LOVE SONG OF J. ALFRED PRUFROCK
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
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?
And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
* * *
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"--
If one, settling a pillow by her head
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all."
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Resources/Blibiography
www.poet.org
www.poetry-archive.com
This is the poem that I have chosen for the IT home learning.
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
I will now be elaborating on the figurative language used.
There is a hyperbole from the last 6th line to the last 3rd line. The writer used the hyperbole in order to place emphasis on that few lines. The author also used the hyperbole in order to better express his feelings and emotions.
From the last 7th line, there is also another hyperbole( While I weep--while I weep! )
The author used a hyperbole there in order to emphasis that he wept profusely.
A Dream Within a Dream" reflects Poe's feelings about his life at the time, dramatizing his confusion in watching the few precious things in his life slip away. Realizing he cannot hold onto even one grain of sand leads to his final question that all things are a dream.
The poem references "golden sand," an image derived from the 1848 discovery of gold in California.
Alternately, it may be interpreted that the "golden sand" is an allusion to the author's loved ones, and that each is inevitably swept away by death (the pitiless wave), no matter how tight a clasp the author tries to retain them with.
I like this poem because it shows us the feelings the poet have at the time. It is evident that the poet put a lot of effort in composing the poem. This poem is extremely sad, but I think it is very good, for it really reflects the author's emotions.
Who is my favourite/least favourite character in Village by the sea
Posted by Teow Yong Zhen on Tuesday, June 9, 2009Village by the sea have many different characters with different ways of speech, different attitudes, etc. From the variety of different characters, I have chosen a favourite character from the book.
My favourite character is Lila. I admire her for being able to shoulder such a huge responsibility without any grumbles or complains. Most of us, if we are in her position, will most probably have gone around in our daily jobs sulkily, blaming god for the fact that our mother is ill and our father is drunk, unable to contribute to the running of the family. However, although in such a position, Lila still went on with a cheery smile while doing her household chores, even taking care of her parents though it ought to be the other way round!Moreover, I like the way Lila adapts to change. She no longer goes out and have fun with her friends and no longer goes to school. Every spare minute she has is devoted for caring for her 2 younger sisters and for tending to the house hold. I admire the way the way that she can adapt to change.Hence, I chose Lila as my favourite character in the book.
Today, I will be sharing with you my reasons why I would rather be the city rat than the country rat.
Firstly, a city rat gets to indulge in good food. Why wouldn't someone prefer to be a city rat when they have the opportunity to eat a lot of good and tasty food ? A city rat has the priviledge of not only having a considerable access to food, having only to turn to the nearest restaurant perhaps down the street but they are also assured of the quality and taste of the food as the food a city rat consumes are is consumed by food loving members of the general public. In constrast, a country rat will have trouble even finding adequate food to keep them alive. They do not enjoy the steady stream of food that the city rat enjoys. Furthemore, they cannot even think of finding good food for there are practically none in the countryside.
Besides that, a city rat will have good accomodation as compared to a country rat. A city rat have only to turn to the nearest household to find shelther . This not only provides the much needed rest for a rat after a hectic day but also provides a shield from the rat's natural predators such as snakes, mongooses, etc. In comparison, a country rat is much worse off because of its lack of good places to stay. A country rat will be able to find shelter, but not without much trouble and time. So why waste all the trouble and time? Isn't it better to be a city rat?
In conclusion, being a city rat is indeed more enjoyable than being a country rat. Thus, it follows that I would prefer to be a city rat rather than a country rat. This wraps up my discussion for today.
The Village By The Sea is an interesting book that my school have made it required reading for us. It has many interesting parts and I will be blogging on one of the parts that I like best today.
Refer to pg 88 of village by the sea. I will be using that as well as information from other parts of the book in my sharing today.
In this part of the book, Hari is now having a tough decision on which course of action should he undertake to best support his family. His father is a drunkard and his mother is ill and he is the sole breadwinner for his family. His hometown Thul, is about to change with the arrival of the fertilizer factories bringing many people from all over India to come to Thul thus causing Hari to wonder whather he will have a job in the factories with such a lot of competition. Besides that, Biju, a person with considerable wealth from his hometown is going to launch a boat that is equipped with diesel engines, a deep freeze and a capacity to travel 50 miles a day. Hari is pondering whether to get a job on his boat. However, Hari is put off after a watchman from the city poured scorn on Biju's plans, saying that there is hardly any fish left in the seas near the village. Thus, Hari is left with no other alternative but to go to Bombay and to earn a living.
This part of the story is particulary captivating because it exemplifys the kind of ordeal that village people have to go through. Just think of it, at the young age of 11, they already have to provide for their family. I particulary sympathise with Hari because at such a young age, he is already burdened with the task of providing for his family, to earn money and to take care of not only his younger sisters, but also his parents! And it is in this part of the book where Hari is about to make a decision that will not only affect his life, but also the life of his family members. Anita Desai in this part of the story, shows the burden of Hari with his thoughts giving the reader a comprehensive insight on Hari's life as well as his burdens. This, together with the difficult decisions which Hari have to make made this part of the book the most interesting of all in the book.
This completes my sharing for today.
