Eliot wrote Prufrock when he was 23. Bastard.
I encountered Eliot's short poems when I was about 12 and I was
absolutely enraptured by their cadences. Every time I return to those
poems, I remember the initial pleasures of reading them -
Lord, the Roman hyacinths are blooming in bowls and
The winter sun creeps by the snow hills;
The stubborn season has made stand.
I mean, like wow. Eliot was fabulous, and I simply don't understand
why people sneer at him. Lines like "short square fingers stubbing
pipes / and evening newspapers and eyes / assured of certain
certainties" just took root in my fertile adolescent brain and still
flower there. (At the same time I thought Tennyson was wonderful.
Eliot would have fits at the thought, but there is a certain
musicality the two poets have in common.)
So Keilor getting up there and making smart on how Eliot made poetry
unpopular and gloomy (as if Swinburne or Hopkins or Donne were real
comedy festivals) and how nobody (presumably Italians aren't people)
can read Italian etc etc gives me the shits.
It's a strange piece altogether, that Keilor piece. Maybe American
liberals are a strange and sadly humourless breed. I know plenty of
serious, committed people who are the best and most hilarious
company. But was Eliot a liberal anyway? I thought he was way too
patrician and high church for all of that...
All best
Alison
(Sorry if I sound bad tempered. My novel is making me neurotic).
--
Editor, Masthead: http://www.masthead.net.au
Blog: http://theatrenotes.blogspot.com
Home page: http://www.alisoncroggon.com
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