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3.99 AVERAGE
3.99 AVERAGE
challenging
mysterious
sad
medium-paced
I so intensely love Eliot’s first and last major poetic works.
Prufrock is a childhood favourite — my mother would quote sections to us at bed time from when we were very little, or recite it entire on those rare and golden evenings when one or two of us would stay up late working on a school project, and have mum to ourselves. Many of its lines hold great significance, contain resounding poetic beauty, and transport to deeply loved memories from throughout my life. It’s also extremely quotable, apt for many occasions.
Likewise, I love Quartets. Unlike Prufrock, the love was not immediate. My final year at Uni, when I read it the first time, studying abroad in the UK, I hated it. Could not understand what everyone else saw in it. But I gave it a second, slower read, and it was one of the most revelatory experiences of my life. Revelatory not in the profundity of the poem itself, though it is that in spades, but in the experience of going from hating to loving something so much, after simply attending to it again. I’ll admit I cheated and consulted a commentary… I cannot remember which, except that it was old. But the words of the poem came alive and I cannot unsee what I have seen. I love everything about Quartets, especially how much it repays with each reading.
And now we come to Waste Land. It’s meant to be Eliot’s pre-Christian masterpiece, and one of the most important poetic works of the 20th century. But I cannot get anything from it. No spark. Just ramblings.
There are a few perfectly captured images, and Eliot plays with his favourite themes re the shortness of life and mis-connection in (romantic) relationships. But no spark. Perhaps in time I will enjoy it too. In which case I will return here and change my rating. But for now, I do not like the Waste Land. Apologies to those who do.
Prufrock is a childhood favourite — my mother would quote sections to us at bed time from when we were very little, or recite it entire on those rare and golden evenings when one or two of us would stay up late working on a school project, and have mum to ourselves. Many of its lines hold great significance, contain resounding poetic beauty, and transport to deeply loved memories from throughout my life. It’s also extremely quotable, apt for many occasions.
Likewise, I love Quartets. Unlike Prufrock, the love was not immediate. My final year at Uni, when I read it the first time, studying abroad in the UK, I hated it. Could not understand what everyone else saw in it. But I gave it a second, slower read, and it was one of the most revelatory experiences of my life. Revelatory not in the profundity of the poem itself, though it is that in spades, but in the experience of going from hating to loving something so much, after simply attending to it again. I’ll admit I cheated and consulted a commentary… I cannot remember which, except that it was old. But the words of the poem came alive and I cannot unsee what I have seen. I love everything about Quartets, especially how much it repays with each reading.
And now we come to Waste Land. It’s meant to be Eliot’s pre-Christian masterpiece, and one of the most important poetic works of the 20th century. But I cannot get anything from it. No spark. Just ramblings.
There are a few perfectly captured images, and Eliot plays with his favourite themes re the shortness of life and mis-connection in (romantic) relationships. But no spark. Perhaps in time I will enjoy it too. In which case I will return here and change my rating. But for now, I do not like the Waste Land. Apologies to those who do.
challenging
dark
emotional
mysterious
fast-paced
That was a bit dismal ..... but no surprises, given the title.
You really have to have a good knowledge of a wide range of literature, myths and legends from all ages to appreciate this poem. Or access to a good study guide.
If I really wanted to understand this work properly, it would need a bit more attention ..... think I’ll leave it there though
You really have to have a good knowledge of a wide range of literature, myths and legends from all ages to appreciate this poem. Or access to a good study guide.
If I really wanted to understand this work properly, it would need a bit more attention ..... think I’ll leave it there though
challenging
dark
hopeful
mysterious
reflective
sad
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
N/A
Lauded for transforming the romanticism of the imagist movement into the hardened realism of the modernist , T. S. Elliot's most definitive work ''The Wasteland '' is an impenetrable account of a deteriorating personal life that mirrored the haggard scars of a freshly post war Europe.
Beginning with its most ubiquitous piece ,''The Burial of the Dead'' the poem captures the scale of loss instigated by what had been the greatest display of human destructiveness up to that point. Though describing the London of his times as a desolate desert, this Dante like hell feels evocative of our present day malaise, in a world where conflict has rendered progress inert.
In its brilliant opening which has become an indispensable part of the English lexicon,''April is the cruelest month breeding lilacs out of the dead land,stirring dull roots with spring rain'' juxtaposes the teeming intensity of returning life and commotion of spring against the stillness of winter. I love how it seems to turn the seasons into markers of human nature. How with all eras of great change and progress comes retaliating periods of rigidity and return.
I have not read interpretations of this poem as I don't think they'd do much for my enjoyment( i had read and loved this poem back when I was a pretentious 8th grader who knew nothing of its allusions but resonated with its doom). To me the power of the Wastelands lies in what it makes you feel, what it can open up for you. Having read it for all these years, when I return to it I find myself living in different stanzas. As a teen April was the cruelest month: the future was this great big evil that felt as inevitable as it would be destructive. But now at 23 I find myself in the desperate longing of ''II. A Game of Chess''. The lines ''Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak. What are you thinking of?'' tattoo themselves onto the forefront of my mind as I wade through the precarious world of queer identity where love takes to long and the body comes too quick. II. A Game of Chess distill early adulthood with a melancholic forthrightness that doubles as a warning of what can be when that time is left idle.
I wont really go into great detail about each segment of the poem as there is tonnes of writing about it already but those first two segments were formative introductions into the boundless possibilities of the medium
(fun fact: i did try to write my own response to this poem back in 8th grade, it was probably awful. I i'll go find it and attach it here if i do)
Beginning with its most ubiquitous piece ,''The Burial of the Dead'' the poem captures the scale of loss instigated by what had been the greatest display of human destructiveness up to that point. Though describing the London of his times as a desolate desert, this Dante like hell feels evocative of our present day malaise, in a world where conflict has rendered progress inert.
In its brilliant opening which has become an indispensable part of the English lexicon,''April is the cruelest month breeding lilacs out of the dead land,stirring dull roots with spring rain'' juxtaposes the teeming intensity of returning life and commotion of spring against the stillness of winter. I love how it seems to turn the seasons into markers of human nature. How with all eras of great change and progress comes retaliating periods of rigidity and return.
I have not read interpretations of this poem as I don't think they'd do much for my enjoyment( i had read and loved this poem back when I was a pretentious 8th grader who knew nothing of its allusions but resonated with its doom). To me the power of the Wastelands lies in what it makes you feel, what it can open up for you. Having read it for all these years, when I return to it I find myself living in different stanzas. As a teen April was the cruelest month: the future was this great big evil that felt as inevitable as it would be destructive. But now at 23 I find myself in the desperate longing of ''II. A Game of Chess''. The lines ''Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak. What are you thinking of?'' tattoo themselves onto the forefront of my mind as I wade through the precarious world of queer identity where love takes to long and the body comes too quick. II. A Game of Chess distill early adulthood with a melancholic forthrightness that doubles as a warning of what can be when that time is left idle.
I wont really go into great detail about each segment of the poem as there is tonnes of writing about it already but those first two segments were formative introductions into the boundless possibilities of the medium
(fun fact: i did try to write my own response to this poem back in 8th grade, it was probably awful. I i'll go find it and attach it here if i do)
challenging
mysterious
reflective
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
N/A
Loveable characters:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
N/A
challenging
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
challenging
reflective
fast-paced
emotional
reflective
fast-paced
Content Warnings
Graphic: Rape, Abortion