Poetry Thursday: Eliot
I can't say that I like most of T.S. Eliot's poetry. Other than Prufrock--I do like that one--I find most of his other poems to be frustrating, heavily-footnoted enigmas. I don't like to have to decipher things to figure out the meaning; I like to read and understand at once.
However. Eliot's lines stick with you, there's no denying it. They're the kind of poems that get into your head without you knowing it. And whatever the following lines are supposed to mean in the context of the larger poem, I'm not sure. But one thing immediately sprang to mind when I read these lines today:
from "The Wasteland" by T.S. Eliot.

Haiti. Stony rubbish...a heap of broken images...where the sun beats and the dead tree gives no shelter...
I think that's one of the best things about poetry: it gives you words to say things when your own aren't enough.
It's also one of the blessings of the Internet; so many people have already written useful and powerful things about the disaster. Here are a few you can read if you're interested:
Thoughts from my friend Carrie, who has traveled to Haiti to do humanitarian work many times.
Thoughts from my friend Jennifer on why Pat Robertson is a total tool (that's not what she said, that's what I said) who makes other Christians cringe.
A giveaway from PW, a very popular blogger who plans to donate money for each comment received, as well as two $500 donations to the charity of the winners' choice.
And a story I heard on NPR this morning, about pretty much the easiest way ever to donate to relief efforts: text "Haiti" to the number 90999. Doing so will donate $10 to the Red Cross, and the amount just shows up on your next month's cell phone bill. No check writing or credit-card swiping required.
However. Eliot's lines stick with you, there's no denying it. They're the kind of poems that get into your head without you knowing it. And whatever the following lines are supposed to mean in the context of the larger poem, I'm not sure. But one thing immediately sprang to mind when I read these lines today:
| What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow | |
| Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, | 20 |
| You cannot say, or guess, for you know only | |
| A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, | |
| And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, | |
| And the dry stone no sound of water. Only | |
| There is shadow under this red rock, | 25 |
| (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), | |
| And I will show you something different from either | |
| Your shadow at morning striding behind you | |
| Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; | |
| I will show you fear in a handful of dust. |
from "The Wasteland" by T.S. Eliot.

Haiti. Stony rubbish...a heap of broken images...where the sun beats and the dead tree gives no shelter...
I think that's one of the best things about poetry: it gives you words to say things when your own aren't enough.
It's also one of the blessings of the Internet; so many people have already written useful and powerful things about the disaster. Here are a few you can read if you're interested:
Thoughts from my friend Carrie, who has traveled to Haiti to do humanitarian work many times.
Thoughts from my friend Jennifer on why Pat Robertson is a total tool (that's not what she said, that's what I said) who makes other Christians cringe.
A giveaway from PW, a very popular blogger who plans to donate money for each comment received, as well as two $500 donations to the charity of the winners' choice.
And a story I heard on NPR this morning, about pretty much the easiest way ever to donate to relief efforts: text "Haiti" to the number 90999. Doing so will donate $10 to the Red Cross, and the amount just shows up on your next month's cell phone bill. No check writing or credit-card swiping required.

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