T.S. Eliot Is Britain's Favorite Poet
In honor of National Poetry Day this past Thursday, the BBC commissioned a poll to name "the nation's favourite poet." The Brits, interestingly, chose an American...sort of. T.S. Eliot was born in Saint Louis but moved to England at the age of 25, where he eventually became a British subject. Both countries like to claim him as their own, but Eliot once said of his work "in its sources, in its emotional springs, it comes from America."
Eliot had a global impact on both poetry and criticism (how we read poetry). He is best known for his landmark poem "The Wasteland" and for the more accessible and beautiful "The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock," which conflates cosmic thoughts with a lonely and suffocating insecurity:
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?
John Donne, the 16-17th Century metaphysical poet, finished a close second in the poll. Donne's subject matter varied from saucy love poetry like "The Sun Rising," to the intense and devout Holy Sonnets, written after Donne became active in the Anglican Church. His poetry is always full of wit, as is evident in this famous sonnet (Holy Sonnet #10):
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy'or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
In third place was the only living poet on the list, the Rastafarian dub poet Benjamin Zephaniah. His poetry is evidence of the art's big tent, and of the growing popularity of spoken word or Slam poetry. You have to hear Zephaniah to really appreciate his work--and there's a great recording of him here--but I've included an excerpt from his poem "Talking Turkeys," just to give you a taste:
Be nice to yu turkeys dis Christmas
Cos' turkeys just wanna hav fun
Turkeys are cool, turkeys are wicked
An every turkey has a Mum.
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas,
Don't eat it, keep it alive,
It could be yu mate,
an not on your plate
Say, Yo! Turkey I'm on your side.
It's a far cry from Eliot and Donne, and from everyone else who finished in the top ten, which includes World War I poet Wilfred Owen, Philip Larkin, William Blake, William Butler Yeats, John Keats and Dylan Thomas. Rudyard Kipling, named the nation's favorite poet in 1995, did not make the list.
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Someone posted this T.S. Eliot poem awhile back and dedicated it to republicans. I liked it so much I saved it:
The Hollow Men
T. S. Eliot
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar.
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
She has finished her first round...
the turkey's BACK
to roost...
no longer 'fraid of being roasted?
baste him like a goose.
I knew the old poets must be up next...
great...
we are nearly done.
In for a penny, in for a Pound
Interesting that commentary on words is offered by people who are confused about spelling "there" and "their." As a former English teacher [and scholar especially interested in Mr. Eliot], I am convinced that over the past twenty or more years, my colleagues have given up the struggle for true literacy.
There are some books out there that will help: "Woe Is I" and "Eats Shoots and Leaves" among the best.
Latest example: the many journalists wearing pin-striped suits and saying "the fact of the matter is."
One other: the prevalence of "try and." One simply cannot both try and do. Asked the local head of our college English dept., the only member, what was wrong with the phrase. He looked blank. He is a glorified HS teacher who brown nosed his way up the system, like making rank in the military, and the result is people, intelligent people who are confused about "there" and "their."
More on Eliot later, when I collect my thoughts. He is, of course, the greatest of his century. My son, now grown, and I quote from the "Four Quartets" when we really want to say something to each other.
He and James Joyce stand alone as creators of the masterworks of their time. Glad the Brits are still erudite enough to know it.
"He is, of course, the greatest of his century."
Quite a proclamation. As you are obviously the only person around here who possesses "true literacy," I will have to take your word for it.
Oddly enough, Prufrock, while one of the great poems in the English language, if written today would be laughed at. Prufrock is a product of its time, just as Eliot was. And yes, I agree he is at the very top of the pantheon of English and American poets.
The winner of this year's Forward Prize for Poetry is "Rain" by Don Paterson. The Guardian has an interview with him in which he reads some of his poems from that collection
If you don't mind [or even if you do], I'll wait to see if the TLS has a similar story & who gets the TLS's title of the UK's favorite poet?
This is part II. See above for part I. No confusion intended.
Look at Broadway. When is the last time there was a new work of effect. Rent, of course, is based on La Boheme, but even Shakespeare rested on the shoulders of others. Not being a critic, I suggest one has to go back to the '60's and West Side Story, which itself is a version of Romeo & Juliet. Today, Broadway is mainly revivals? Further, only this morning I realized that Shakespeare's greatness essentially arises not from the content of his plays but from his wordplay. His skill with words. Today, we live in a world where words have no meaning (i.e. people on TV, in business and government saying one thing but doing another or getting away with whatever lie they spread). This may even explain why there is no accountability. I believe that when words have no meaning. Debate and dialogue are useless, which could explain the civil disturbances that have been called townhall meetings. Finally, the idea that no one believes what anyone else is saying may also fuel the fact that no one listens to anyone anymore. The reason we can't have a debate is because no one believes the stuff coming out of other people's mouths. In other words, there words have no meaning.
One of the most successful musicals in recent decades is "Cats," which was based on poems by T. S. Eliot regarding his favorite felines.
I'm sorry, but I had to log in to say something here. you said:
"In other words, there words have no meaning."
your comment, it was alright, talked about Shakespeare and his wordplay, which isn't an original idea or anything, but yeah a kind of a pleasant thing to read here, especially under an article about the greatest American poet at least of the 20th century.. but it's 'their' man! how can you not know that by now? how can anyone not know that - especially someone who has an opinion about Shakespeare? sort yourself out
I think if you look off the beaten path some, you'll find the incredible richness to creativity you seek is still out there. Sadly, it fails to catch the attention of (m)any mainstream audiences. Poetry itself is a vastly under-appreciated art in the US, but there are many, many poets who practice modern and traditional forms of poetry on a regular basis. Literary journals are full of promising poets; indeed, most journals have so many submission prospects that many applicants are denied.
I invite you to read some poetry by the United States Poet Laureate, Kay Ryan. Her poems are just wonderful. Then I invite you to explore some of the poetry being published in the US by reading journals such as the American Poetry Review and Poetry. Pick up _Good Poems_, an anthology compiled by Garrison Keillor. Or check out the yearly publications of _The Best American Poetry_ anthology.
Likewise, the same is true for short fiction. There are numerous incredible short stories written and published every year in literary journals. One of my favorite books to pick up is _The Best American Short Stories_ anthology. Salman Rushdie was last year's guest editor. Alice Sebold is the guest editor for 2009.
2nd paragraph, 3rd sentence: I meant "literary journals" not "reading journals." Reading is what I do to literary journals. Sorry 'bout that. :)
They ought to break it down by the countries in the UK. I bet that Scotland's favorite is Robert Burns.
The selection of T.S. Eliot as Britain's Favorite Poet tends to prove my theory that our civilization is regressing (i.e. heading into, if not already in, the Dark Ages). My theory stems from the lack of creativene
Look at the American movie business. It is filled with remakes and sequels. Michael Gondry is an exception. I'm sure there are others, as their always are. Yet, my point is also considered in how prior generations used to make so many amazing things. We even went to the moon and back in 1969 with practically nothing more than some aluminum and styrofoam? Nowadays, we can't seem to make or do anything, and if we do, the product is typically shoddy and no comparison to the quality of things from the past.
See part II below.
The waste land, written subconsciously years earlier perhaps while a boy in America and bubbled to the surface years as "old Faithfull" 20 years later. As the 20 minute faithfull is the yellowstone water.
Eliot's landmark poem is "The Waste Land."
Maybe, but you need to spend a lifetime with the "Four Quartets" before you decide. You can get a recording of Eliot himself reading it. Delightful, charming and profound.
And you could spend a lifetime with the Four Quartets. I could spend the rest of my life with Little Gidding.
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