I couldn’t sleep this morning and of course, found solace on the Internet because it was 4:53 a.m. and far too early for wine. Stumbled across this gem and a handful of other readings.
Professor Virgina Rock, my English 101 instructor at York University, introduced our class to this poem, which Eliot calls, “The Burial of the Dead”, which is really doleful. I fact, I think we spent a semester on Eliot’s poems. I’ve always loved that first line, “April is the cruelest month”, but when I recited the poem aloud or remembered the lines in my mind, I never found them ponderous, even though the sentiment is weighty. After listening to the poet read, though, I now have a completely different take.
Talk about lugubrious! T.S. Eliot. A. Very. Serious. Dude. He’d never have danced the macarena. Or busted a move doing the Harlem Shake. I found that static photograph mesmerizing – a longish face, slicked hair scored into a sharp part over his tall forehead, the thickened wrist draped over the untidy stack of books, those deep, probing eyes. Fair warning – the video is 25 minutes long. As much as I enjoy T.S., that was too much for me to sit through.
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