Location via proxy:   [ UP ]  
[Report a bug]   [Manage cookies]                
Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    From $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Select Poems
    Select Poems
    Select Poems
    Ebook59 pages31 minutes

    Select Poems

    By T.S. Eliot

    4/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    An essential collection of classic poems by the father of modernist poetry.
     
    In the masterly cadence of T. S. Eliot’s verse, the twentieth century found its definitive poetic voice, an incredible “image of its accelerated grimace,” in the words of Eliot’s friend and mentor Ezra Pound. This twenty-four-poem volume is a rich collection of Eliot’s greatest works—including the classic “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”—all of which unveil the desires, grievances, failures, and heart of modern humanity.
     
    This collection includes “Gerontion,” “Burbank with a Baedeker: Bleistein with a Cigar,” “Sweeney Erect,” “A Cooking Egg,” “Le Directeur,” “Mélange Adultère de Tout,” “Lune de Miel,” “The Hippopotamus,” “Dans le Restaurant,” “Whispers of Immortality,” “Mr. Eliot’s Sunday Morning Service,” “Sweeney Among the Nightingales,” “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” “Portrait of a Lady,” “Preludes,” “Rhapsody on a Windy Night,” “Morning at the Window,” “The Boston Evening Transcript,” “Aunt Helen,” “Cousin Nancy,” “Mr. Apollinax,” “Hysteria,” “Conversation Galante,” and “La Figlia Che Piange.”
     
    This ebook has been professionally proofread to ensure accuracy and readability on all devices.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateJan 9, 2018
    ISBN9781504050173
    Select Poems
    Author

    T.S. Eliot

    THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT was born in St Louis, Missouri, in 1888. He moved to England in 1914 and published his first book of poems in 1917. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1948. Eliot died in 1965.

    Read more from T.S. Eliot

    Related to Select Poems

    Related ebooks

    Poetry For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • UNLIMITED

      How Instagram Saved Poetry

      Oct 15, 2018

      How Instagram Saved Poetry
      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Mathematics, under Which Is Love, Whose Bed Is Language

      Jun 8, 2021

      And so it goes, God created the heavens and the earth. And the earth was formless and empty; and on its deep face was darkness. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light, and there was light. And God sa

      7 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Ada Limón And The Poetry Of Rebellion

      Apr 7, 2022

      You know what? I’m 45, and I get to write whatever poems I want. The post Ada Limón and the Poetry of Rebellion appeared first on The Millions.

      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The 40 Greatest Books To Read Before You Die

      Apr 25, 2021

      Books, books, books. They will increase your lifespan, lower your stress and boost your intelligence. They will give you fuller, thicker hair. Whatever the breathless claims about reading, one thing is certain: losing yourself in a great novel is one

      14 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Four Poems

      Dec 7, 2021

      He wouldin case of divorcelay claim to halfof everythinghe said.Half a sofa,half a TV,half a summerhousehalf a pound of butterhalf a child. The apartment was hishe saidbecause it was in his name.The thing washe loved her. She loved anotherwhose wife

      2 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Diary of Remorse

      Sep 6, 2022

      I was plagued by remorse, but my remorse seemed inspired by insignificant dumb things—things not really worthy of bona fide remorse. That didn’t make it any less painful or plague-worthy, as I was still riddled with disgrace on a minute-by-minute bas

      20 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Art of Poetry No. 117

      Sep 10, 2024

      The Art of Poetry No. 117
      27 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Language the Poet Knows

      Dec 11, 2018

      The Language the Poet Knows
      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Human, All Too Human

      Jul 29, 2019

      Human, All Too Human
      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      How I Remember It

      Jun 20, 2020

      This is the way I remember it: We’re all gathered in the kitchen on Christmas Eve, too many bodies for one small space, and my grandfather is telling stories. We clear the dishes as he starts recalling the first time he made mashed potatoes as a fled

      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Text Messages and Millennial Adultery: On Sally Rooney’s ‘Conversations with Friends’

      Aug 31, 2017

      I didn’t just read this book in a single day. I read it in a single day on two separate occasions, three days apart. The post Text Messages and Millennial Adultery: On Sally Rooney’s ‘Conversations with Friends’ appeared first on Th

      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Four Poems

      Jan 1, 2021

      I learned the world through the bottoms of my feet, barein the creeks of summer, stepping on pebbles, the squidgeof moss between my toes. On hot asphalt, the hop and skipover cracks, feet already toughened by bramble, dirt, the pricklyground of pine

      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Tessa Castro

      Jun 1, 2022

      IN COMPETITION No 280 you were invited to write a poem called Cutting. My cue was a 19th-century Norwegian painting I’d seen of a woman cutting bread. You widened it to cutting hair and grass, being cut down to size and cutting people dead in the str

      2 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      It’s Come to This

      Sep 1, 2021

      It’s Come to This
      16 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Tessa Castro

      May 3, 2023

      IN COMPETITION No 292 you were invited to write a poem called The Walk. How good and numerous were your entries. Congratulations to those printed below, each of whom wins £25, with the bonus prize of The Chambers Dictionary going to Anthony Young. I'

      2 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Four Poems

      Jun 3, 2024

      Driving south, I cross it—the intangible line beyond which bougainvillea grows, beyond which the land is flagrant. It’s not exact; there is no sign as with a border, so everybody knows. It doesn’t waft to me; it’s not even fragrant. When I see the bu

      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Three Poems

      Sep 1, 2024

      after a cycle of paintings by the Meister des Marienlebens, Munich What begins: everything. Size of a crumb,indiscriminate bundle of cells. It’sa barnacle with a dream inside. Cloudin-sewn with seed pearls. Radiant shapethat in theory she’s always ca

      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Island (catullus 64)

      Mar 1, 2022

      Back then the evergreens tumbled downriverfrom the glaze-white runoff to the boot-stirred puddlesof amber young men who fulfilled our destiny,who clambered into ships, on horses, and in wagonspainting the newfound landscapes ours.Our calling was nobl

      9 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Competition

      Jul 27, 2022

      IN COMPETITION NO 282 you were invited to write a poem with the title Unpacking. Basil Ransome-Davies, in a poem on the wars between sonic (pretty-sounding) and confessional poets, made me laugh with the couplet ‘Confessionals unpack their hearts, /

      2 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      from BLACK PASTORAL

      Nov 1, 2023

      somewheres, some lifetimes ago I have run so far, so long.There is nowhere I haven’t beenBut here, in this field, a bodyLength from the ragged brinkThat gives way to forest.I collapsed here, the thin, hard slipOf me whittled at both ends.I want badly

      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Until The Sea Closed Over Us And The Light Was Gone

      Jul 1, 2020

      —Dante, Canto XXVI But if the truth is dreamed of toward the morning—El Paso Although it was really last summer’s song,all this summer Despacito played on as slower then I turned myself to gazeupon Juarez. The summer everything hurts my eyes, a dozen

      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Cul-de-Sac

      Dec 1, 2021

      That old rage for order: how my father drove a square mouthed mower over-and-back, over-and-back, each row of neatly trimmed grass cut just like he told his barber: boy’s short, regular. O pioneer, taming this joke bit of prairie, no bindweed or dog

      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Competition

      Aug 25, 2021

      IN COMPETITION No 270, you were invited to write a poem called The Hall. Heather Oxley began, ‘Our halls are gateways to our outside selves.’ John Oldershaw’s narrator started in medias res: ‘“It’s the hall that sells the house!”/ Said Mr Valentine,

      2 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Five Poems

      Jan 1, 2022

      The painting is of a door, its wood so warpedwith moisture it cannot close. It stays ajar leaving a sliver of light—enough to suggestsomething sweet and almost unreachable behind the door—and you sit in yourroom working on the bills or those comforti

      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Six Bestiary Poems

      Nov 1, 2020

      The world, is it finite? Pliny the Elderon what he saw and heard, 37 “books” toround that up, early C.E. as heproceeded to be infinite. His Naturalis. His Historia.First bestiary ever in Book 8. Land lifeand sea life and through-the-air and undergrou

      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Seven Poems

      May 1, 2022

      Seven Poems
      2 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Six Poems

      Feb 28, 2023

      Dear C, At first Virgil’s poem is quite dull; equivocalnames of products at The Container Store: Elfa White Medium Drawer, Mesh NarrowRolling Cart (Medium Solution), Narrow Classic Mesh Box and the number of pirouetting starseach product attained. An

      5 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Select Poems

    4/5

    335 ratings9 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 3/5
      I don't like poetry, but I liked this. I read it for sixth form, and Eliot's spiritual journey echoed mine. I recognised the words from the music of Cats, at the time I had no clue who inspired who.
    • 2/5
      Poetry is just not my thing. I don't think I understood any of it. But that's just me. I really need to take a class to study T.S.Eliot's works, because I know he is a famous poet. I am just too ignorant to appreciate it ;)
    • 4/5
      For some reason most poetry does not really resonate with me. One of the only poets I can stand is T.S. Eliot. His poetry is absurd and lyrical, providing just the barest glimpses at the underlying meaning. But the images stay with me.
    • 5/5
      In general, my reading tastes are pulp-press-simple. I can neither appreciate, nor enjoy, nor, I admit, even understand, poetry. But Eliot is different, and I don't know why. I have very little understanding of what is going on in the poems themselves, but the lines that are so seeped in meaning and imagery and are so tangible that I can taste them as I read.

      I remember having to analyse the first part of "The Waste Land" in high school, and, for once, hating the ponderous application of reason and logic and inference and analysis to something that, to me, stands outside and in some ways beyond meaning.
      So I don't really analyse the poems. I just read them for those evocative lines.

      A few of my favourites:

      ~~~~~~~ "The Hollow Men" ~~~~~~~
      (Probably my favorite poem, incidentally, possibly because it is both haunting and interpretable.)

      'This is the way the world ends
      Not with a bang but a whimper.'

      'Remember us--if at all--not as lost
      violent souls, but only
      as the hollow men'

      'Shape without form, shade without colour
      Paralysed force, gesture without motion'

      'Eyes I dare not meet in dreams'

      'in that final meeting
      In the twilight kingdom'

      'The supplication of a dead man's hand
      Under the twinkle of a fading star'

      'Lips that would kiss
      Form prayers to broken stone'

      'In this valley of dying stars
      In this hollow valley'

      'The hope only
      Of empty men'

      'Between the essence
      And the descent
      Falls the shadow'

      ~~~~~~~ "The Waste Land" ~~~~~~~

      'A heap of broken images, where the sun beats'

      'I will show you fear in a handful of dust.'

      'Looking into the heart of light, the silence.'

      'Those are pearls that were his eyes.'

      'Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn'

      'And still she cried, and still the world pursues.'

      'The river's tent is broken; the last fingers of leaf
      Clutch and sink into the wet bank.'

      'Where the dead men lost their bones'

      'Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.'

      'Throbbing between two lives'

      'A current under sea
      Pickled his bones in whispers.'

      'Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison'

      ~~~~~~~The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock~~~~~~

      'The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes'

      'There will be a time to murder and create'

      'I have measured my life with coffee spoons'
    • 3/5
      Selected Poetry by T.S. Eliot
      1888-1965
      American-born/British Modern Poet
      The Well-Educated Mind

      T. S. Eliot was an American-born poet-turned British citizen. After graduating Harvard with his doctorate, he moved to London and later become a citizen of England. For a time he was a banker, but writing was his desire; he was influenced by Ezra Pound and dedicated one of his most memorable poems, "Wasteland," to him.

      Eliot's poetic style is considered modern or high modern because it is complex and experimental. One description reports high modernism as "aestheticist: formal innovation and detachment from history, society, and politics," and another claimed that high modernists only cared about the aesthetics of the work, not necessarily the purpose or the moral, which is what I was searching for and was left lost. Some critics have referred to it as "elitist and inaccessible," which may also be why I was confused by much of what I read by Eliot.

      At times, Eliot's themes contained dismay, despair, indifference from reality; his poems were disjointed and his voices often changed. Even when he was seemingly hopeful, it was questionable. But, to be fair, his times affected his themes, such as Post-WWI and his theological conversion to Anglican faith.

      I am not sure I want to read more from T. S. Eliot; however, I own a copy of T. S. Eliot's Collected Poems 1909 - 1962, which I can explore more, if I like.

      In the meanwhile, following are the four poems I read of the selected poems from TWEM poetry list, along with a short opinion of my experience.

      ~

      The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

      I still do not know who J. Alfred Prufrock is or was, but from this poem he is an emotionally awkward individual who cannot relate to other people, particularly women, or reality. He seems to not fit into the modern world. He is aware of his physical flaws. I think this eats away at his confidence.

      Nonetheless, he wants to compare himself to literary heroes, like Hamlet. But he is clueless or spineless and does not know how to approach people/women. The best he can do is envision or imagine or fantasize about those relationships, as if women were mermaids.

      And then reality wakes him from his dream. It's kind of a waste.

      The Waste Land

      This long poem was dedicated to Ezra Pound and written in five sections:
      1. The Burial of the Dead
      2. A Game of Chess
      3. The Fire Sermon
      4. Death by Water
      5. What the Thunder Said

      While I found the poem enjoyable to read, I was dumbfounded of its purpose. I did not know if it was supposed to feel disjointed intentionally, because it does.
      There are many references to literature, particularly Antiquity, Classical, or Medieval. It helps to have understanding of who's who in literature.

      There are extensive allusions to death, loneliness, the emptiness of life and relationships; sex is meaningless, life has no value, and society is broken. It could be a real downer. I almost felt like I was reading something by Virginia Woolf.

      Then I did a little probing and learned that Eliot wrote this poem in the aftermath of WWI, and I remember Hemingway had this same somber mood in A Farewell to Arms and The Sun Also Rises. WWI caused people -- particularly young people -- to feel isolated from reality, hopeless, disappointed, and wandering in a broken world.

      But in his final section, the poet also made allusions to rebirth, a bit of hopefulness, a way to demonstrate that nihilism is destructive to society -- it is not a way to live or look at life. However, he also made references to different religions, as if to say that any religion works (and is better than nihilism) to bring one to peace and fix society. (I have to disagree about the "any religion" part, but we'll leave it at that.)

      I had written so much more about this poem over two days, but I did not save it, and I lost it all when I hit POST. I do not have the energy to try to remember it all. So this is my short version. It is a worthwhile read, but not an uplifting one.
      Ash Wednesday
      Ash Wednesday is a very personal poem covering the spiritual struggles of the poet. I think he converted to Catholicism from another faith or religion. It sometimes reads like a prayer. This is a longer poem with many parts and stanzas in each part.
      Part I
      The poet begins in hopelessness or despair. He is uncomfortable with his past, but he cannot turn away or turn to God. He knows he cannot change and he desires mercy.

      Part II
      Here the poet introduces Mary (or what I think is Mary, the Mother of Jesus). His body is eaten in a dream-like situation, which leads to a rebirth.

      Part III
      The poet struggles with the devil. (Not strangely will you get Dante's Divine Comedy vibes throughout the poem.) He tells the Lord he is not worthy.

      Part IV
      Like Beatrice, from Dante's Divine Comedy, Mary is with the poet who describes her as having powers to create nature. She is leading him through purgatory.

      Part V
      Christ is called the Word, and even if the Word is silent it/He is still working in the world. The poet wonders about those who deny Him or do not have the Truth. He asks Mary to pray for them.

      Part VI
      The poet hopes to never turn back to his hopeless state, but he struggles because it is difficult to keep from temptation. He asks Mary to help him keep from sin and be at peace with God.

      That's the bare bones. Again, I think he converted to Catholicism because of his divine ideals about Mary and her abilities and powers in nature and the world. Basically she was given the same powers as Jesus.

      In the poem, Eliot refers to her as The Lady, and she is described as wearing blue and white, which I did not know was customary for Mary. And now that I know that, I remember as a child seeing most of Mary's statues in blue and white. Occasionally she was in brown.
      The Journey of the Magi

      Journey of the Magi was like a reminiscence of the time the wise men went to Bethlehem to find the baby King Jesus. Though specifics are not mentioned, and it is more about the journey, the reader who is familiar with the story of the Magi will know it.

      The poem is told from the POV of one of the Magi or someone within the group who went with them. Not sure. The narrator remembered what it was like to travel in the beginning, in the summer, how they seemed to take their time; but toward the end, as it became winter (or colder with snow), they journeyed faster.

      The narrator pondered if this experience was about birth (rebirth) or death. It was both. The world had changed after the birth of Christ. And truly, with the birth of Christ (with the entrance of a new religion -- Christianity) the old world had to died and the new world had begun.

      I suppose this could also be another reference to the poet's own religious experience from the death of his old life, to the rebirth of his new life after the conversion to the Anglican faith.
    • 4/5
      A classic. A little bit of Eliot goes a long way. Reading Elliot is like trying to read Derrida, trying to understand all the multiple contexts, references, and allusions.
    • 5/5
      Could be worth 5 stars for Prufrock alone, and what with Waste Land, Hollow Men, etc. it's got the best of Eliot - perhaps the best poet of the period. Pretty light collection.
    • 5/5
      I first read TS Eliot at Uni nearly forty years ago and this is my Faber and Faber paperback study copy, complete with notes. It was interesting to revisit one of the great poets of the twentieth century and initially I was struck by the misanthropy (and anti semitism) of the early poems, however the later poems hauled me in with the beauty of the images and words and I mellowed towards the poet. There was still a certain disenchantment with humanity but also more sympathy with what it means to be a fallible human being.
    • 5/5
      I imagine practically everyone literate knows or knows of T.S. Eliot and his erudite poems.

      He has a distinctive style, and there is a distinctive rhythm to his poems, so one always recognizes his authorship.

      I like his quotes in various languages, which I mostly understand, except the ones in Greek.

      I can’t say I understand what the poems mean, however; in fact, I would have appreciated the inclusion of an explanation/interpretation of them – absolutely.

      I remember studying Murder in the Cathedral years ago, at school, or university. That was comprehensible, as I recall, if I recall correctly,

      I don’t know Eliot’s work well enough to suggest the inclusion of other of his poems or extracts thereof.

      Here is an extract from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:

      “Let us go then, you and I,
      When the evening is spread out against the sky
      Like a patient etherised upon a table;
      Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, ---
      Let us go and make our visit. ---

      In the room the women come and go
      Talking of Michelangelo. ---

      I grow old … I grow old …
      I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.”

      From The Hollow Men:

      “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 ---

      Those who have crossed
      ---- to death’s other Kingdom
      Remember us – if at all – not as lost
      Violent souls, but only
      As the hollow men
      The stuffed men. ---

      This is the way the world ends
      This is the way the world ends
      This is the way the world ends
      Not with a bang but a whimper.”

      Extracts from The Waste Land and choruses from The Rock are also included in this selection.

      This was an enjoyable read, though somewhat cryptic.

      Now I will look into Eliot’s Four Quartets, The Family Reunion and The Cocktail Party.

    Book preview

    Select Poems - T.S. Eliot

    Eliot_SelectPoems.jpg

    Select Poems

    T. S. Eliot

    logo2

    Gerontion

    Thou hast nor youth nor age

    But as it were an after dinner sleep

    Dreaming of both.

    Here I am, an old man in a dry month,

    Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.

    I was neither at the hot gates

    Nor fought in the warm rain

    Nor knee deep in the salt marsh, heaving a cutlass,

    Bitten by flies, fought.

    My house is a decayed house,

    And the Jew squats on the window sill, the owner,

    Spawned in some estaminet of Antwerp,

    Blistered in Brussels, patched and peeled in London.

    The goat coughs at night in the field overhead;

    Rocks, moss, stonecrop, iron, merds.

    The woman keeps the kitchen, makes tea,

    Sneezes at evening, poking the peevish gutter.

    I an old man,

    A dull head among windy spaces.

    Signs are taken for wonders. ‘We would see a sign!’

    The word within a word, unable to speak a word,

    Swaddled with darkness. In the juvescence of the year

    Came Christ the tiger

    In depraved May, dogwood and chestnut, flowering Judas,

    To be eaten, to be divided, to be drunk

    Among whispers; by Mr. Silvero

    With caressing hands, at Limoges

    Who walked all night in the next room;

    By Hakagawa, bowing among the Titians;

    By Madame de Tornquist, in the dark room

    Shifting the candles; Fraulein von Kulp

    Who turned in the hall, one hand on the door.

    Vacant shuttles

    Weave the wind. I have no ghosts,

    An old man in a draughty house

    Under a windy knob.

    After such knowledge, what forgiveness? Think now

    History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors

    And issues,

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1