T. S. Eliot

Oh great, the footnotes for this contain more material than the verses! Sheesh, and I thought Moore was annoying. Needs more cats. The Waste Land seems a pastiche of ... of ... well, I was going to say of other poems, but it seems to be a hodge-podge of imagery, memories, conversations, etc. that cry out for the sort of "close reading" that they now claim turns young people off from the enjoyment of literature entirely. It put me in mind of the aftermath of the Great War. That might not have been his intention (although I gather death was the inspiration), but that's what pops up in my little mind (probably the reference to the arch-duke and the expectation of the man returning from the army - Poor Albert!).

Marianne Moore

Gosh, how I wish we were back to Walt Whitman. What the introduction of the editor calls "wide-ranging diction" I call academic esoterica - I was particularly annoyed by the reference to "Bach's Solfegietto," although I liked the sound of the poem. The meter of "To a Prize Bird" was nice as well. I think I like the sounds of her poetry better than the imagery. I was all prepared to really like "A Jelly-fish" and in the end I was disappointed it didn't sting the author's arm ... good and hard.

I marked a few as being of relative interest for content. "The Past Is the Present" was marked for the description of unrhymed Biblical verse, which I will try to keep in mind as I traverse the Old Testament. "Hebrew poetry," I quote her quoting someone else, "is prose with a sort of heightened consciousness." I try to be aware of the aspects of verse in a foreign language that have been translated and may have lost their original beauty in the interests of accuracy. Translation is a tightrope walk.

Before I Get On To

... Marianne Moore, I'd like to quote some Billy Collins. Can't help it. I just enjoy his stuff so much:

Introduction to Poetry
by Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to water-ski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin by beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

This reminds me of when I was teaching Spanish and the beginning students were still stumbling through the idea of conjugation (of which there is precious little in English). "Just keep stumbling around in the dark room," I told them, "soon your eyes will be accustomed to the dark and you will see a crack of light around the door. Grope around and find the handle! Then you can open that door and step out into the light and it will become clear to you!" And they laughed at me.
One day, one girl said, "Oh, Profesora! I think I see the light! I think I see the light!" and started getting all excited. Or maybe she was just kidding.