Jennifer Formichelli wrote:
> To listers,
> I mean, that is, the 'Eliots' finances'. I seem to be having a dippity dog
> day on the fingers. (And on the mind.)
> And to give an example of what I mean, I would be interested in talking
> about what Eliot might have meant when he said he wanted to write a drama
> about '(furnished flat sort of people'). This drama became Sweeney
I would gloss "sort of people" with "trailer trash" -- and this attitude
is one of the more unpleasant features of both Yeats and Eliot. Stevens
too for that matter.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest-
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows on final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit...
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.'
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.