As my geologist colleague is wont to say, "Them's my sediments, podnah!"
What do you suppose motivates this drive to mediocrity and mere fineness?
Ordinary minds tending to stumble over the extraordinary?
Some kind of perceptual threat?
Shear ignorance of the dynamic (as opposed to the facts and conditions and
technique) of the poetry.
The anagogical mind is dead?
"Humankind cannot bear very much reality." (MitC)
Ken Armstrong wrote:
> Eliot's pain must certainly be accounted a major portion of the
> irritant that produced the pearl. In his case, a most fabulous string
> of pearls. But much of the attendance to Eliot seems to take the form
> of turning the pearls back into the sludge whence they came, and to
> pound the person Eliot down to "nothing special." The effort is quite
> transparent (it reminds me of the story of the little engine that
> could, except here the little engine wouldn't) if one can resist the
> hypnotic state its oft repeated formulas tend toward. Ultimately, its
> flaws assure that it will pass with other passing fashions. For now,
> of course, it does take up a lot of bandwidth.
> Ken A.
> --On Saturday, September 10, 2005 9:37 PM -0700 cr mittal
> <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
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