OK, in fact I do not think his work is at all about a sense of being 
abandoned himself.  He depicts abandoned women constantly (usually first 
violated or emotionally rejected):  Portrait of a Lady, La Figlia, Prelude III, 
Rhapsody, Hysteria, the hysteric in Sweeney Erect, the Hyacinth girl, the 
neurotic wife (patterned on Vivienne), Lil, the Thames daughters, the typist, 
the girl who got "done in," the strangled lover in The Love Song of San 
Sebastion, the woman in  Entretien dans un parc, the little girl in Dans le 
Restaurant, the girl of  Paysage Triste, the woman in Suppressed 
Complex. . . .  I omit the plays, the allusions to Dido, Queen Elizabeth, 
Philomela, Procne, etc., etc., etc.

Prufrock, no doubt, expresses a feeling of being rejected, but he is not 
simply Eliot though that poem can be read as at least a deep anxiety about 
women.  It was originally titled "Prufrock among the Women," and clearly 
they evoke anxiety and insecurity.  But it is women who are abandoned 
constantly in the poems.  In which poems do you find this personal 
abandonment of the poet?  That it can be argued (and has been) that Eliot 
also in one sense identifies with these women is a different and more 
complicated issue.   And where specifically do you find a sense of being 
abandoned by god instead of abandoning god?  

I said nothing at all about trying to find oneself in a lost world or about 
whether that is or would be pointless, so I have no comment on that.

Date sent:      	Fri, 25 Jan 2002 21:12:28 EST
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Subject:        	Re: Thoughts on "La Figlia che Piange"

In a message dated 1/26/02 1:37:53 AM !!!First Boot!!!,
[log in to unmask] writes:

> Well that makes his poetry pretty pointless.  Summed up in one
> word--even were it agreed on.

I don't see how what I said makes his poetry pointless.  If you don't
agree that he expresses in much of his poetry a sense of being abandoned
(by his mother, by women, by viv, by god)? At least you must admit that he
comes across as person in a lost world attempting to find himself or the
truth, or both.  I don't consider that endeavor pointless.

Kate (hurried home from a barbecue by her husband who wanted to watch
Jennifer Capriotti in the finals of the Australian Open; and for my own
part, I would say, in keeping with the subject matter of our various
discussions, that Jennifer is the most poetic professional tennis player
today and I might even watch some of the match).