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I get a "can't find server" error when I try thisaddress.

Peter
  ----- Original Message ----- 
  From: David Boyd 
  To: [log in to unmask] 
  Sent: Monday, November 22, 2010 10:49 AM
  Subject: Re: The Art of TS Eliot


  I may well have extracted this link from a prior post, but in casenot :-




  http://www.bostonreview.net/BR14.5/heaney.html


  regards

  David




  On 22 November 2010 17:29, Chokh Raj <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

          'The Hollow Men', as we experienced, is a symphony that keeps resonating. 

          As Wordsworth wrote, "The music in my heart I bore / Long after it was heard no more."

          With Eliot, poetry is music, first and last.

          CR


          --- On Sun, 11/21/10, Chokh Raj <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
                              The Hollow Men

                              http://youtu.be/watch?v=7KvkJdcmqek&feature=related

                              CR 
                             
                             
                        --- On Tue, 11/16/10, Chokh Raj <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

                                Influences
                                The power of T. S. Eliot
                                Seamus Heaney

                                an excerpt:

                                Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
                                In death's dream kingdom
                                These do not appear:
                                There, the eyes are
                                Sunlight on a broken column
                                There, is a tree swinging
                                And the voices are
                                In the wind's singing
                                More distant and more solemn
                                Than a fading star

                                [W]hat is to be learned from Eliot is the double-edged nature of poetry reality: first encountered as a strange fact of culture, poetry is internalized over the years until it becomes, as they say, second nature. Poetry that was originally beyond you, generating the need to understand and overcome its strangeness, becomes in the end a familiar path within you, along with your imagination opens pleasurably backwards towards an origin and a seclusion. Your last state is therefore a thousand times better than your first, for the experience of poetry is one that truly deepens and fortifies itself with reenactment.

                                I now know, for example, that I love the lines quoted above because of the pitch of their music, their nerve-end tremulousness, their treble back-echo in the helix of the ear. Even so, I cannot with my voice make the physical sound that would be the equivalent of what I hear on my inner ear; and the ability to acknowledge that very knowledge, the confidence to affirm that there is a reality to poetry that is unspeakable and for that very reason all the more piercing, that ability and that confidence are largely based upon a reading of Eliot.

                                http://bostonreview.net/BR14.5/heaney.html

                                CR