>>> Chokh Raj 05/20/12 12:29 PM >>>
Consider, s'il vous plaît,

When the evening is spread out against the sky 

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

It has been considered for nearly a century--with widely varying

A truism almost, by now, that here is an exceptional
mode of poetry where, 

Nothing about Eliot is a truism. 
to go by 'Little Gidding', 

Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,
Every poem an epitaph.

From first to last? You'll ask.
Aye, and that's a miracle too.

Many of us do not ask, and it's not a miracle, just a very good poem.
Yeats could stun the reader even more with the sudden brilliant phrase
or image. The use of the second person always assumes the writer can
speak for the reader. So I won't, in fact, ask.

Where every phrase, if not every word, invites you (please do not speak
for all)
to reflect harder, and still harder, to reach out
to its absolute meaning. 

As, indeed, the Master desired. 

"Master" is both overwrought and, frankly, more than a little
embarassing. One might say "a master" and thus place Eliot among the
greatest poets, as he was. He was not "the." (Where, then, does one
place Shakespeare, one wonders.) 
LET us go then, you and I ...

What is the chance the list might actually go somewhere other than empty
adulation and, then, sniping at anyone who wants a discussion?