Print

Print


The New Poetic: Yeats to Eliot (Classic Criticism) C.K. Stead: Continuum

The Waste Land in Stead's reading is the vindication of a poetry of image,
texture and suggestiveness; of inspiration; of poetry which writes itself.
It represents a defeat of the will, an emergence of the ungainsayable and
symbolically radiant out of the subconscious deeps. Rational structure has
been overtaken or gone through like the sound barrier. The poem does not
disdain intellect, yet poetry, having to do with feelings and emotions,
must not submit to the intellect's eagerness to foreclose. It must wait for
a music to occur, an image to discover itself. Stead thus rehabilitated
Eliot as a Romantic poet, every bit as faithful to the process of dream and
susceptible to gifts of the unconscious as Coleridge was before he received
the person from Porlock. And so the figure of Old Possum, netted for years
in skeins of finely-drawn commentary upon his sources, his ideas, his
criticism of the modern world and so on, this figure was helped to rise
again like Gulliver in Lilliput, no longer a hazy contour of philosophy and
literary allusion, but a living principle, a far more natural force than
had been recognized until then.' - Seamus Heaney, The Government of the
Tongue (1986)

https://www.bloomsbury.com/au/the-new-poetic-9781441189875/

CR

On Sun, Nov 26, 2017 at 8:01 PM Chanan Mittal <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

> According to Eliot there were about thirty good lines in ‘The Waste Land’
> and, as he clarified, they are the 29 lines of the water-dripping song.
> These to me constitute an epitome of the Romantic spirit:
>
>
> *Here is no water but only rock*
>
> *Rock and no water and the sandy road*
>
> *The road winding above among the mountains*
>
> *Which are mountains of rock without water*
>
> *If there were water we should stop and drink*
>
> *Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think*
>
> *Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand*
>
> *If there were only water amongst the rock*
>
> *Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit*
>
> *Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit*
>
> *There is not even silence in the mountains*
>
> *But dry sterile thunder without rain*
>
> *There is not even solitude in the mountains*
>
> *But red sullen faces sneer and snarl*
>
> *From doors of mudcracked houses*
>
> *                                      If there were water*
>
> *   And no rock*
>
> *   If there were rock*
>
> *   And also water*
>
> *   And water*
>
> *   A spring*
>
> *   A pool among the rock*
>
> *   If there were the sound of water only*
>
> *   Not the cicada*
>
> *   And dry grass singing*
>
> *   But sound of water over a rock*
>
> *   Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees*
>
> *   Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop*
> *   But there is no water *
>
> CR
>
>
> On Sun, Nov 26, 2017 at 12:17 PM Chanan Mittal <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
>> Today’s poem by Stephen Crane titled ‘Untitled’ in Academy of American
>> Poets’ POEM-A-DAY made me reflect on the fact that all poetry is
>> essentially Romantic in spirit with its constant dissatisfaction with
>> things as they are and it’s reaching after what might have been or what
>> should be. And that brings me again to a contemplation of Eliot’s poetry as
>> essentially Romantic at heart, for all its variance of mode and manner, and
>> despite Eliot’s emphasis on Impersonality.
>>
>>
>> http://academyofamericanpoets.cmail20.com/t/ViewEmail/y/3D6CB24C97A49F51/27970DD695E656932C69F821C9DCC086
>>
>> Looking forward to an elaboration on the subject.
>>
>> CR
>>
>