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The Waste LandThe text of Eliot's 1922 masterpiece is accompanied by thorough explanatory annotations as well as by Eliot's own knotty notes some of which reuire annotation themselvesFor ease of reading this Norton Critical Edition presents The Waste Land as it first appeared in the American edition Boni Liveright with Eliot's notes at the end Contexts p. You know one of the greatest poems of the 20th century and that kind of thing I must know a fair amount of it by heart Here's a story about The Waste Land that some people may find amusing Many years ago when I was an undergraduate in Cambridge a friend of mine asked me for advice on how to impress female Eng Lit majors Well I said you could do worse than use The Waste Land Just memorise a few lines and you'll probably be able to bluff successfullyWe did some rehearsals and eventually agreed on the following script He would start off by uoting the first few linesApril is the cruellest month breeding Lilacs out of the dead land mixing Memory and desire stirring Dull roots with spring rainAnd then he would say But that's not my favourite bit and uote the followingWhat are the roots that clutch what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish Son of man You cannot say or guessHe tried it out a couple of times and it worked Female Eng Lit majors I apologise for assisting with this deception It wasn't very nice of me

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Read & download ✓ The Waste Land º PDF, DOC, TXT or eBook Õ The text of Eliot's 1922 masterpiece is accompanied by thorough explanatory annotations as well as by Eliot's own knotty notes some of which reuire annotation themselvesFor ease of reading this Norton Critical Edition presents The Waste Land as it firOlf Gilbert Seldes Edmund Wilson Elinor Wylie Conrad Aiken Charles Powell Gorham Munson Malcolm Cowley Ralph Ellison John Crowe Ransom I A Richards F R Leavis Cleanth Brooks Del Schwartz Denis Donoghue Robert Langbaum Marianne Thormählen A D Moody Ronald Bush Maud Ellman and Tim Armstrong A Chronology and Selected Bibliography are included. This is the hardest poem I’ve ever read Certainly the difficulty experienced when reading something is not enough reason to leave a bad review I’m currently reading Ulysses a notoriously difficult book but I am enjoying it nonetheless This however is an entirely different creature Despite being an English student I do find poetry difficult It may be because of my background I transferred from sciences into English so I had very little experience beyond a few poems I read at school So when I entered the world of poetry at degree level I was way out of my depth It took me a long time to catch up on what I’d missed and it took me even longer to actually enjoy poetry The point is reading poetry is different to reading novels It’s harder to do and I have to concentrate greatly to do it But every so often when you find the right poem for you it takes you away as you become lost in a mirage of words images and metaphors And sometimes it strikes a chord within you and you feel everything the poem is saying The Waste Land does none of these things Instead it bombards you with countless intertextual references and information In order to gain a thorough a succinct understanding of this poem a poem that takes no longer than thirty minutes to read I would likely have to spend five six hours researching the meaning of the terminology phrasing and historical mentions That’s how difficult it is Perhaps if I was a white middle class highly educated man from the nineteen twenties then I might be able to appreciate this poem But as it stands I’m not The worse thing about the poem for me is its lack of coherency This in itself is not a bad thing It’s a modernist text; this is what modernist authors did But when combined with the fact that the surface level of the writing is near incomprehensible to me it became rather a painful experience to read it There are some obvious things to take from the poem It is post world war one and the content is an image of the destruction that followed the deprivation the sadness the darkness and of course the actually wasted land ruined by war But these images aren’t enough for me to enjoy the poem It would be like reading Shakespeare’s The Tempest and coming to the conclusion that it is a play about the follies of revenge This is true but it is also about many other things that combine to form a piece of artistic brilliance When I read The Waste Land I feel stupid I feel like I’m reading something that I cannot uite understand and this annoys me I feel like at times TS Elliot is being pretentious inserting references just do demonstrate his intellect rather than contribute something meaningful to the poem at large And I don’t like it I don't want to find out what they mean For me this poem is everything great poetry shouldn’t be But this is just my opinion For the right reader this poem would be excellence itself However it’s not something I’d personally recommend And if that wasn't enough as a side note TS Eliot is highly critical towards Shelley we could never get on

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Rovides readers with invaluable materials on The Waste Land's sources composition and publication history Criticism traces the poem's reception with twenty five reviews and essays from first reactions through the end of the twentieth century Included are reviews published in the Times Literary Supplement along with selections by Virginia Wo. April is the cruellest month breedingLilacs out of the dead land mixingMemory and desire stirringDull roots with spring rain The above mentioned lines mark one of the most profound onsets in the history of modernist literature; and perhaps with eruption of the highly dense heart pounding effusion a magical spell envelops the reader who would be kept shifting between time and space embark and decay of civilization prophecy and satire philosophy and faith life and death throughout the mind clouding breath taking journey of around 433 lines; of which some can stand on their own alone protruding their beings through the undulations of nothingness The ghostly but spectral voyage starts with The burial of dead takes one along through the graveyards stony mystical landscapes to hyacinth gardens up to the magical but heart poundings scenes exuded out of mystery of tarot cards At times one might feel lost as if something unknown but with mighty prowess is carrying one to nowhere but then a sudden clout strikes your consciousness with a colossal impact you are taken aback by sudden surge of the intensity as you come to Unreal City; and out of nowhere death strikes you Dante' s Inferno emerges out of cloud of your memory You are taken through threads of life emerging out from dead The game of black and white suares arranged in an alternate manner to give a checkered impression brings you to the stark absurdity of life the change of Philomel embodies the absurdness prevailed in the life of Philomel which who has been transformed by gods but as a compensation and who cries her heart out of agony yet the world is so deaf and insensitive to her anguish that it occurs a heart rending song to it You are blown further on gust of wind towards a nether world where the most potent uestions but disguised under the sheath of ignorance or perhaps incompetence surge up by opening grand ferocious arms from the depth of being and nothingness The idea of The Waste Land perhaps seems to be sprouted out of modern problems—the war industrialization abortion urban life—which the poet addresses in it and at the same time to participate in a literary tradition Eliot once famously wrote his friend Conrad Akein ''It's interesting to cut yourself to pieces once in a while and wait to see if the fragments will sprout the imagination of Eliot resembles the decaying land that is the subject of the poem nothing seems to take root among the stony rubbish left behind by old poems and scraps of popular culture As the other poems of Eliot are The Waste Land is highly symbolic and extensively use allusions uotations in several languages a variety of verse forms and a collage of poetic fragments to create the sense of speaking for an entire culture in crisis It's a poem of radical doubt and negation urging that every human desire be stilled except the desire for self surrender for restraint and for peace The poets has blend satire and absurdity so well that it looks probably a superhuman task to determine whether the use of some themes rhymes in way which cajoles a seemingly comic effect is deliberate or accidental as surfaces up The poem is uite meticulously but effortlessly written in fragments not like traditional verses which would give altogether different effects to the reader when they are read in fragments or in entirely The poem concludes with a rapid series of allusive literary fragments seven of the last eight lines are uotations As one moves through these uotations it might occur as if the poem becomes conscious of itself the being of the poem emanates from the verbose kingdom of words and the poem itself stands in front of the reader staring straight into the eyes of reader; and a sudden shiver runs through his her spine to realize what has just traverses through the scanner of 'conscious' eyes I sat upon the shoreFishing with the arid plain behind meShall I at least set my lands in orderLondon Bridge in falling down falling down falling downPoi s'ascose mel foco che gil affinauando fiam uti chelidon O swallow swallowLe Prince d'Acuitane a la tour abolieThese fragments I have shored against my ruinsWhy then Ile fir you Hieronymo's mad againeDatta Dayadhvam Damyata Shantih shantih shantih It's a great achievement in modernist art but one needs to be patient to truly feel the shivers of its magical existence; as it's a characteristic of modernism the appreciation of the poem demands devotional labor as well as a sympathetic imagination Beneath these meticulously crafted poetics lay assumptions about art that were curiously religious and that fostered theories of poetry as a liturgy for the electExcerptsThe Burial of Dead Your arms full and your hair wet I could notSpeak and my eyes failed I was neitherLiving or dead and I knew nothingLooking into the heart of light the silenceO'ed und leer das MeerUnreal CityUnder the brown fog of a winter dawn A crowd flowed over London Bridge so manyI had not thought death had undone so manySighs short and infreuent were exhaledAnd each man fixed his eyes before his feet WHAT THE THUNDER SAID Who is the third who walks always beside youWhen I count there are only you and I togetherBut when I look ahead up the white roadThere is always another one walking beside youGilding wrapt in a brown mantle hoodedI do not know whether a man or a woman But who is that on the other side of youDatta what have we givenMy friend blood shaking my heartThe awful dancing of a moment's surrenderWhich an age of prudence can never retractBy this and this only we have existed