27 November 2004
Infinitely suffering thing!
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
- T. S. Eliot 'Preludes' from 'Prufrock and Other Observations'
Just went back and re-read this after finding out I was it (see post below) - good, they're good! Shame about the accusations of racism, misogynism, fascism, emotional coldness, and anti-Semitism, but oh well, glad I wasn't LOTR (sorry, Gluey). Being 'Invisible Man' is pretty good though, Esmail, scurrying round the cesspool with your anonymity intact. I think it's pretty accurate.....
Eliot is also the author of the most neurotic stanza ever written (from 'The Waste Land'):
'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.
What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
I never know what you are thinking. Think.'
This makes me think of bird-like, upper class, artistic British women in the 1920s, someone like Virginia Woolf, perhaps, twittering about and being anxious about having guests for tea or somesuch.
Thank God we're all too drunk to be like that these days, ho ho ho.
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
- T. S. Eliot 'Preludes' from 'Prufrock and Other Observations'
Just went back and re-read this after finding out I was it (see post below) - good, they're good! Shame about the accusations of racism, misogynism, fascism, emotional coldness, and anti-Semitism, but oh well, glad I wasn't LOTR (sorry, Gluey). Being 'Invisible Man' is pretty good though, Esmail, scurrying round the cesspool with your anonymity intact. I think it's pretty accurate.....
Eliot is also the author of the most neurotic stanza ever written (from 'The Waste Land'):
'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.
What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
I never know what you are thinking. Think.'
This makes me think of bird-like, upper class, artistic British women in the 1920s, someone like Virginia Woolf, perhaps, twittering about and being anxious about having guests for tea or somesuch.
Thank God we're all too drunk to be like that these days, ho ho ho.
