The error of the globalist is that he rejects what is true and beautiful in front of him while worshipping an effete ideal. Better to remember what you have, and not bring in that which is not yours. For diversity and proximity leads to conflict, if not war. If the participants in a culture do … Continue reading For the particular.
T.S. Eliot
Poem of the day.
From Four Quartets. The dove descending breaks the air With flame of incandescent terror Of which the tongues declare The one dischage from sin and error. The only hope, or else despair Lies in the choice of pyre of pyre- To be redeemed from fire by fire. Who then devised the torment? Love. Love is … Continue reading Poem of the day.
Poem of the day
Morning at the Window THEY are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens, And along the trampled edges of the street I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids Sprouting despondently at area gates. The brown waves of fog toss up to me Twisted faces from the bottom of the street, And tear from a … Continue reading Poem of the day
Poem of the day 30
In the dog days of 2015, and at the end of the first month of this daily poetry, I return, again, to Eliot. If Caedmon was the beginning of English Poetry, were Eliot and Pound the end? The post war poets: Larkin and his ilk, are but pale imitators: the only things that are new … Continue reading Poem of the day 30
Poem parody (of the day) 22.
It helps if you know your Eliot, but the Parody by Clive James both gets the spirit of the original and updates it. With a twist. The Wasted Land April is a very unkind month, I am telling you. Oh yes. And summer was surprising us very much, Coming over the Tottenham Court Road. What … Continue reading Poem parody (of the day) 22.
Poem of the day seven.
This is an interesting project. The issue is keeping touch with texts, and not repeating. For I am doing this without notes: but this is again Eliot, from Four Quartets. When I was young it bored me. Now it sings true. East Coker (from Four Quartets) That was a way of putting it—not very satisfactory: … Continue reading Poem of the day seven.