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Collected Poems, 1909-1962 Hardcover – Sep 25 1963


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Product Details

  • Hardcover: 240 pages
  • Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; 1 edition (Sept. 25 1963)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 0151189781
  • ISBN-13: 978-0151189786
  • Product Dimensions: 2.5 x 16.5 x 24.1 cm
  • Shipping Weight: 544 g
  • Average Customer Review: 4.8 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (20 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Bestsellers Rank: #330,752 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

Product Description

About the Author

Thomas Stearns Eliot was born in St Louis, Missouri, in 1888. He moved to England in 1914 and published his first book of poems in 1917. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1948. Eliot died in 1965.


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5 of 5 people found the following review helpful By Just another reviewer on Oct. 22 1999
Format: Hardcover
Responding to the response to the first review. Kerry Flannery-Reilly was thinking of _The Complete Poems and Plays: 1909-1950_, which is not complete, because it only includes 2 plays and lacks a few of the poems (including "The Cultivation of Christmas Trees," the last _Ariel Poem_ and the beautiful "A Dedication to My Wife" which Russell Kirk highlights as the capstone of _Eliot and His Age_). This volume, _Collected Poems_, contains the complete poems Eliot wrote in his adulthood except for _Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats_ and, of course, the plays (to be found in _Collected Plays_.
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3 of 3 people found the following review helpful By Richard on July 4 2004
Format: Hardcover
Love him or hate him, you cannot deny his power. All arguments for and against Mr. Eliot can be countered easily and each have in them flaws that are substantial. T. S. Eliot cannot be read like most poets. Like the eastern scriptures he so loved, Eliot will take a lifetime for the reader to digest. Read and re-read. Question and re-read again. I became familiar with his works years ago. I have yet to tire of them. Eliot will grow with you, for his poems are the story of a man always growing and always searching. Discount the fighting that academics have over him. Read him for yourself. Immerse yourself in the spiral of darkness and light that is his poetry and judge for yourself. In the end, no matter what you think, you will not be able to deny his effect.
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By Grady Harp TOP 100 REVIEWER on Sept. 18 2002
Format: Hardcover
Every now and then certain turns of phrase or glimpses of landscapes in special light or just buried memories of poetic lines surface and send us back to the source for more. So often that source for this reader is TS Eliot and encountering this wondrous collection of his poems written between 1909 and 1962 reinforces the power of this great man of letters. This collection includes the major poems, those works that impacted our philosophy and our art in ways we are only now beginning to appreciate. From the ever fresh LOVE SONG OF J.ALFRED PRUFROCK "I grow old...I grow old.../I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled" and "We have lingered in the chambers of the sea/By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown/Till human voices wake us, and we drown.") to the great FOUR QUARTETS ("In my beginning is my end"), this poet rattled the universe and simultaneously whispered solace in our ears like few others have done. While my own energies are always looking for the new in poets and in writers, finding that the throne of literature has never been so sought after, I am deeply moved by returning to the masters, the source of it all. This is a fine collection for the Eliot devotees as well as for those who seek to appreciate the great voices of literature. Here are savoury moments in abundance!
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Format: Hardcover
PRUFOCK AND OTHER OBSERVATIONS
THE LOVESONG OF J. ALFRED PRUFOCK
This poem is a beauty. The language is so fluent that it flows lightly and evenly between our ears and its music is perfect and delightful. The images build up a crown or a wreath, according to tastes, life and death mixing equally with love and gloat. Deeply shakespearian by its syntax it is pure Chopin by its music, both rhythm and notes.
THE WASTE LAND
One of T.S. Eliot's bestknown poems. What I am feeling is more an impression than a meaning. The world is old, like coming to its end, decaying. The poet sees and only sees. It is soundless and yet it is music. He brings together all sorts of recollections, experiences and small vignettes of the world, and a whole array of references to all kinds of cultures to show how the past is foregone and the future is not there. There remains only the thunder that speaks unaudible sounds of farewell on a road we cannot even see, nor follow as for that.
THE HOLLOW MEN
It is the end of the world, and this is nothing but a whimper because men are hollow. They do not contain anything. They are ghosts of history, so that history itself is a ghost and the world has no future. This poem is extremely and astoundingly modern indeed. NO FUTURE.
ASH WEDNESDAY
This poetry is entirely dedicated to death, but also to the time between birth and death, a time of turning, a time that is felt like flying, going, flowing but there is no word, no world able to whirl any sound. Men are like living deads, already dead and moving towards death with no hope, except maybe the hope of God, but God is silent, so there is the only consolation of the Lady who is also silent and comes only after death to stare more than anything else.
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By Orrin C. Judd on Nov. 25 2000
Format: Hardcover
The Hollow Men (1927)(T.S. [Thomas Stearns] Eliot 1888-1965)
Did T.S. Eliot have a sense of humor? I don't know; but, I sure as heck hope so. Because as we reach its end, the greatest poet of the 20th Century seems destined to be remembered as the guy who wrote Cats. His banishment from the canon was probably inevitable, what with being a white male Christian and the whiff of anti-Semitism wafting from him, but if he ever had a chance to cling to his spot on the basis of his early classics like The Wasteland and Prufrock, works like The Hollow Men pretty much guaranteed he would be consigned to oblivion. For this poem, while not as coherent an attack on Modern values or lack of said, as the writings of someone like C.S. Lewis, is certainly one of the most eloquent.
THE HOLLOW MEN (1927)
Mistah Kurtz-he dead. A penny for the Old Guy
I
We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass Or rat's feet over broken glass In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without color, Paralyzed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death's other kingdom Remember us - if at all - not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams In death's dream kingdom These do not appear: There, the eyes are Sunlight on a broken column There, is a tree swinging And voices are In the wind's singing More distant and more solemn Than a fading star.
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