Monday, September 12, 2005It's funny how we respond to growing up. We love acting "big." Last night we laughed at a little girl's joy over sitting in her own small chair. I thought it was cute (still do), but it wasn't until today that I realized I do the exact same thing. I already own several chairs, so I'm not thrilled over that. I am still a little boy, however, when I get excited about doing the sorts of things that only "grown ups" do. I fixed a car battery today. Cleaned the posts, fixed a connector, took out the battery and put in the new one. I had help from a lovely assistant, mind you, and we got it done. That's the sort of thing that I've never really had to do before, and at the risk of sounding like a child, it feels nice and grown up to take of your own business (or your girlfriend's, I suppose, since it was her car).
Now concerning T.S. Eliot, I think "The Four Quartets" is a fine work, as is "The Journey of the Magi," "Ash Wednesday" and "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." But the man is best known for "The Wasteland," and I do believe that poem is lot of modernist noise. It can be appreciated, but it's overrated. It has cultural significance, mind you, but it will never have the signifance of "In Memoriam" or "Sailing to Byzantium." In the canon of important English-speaking poets, he's just not that high on the list, however much I may appreciate some of his work. And believe me, I do.
I just got a promotional (i.e. free) copy of this book in the mail. I'll read it and review it soon as I can.