Prufrock and T.S. Eliot

As I began the column “Poets Who Make Us Better” for Interlitq (The International Poetry Quarterly) T.S. Eliot  came to mind – not because his poetry led us out of the wistfulness of romanticism into the  honesty of modernism (which it did), but because, in the United States, my high school English teacher forced our small class to read the “Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” 

Although Eliot wrote the poem from the perspective of an old-fashioned, socially-inept, aging man, the poet himself was a college student, not much older than the baffled teens who studied his work. At the time, of course, I had no idea what the poem meant, especially since it began with a quote from Dante’s Inferno! Nevertheless, the opening lines in English invited me into a new experience, and, immediately, Eliot’s skillful use of figurative language startled me into something I’d never thought about before: Poetry can be brilliant!

Lines from the first verse give a glint of that poetic brilliance:

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table.

Remember: I said “poetic brilliance,” which has little, if anything, to do with poetic prettiness.

Regardless, if you have ever had the nauseating experience of being “etherized,” you may recall the fog accompanying that older form of anesthesia, which, thank God, is no longer in use, except among residents of countries who can’t afford the newer, pricier ways of getting a patient ready for the surgery that inevitably follows.

So, from the start, Eliot invites us to accompany him before gesturing with a hand-sweep across the sky to show a hazy grey evening that contributes to the dismal mood. The “half-deserted streets” and “cheap hotels” add to the gloominess before the poem jolts our sensibilities with a precise, concise, and, yes, brilliant simile that depicts a city scene:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Insightful phrasing like that does not come from one’s imagination, but from the outer sight of what’s actually present. This highly observant “nowness” is where Eliot had a turn at altering the course of  poetic flow in literary history.

Before he began to write for publication, reams of poems had been written to “my lady, my love.” Or, poets had painted idyllic landscapes flowering with nostalgia, or they addressed abstract matters having little to do with everyday lives. But like an interesting (albeit shy) tour guide, Prufrock invited us to accompany him on a journey.

Once the speaker of the poem reached his destination, Prufrock began paying close attention to a particular movement that caught his eye:

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

Frankly, I would like to walk around, talking of Michelangelo and maybe Dante too, but Prufrock is clearly not in the mood. Instead, his glance shifts, drifting toward another movement that catches his attention:

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes.

Oh, to be that observant and write such amazing metaphors! And yet, Prufrock himself evokes pity.  He goes on to speak of the time needed for people to do whatever they will in life, while recognizing that he himself wastes a lot of time by being mired in uncertainty:

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.

As he turns in on himself (which high school students are also apt to do!) Prufrock reveals his self-doubts – from thinning hair to, ironically, being unable to express himself and, therefore, being misunderstood and likely to misunderstand others. But, instead of saying, “I feel so insignificant,” he shows that by saying:

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.

Prufrock’s indictment against himself most likely felt true for Eliot too, and perhaps even urged him toward his poetic greatness. But, as this poem unfolds, Prufrock continues to observe people while trying to figure out where he (and maybe Eliot) might fit in. Eventually this led to the troubling question:

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

At first, the question seems rather egotistical, but, in light of Prufrock’s insecurities, that assessment dims. For, in the decades following the high school student I was and college student Eliot was, I’m convinced the question “Do I dare?” occasionally haunts those of us who want to make a discernible difference in the world.

Do I dare to set things right? Do I dare try to make life better for someone or something somewhere? Do we dare to pray, to hope, to take a chance on the unknown? Eliot did.

Caught between his uncertainties and his calling, between his life in America and in Europe, and between two world wars, the poet dared to expand his poetic sight by exploring the inner self, the impact of social confinement, the quality of time, the literary edges of poetry, and the spiritual struggles we all face – and embrace or deny.

The chances Eliot dared to take earned him a Nobel Prize in literature as well as the honor of being a pioneer in the modern movement of poetry and, ultimately, of having an appreciated place in the classroom of my high school, which I now appreciate too.

by Mary Harwell Sayler

originally published in “Poets Who Make Us Better” column on Interlitq

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Christian mystic and poet: Caryll Houselander

Are you ready for 2019 to end? As 2020 begins, let’s make poetry a priority for the coming year. Let’s get a 20-20 vision of the legacy we want to leave as poets, and let’s seek to see more clearly and deeply into every subject to which we’re drawn.

An example of this abilty to see well can be found in the work of the Christian mystic and poet, Caryll Houselander, whom I wrote about in the following article which initially appeared in my “Poets Who Make Us Better” column for The International Literary Quarterly (Interlitq.)

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The road to mysticism is sometimes paved with ruins and wreckage as Caryll Houselander (1901-1954) colorfully illustrated in her life. She liked to drink. She liked to curse. And she fell in love with a Russian spy, who broke her heart by marrying someone else.

As the Blitz killed 40,000 people in and around London where she lived during World War II, Caryll drowned out the noise and her own explosive fears while writing her first book The War is Passion. These lines from the book give us an idea of the changes happening within her as bombs dropped and sirens blared, and she came to realize this calming thought:

“There are people who do not find it necessary to use words or ideas for meditation. We know we can hear a song, sung in a language of which we know not one word, but of the rhythm, the melody of it finds an answer in our heart, it echoes from our own soul. We can understand it without being able to translate a word of it into our own speech. For some, prayer is like that.”

In 1944, Caryll wrote The Reed of God, an inspired collection of devotionals about Mary, the Mother of Jesus. She wrote poetry, too, but called the poems her “rhythms,” which I’d be more apt to call “perceptive.” Take, for example, her opening lines of this longer poem:

The Old Woman

The old woman, who nods by the Altar,
Is plain and ill shapen
and her clothes musty.
She thinks her life useless.
She has scrubbed many floors,
And always she did it, mostly
for God’s glory;
but never with the vision
that makes the work easy.

The empathy Caryll felt with other people grew so strong, it didn’t even matter if they were alive! She physically felt the pain of others, saw the face of Christ in everyone, and experienced a peculiar closeness with people who had died.

Eventually Caryll acquired the reputation of being a spiritual writer or modern-day mystic, and yet I knew none of this when I bought her slender volume, A Child in Winter – a post-humus collection of short devotionals from her various books. I just wanted something with a Christmas theme to read during Advent. So it’s not really Caryll’s poetry or “rhythms” that first spoke to me but rather her insights into spiritual matters that make us better people and give us cause to pause and consider such words as these:

“Christ has lived each of our lives” from her book, The Risen Christ.

“The Law of Growth is rest,” from The Passion of the Infant Christ.

“Truth would be a very small and petty thing if it would fit into our minds,” The Reed of God.

The little book I bought for Advent includes other lines and passages from The Reed of God, many of which seem significant not only to seekers of the spiritual but to poets, writers, and other artists. For example:

“Those who seek are more aware than any others. They observe every face; they look deep into every personality;  they hear every modulation in the voice. They hear music and words and the sounds of machinery, laughter, and tears with new hearing, attentive ears. They hear and see and taste life in a new way, with a finer consciousness, more analytically, because they are searching, because truth and only truth can ease their thirst; and with incomparably more delight, because, in this seeking, searching, and finding are one thing; everywhere and in everyone they find what they seek.”

For most of us, this awareness of people and the world seems especially keen during the Christmas season as we focus more fully on one another and on the Christ Child, Who awaits our love. Caryll Houselander understood this vital relationship, which she expressed for us in The Reed of God:

“Most people know the sheer wonder that goes with falling in love, how not only does everything in heaven and earth become new, but the lover becomes new as well. It is…like the sap rising in the tree, putting forth new green shoots of life. The capacity for joy is doubled, the awareness of beauty sharpened, the power to do and enjoy creative work increased immeasurably. The heart is enlarged; there is more sympathy, more warmth in it than ever before.

“This being in love increases a person’s life, makes them potent with new life, a life-giver; from it comes all the poetry, music, and art in the world. Human beings, made in the image of God, must also make the image of God’s own love. We make songs and tunes and drawings and poems; children’s stories, fairy stories; jewels, dances, and all else that tells the story of our love long after our heart is dust.

“Christ on earth was a man in love. His love gave life to all loves. He was Love itself. He infused life with all the grace of its outward and inward joyfulness, with all its poetry and song, with all the gaiety and laughter….”

Mary Harwell Sayler, ©2019

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Wanderings of an Ordinary Pilgrim

In Wanderings of an Ordinary Pilgrim by Tim Bete, who kindly sent me a copy to review, a collection of accessible poems takes us on a tour of the seeker’s life in Christ. As is common with many of us, the life-themes fall into one of four sections:

Departures such as “After the Fall” and “Where is My Heart?”

Journeys with “Wheels Down” and a “Bus Trip to Pope Francis”

Sojourns into “The Church” and the “Divine Office of the Shovel”

Returns of feeling “Orphaned” or looking “Over My Shoulder”

In the “Preface,” the poet says, “When I read poetry, I often wonder what inspired the poet to use a certain metaphor or phrase. At the end of this book, I’ve included notes that provide a few thoughts on some of the poems.”

The back matter also contains a few thoughts “About the Author,” who happens to be Poetry Editor for the Catholic Poetry Room on the Integrated Catholic Life website and, therefore, undoubtedly reads poems on all levels of spiritual and/or literary quality. In addition, the poet belongs to the Secular Order of Discalced Carmelites, a family of men and women around the world who focus on “being” and, like Mary, pondering or contemplating thoughts of Jesus.

For instance, in “The Word”:

I read the Word

and the Word in my soul

called back – an echo

reverberating;

a heart beating;

and I knew the Word lived.

Besides the faith illustrated in these poems, readers will likely connect with the doubts and honesty expressed, for example, in this last quatrain of “The Overseer”:

Such an amiable God,

who willing watches the mundane

parts of my life – parts that sometimes

don’t interest even me.

Unexpected humor also arises, for example, in “Lost Things,” which opens with these words:

St. Anthony of Lisbon,

patron saint of lost things,

did not answer the prayer

to find my lost youth.

In case you’re not familiar with St. Anthony, who was born in Lisbon, Portugal, the poet included an explanation for “Lost Things” in the “Notes” section at the back of the book. Or, if you’re like me and had heard of St. Anthony as the patron of lost things but didn’t know why, the poet tells us:

“He has this title because a novice who left his community took with him St. Anthony’s Psalter (Book of Psalms). Anthony prayed for the return of the book and eventually the novice rejoined the Franciscan Order, bringing with him Anthony’s book.”

As one who often prays head-on, I’m drawn to this way of praying small for what’s little and lost to be returned and letting God bring largely more than anything asked or imagined.

Mary Harwell Sayler, ©2019, poet-writer, reviewer

Click to order Wanderings of an Ordinary Pilgrim, paperback edition.

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The Soul in Paraphrase

Edited by Leland Ryken and published by Crossway, who kindly sent me a tastefully designed hardback copy to review, The Soul in Paraphrase offers exactly what the subtitle says: “A Treasury of Classic Devotional Poems.” This anthology of works by Christian poets “begins with the oldest surviving poem in the English language and ends with the modern era.”

From Caedmon to T.S. Eliott and Robert Frost with the famous “Anonymous” in between, Leland Ryken not only selected some of the most treasured poems in English from a Christian perspective, but he included his “Notes on selected words” and insightful mystery-solving “Commentary” on each poem.

These features mean even more, coming as they do from a college English professor of almost 50 years and author of over 50 books on literature and/or God’s Word. Over the years, many of those books helped me to develop as a poet and person of faith, so, as you can imagine, I received this review copy with Christmas glee!

To give you an idea of the delight awaiting the serious poet or poetry lover, take a look at the opening verse of “Caedmon’s Hymn” – the oldest poem known to be written in English.

“Now we must praise the Keeper of Heaven’s Kingdom,
The might of the Maker and his wisdom,
The work of the Glory-Father, when he of every wonder,
The eternal Lord, the beginning established.”

After Professor Ryken updated the original poem into the contemporary English version shown, his “Notes on selected words” tell us interesting aspects of the key words or phrases that might otherwise be foreign to our ears. For example:

“Wisdom: ‘mind-plans’ in the original Old English, with the implication of thoughtful purpose and careful planning.”

The “Commentary” then gives us a peek behind the poem by telling us the story of an illiterate farmhand, who regularly wiggled out of his turn to sing as part of the nightly after-dinner routine at the abbey where he lived.

“On one of these occasions, Caedmon went to the barn and fell asleep. In a dream, he heard someone telling him to sing something. Caedmon replied that he did not know how to sing. ‘Sing about creation,’ the visitor replied. Thereupon Caedmon sang the song known as ‘Caedmon’s Hymn.’ The new poetic gift never left Caedmon. English poetry thus began with a miracle of the word.”

Professor Ryken then goes on to analyze the whole poem, saying:

“The poem does three things that praise psalms typically do: (1) It begins with a formal call to praise God (the first stanza); (2) it provides a list or catalog of God’s praiseworthy acts; and (3) it rounds off the praise with a note of closure in the last line. This simplicity is played off against two pleasing forms of stylistic formality and artistry,” as found in the poet’s use of “phrases and clauses that name the same phenomena with different words, a technique influenced by the biblical verse form of parallelism. Second, our spirit is elevated by exalted titles for God, a technique known as epithets. For example, the first epithet in the poem is the Keeper of Heaven’s Kingdom.”

Throughout this book, Professor Ryken introduces readers to the works of the most skilled Christian poets, who would probably be appalled by the “greeting card verse” too common in “Christian verse” today. Indeed, the “Editor’s Introduction” defines some desirable qualities for devotional poets to consider. This not only includes spiritually-minded content but the poem’s effect on the reader – something I urge Christian poets to think about before publishing poems that go on and on, generally to show off a clever clanging of rhyme without saying anything new. Or, worse, expressing gall over Christianity or “religion” in general with no hope in sight and no concern over the effect this might have by leaving Christians who are struggling with their faith stuck in the mire!

As I read through the poems selected for this collection, I found favorites whose work I, too, highly recommend. Inevitably, their poems give us thoughtful, insightful, well-written works that point to God rather than the poet’s cleverness. I noticed a timely but timeless embrace of nature and the environment, too, as well as skillful ways to praise.

Although the “Journey of the Magi” by T.S. Eliott remains one of my favorite poems ever (and, yes, is included in this book), readers today often exclaim over the work of Fr. Gerard Manley Hopkins, whose brilliant and beautiful poetry can be elusive to some and downright deafening to others! What a joy, then, to read Professor’s Ryken’s notes and comments that give us access to poems which may be familiar to us and even loved, yet still perplexing.

And, so, Dr. Ryken has succeeded in presenting us with a book that provides a sweeping view of the best of the best while naming and explaining numerous techniques these classical poets used – techniques that, over many centuries, have become time-proven methods for elevating the literary quality of poetry of faith.

Mary Harwell Sayler, ©2018, poet-writer
The Soul in Paraphrase, hardback, Crossway



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