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Poems
Poems
Poems
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Poems

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T.S. Eliot was an American-born British author who is considered to be one of the greatest poets of the 20th century.  Eliot, whose most popular works include The Waste Land and The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1948.  This edition of Poems includes a table of contents.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 22, 2018
ISBN9781531283537
Poems
Author

T. S. Eliot

T.S. Eliot (1888-1965) was a British poet of American descent. Born in St. Louis, Missouri to a prominent family from Boston, Eliot was raised in a religious and intellectual household. Childhood ailments left Eliot isolated for much of his youth, encouraging his interest in literature. At the age of ten, he entered a preparatory school where he studied Latin, Ancient Greek, French, and German. During this time, he also began writing poetry. From 1906 to 1909, he studied at Harvard University, earning a Master of Arts in English literature and introducing himself to the poetry of the French Symbolists. Over the next several years, he studied Indian philosophy and Sanskrit at the Harvard Graduate School before attending Oxford on a scholarship to Merton College. Tiring of academic life, however, he abandoned his studies and moved to London, where he met the poet Ezra Pound. With Pound’s encouragement and editing, Eliot published such poems as “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” (1915) and “The Waste Land” (1922), works that earned him a reputation as one of the twentieth century’s leading poets and a major figure in literary Modernism. Living in England with his wife Vivienne—from whom he would separate in 1932—Eliot worked as a prominent publisher for Faber and Faber, working with such poets as W.H. Auden and Ted Hughes. He converted to Anglicanism in 1927, an event that inspired his poem “Ash-Wednesday” (1930) and led to the composition of his masterpiece Four Quartets (1943). Eliot was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1948.

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    Book preview

    Poems - T. S. Eliot

    POEMS

    ..................

    T.S. Eliot

    KYPROS PRESS

    Thank you for reading. If you enjoy this book, please leave a review or connect with the author.

    All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

    Copyright © 2016 by T.S. Eliot

    Interior design by Pronoun

    Distribution by Pronoun

    TABLE OF CONTENTS

    Poems

    Gerontion

    Burbank with a Baedeker: Bleistein with a Cigar

    Sweeney Erect

    A Cooking Egg

    Le Directeur

    Mélange adultère de tout

    Lune de Miel

    The Hippopotamus

    Dans le Restaurant

    Whispers of Immortality

    Mr. Eliot’s Sunday Morning Service

    Sweeney Among the Nightingales

    The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

    Portrait of a Lady

    Preludes

    Rhapsody on a Windy Night

    Morning at the Window

    The Boston Evening Transcript

    Aunt Helen

    Cousin Nancy

    Mr. Apollinax

    Hysteria

    Conversation Galante

    La Figlia Che Piange

    POEMS

    ..................

    GERONTION

    Thou hast nor youth nor age

    But as it were an after dinner sleep

    Dreaming of both.

    Here I am, an old man in a dry month,

    Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.

    I was neither at the hot gates

    Nor fought in the warm rain

    Nor knee deep in the salt marsh, heaving a cutlass,

    Bitten by flies, fought.

    My house is a decayed house,

    And the jew squats on the window sill, the owner,

    Spawned in some estaminet of Antwerp,

    Blistered in Brussels, patched and peeled in London.

    The goat coughs at night in the field overhead;

    Rocks, moss, stonecrop, iron, merds.

    The woman keeps the kitchen, makes tea,

    Sneezes at evening, poking the peevish gutter.

    I an old man,

    A dull head among windy spaces.

    Signs are taken for wonders. We would see a sign:

    The word within a word, unable to speak

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