Poetry Friday 50

I mentioned last week, Stephen Greenhorn's use of T S Eliot's The Hollow Men in his episode of "Doctor Who". The Doctor also alluded to Eliot's reference to Lazarus in The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock "I am Lazarus, come from the dead", so I thought I would share part of the poem with you this week:

The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening.
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains.
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys.
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me.
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

You'll find the full poem, with annotations, here.

I picked this part of the poem in particular because of the references to Time and tea (the Doctor's favourite, life-saving (post-Regeneration) beverage), and just because I like it!

Poetry Friday 49

Astonishingly last Saturday's episode of "Doctor Who" ("The Lazarus Experiment") saw T S Eliot's The Hollow Men quoted by both Professor Lazarus and the Doctor. Why astonishingly? Well I'd used lines from Eliot's Burnt Norton in one of my own "Doctor Who" stories, and it seemed a little uncanny that Stephen Greenhorn, who penned "The Lazarus Experiment", had also picked an Eliot poem to use. So I thought I'd share with you a section of The Hollow Men with you this week:

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow

Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

You'll find a hypertext version of the full poem here.

The lines quoted by Professor Lazarus were: "Between the idea/And the reality/Between the motion/And the act" which the Doctor then finished with "Falls the Shadow". Later the Doctor quotes the final lines of section V: "This is the way the world ends/Not with a bang but a whimper." Also relevant, though it wasn't quoted is the line "For Life is very long" - Lazarus was 76 years old, but he uses science to rejuvenate himself and then he and the Doctor find themselves having a conversation about the value of life - the Doctor noting that some people achieve more in 20 years than others do in 80, and the Doctor asserting also that a long life is ultimately a curse, not a gift, because you see everyone you love or care about wither and die (something he also mentioned in Toby Whitehouse's fabulous "School Reunion" last year) and everything else turn to dust. This was a profoundly philosophical discussion to be having in an episode that largely involved lots of running away from the big scary CGI monster or blowing things up. Which is about right for "Doctor Who" - it usually manages to mix the profound with the purely crazy...

Poetry Friday 43

I don't know about anyone else, but I pick up Poetry Friday "cues" all over the place. Last weekend I was reading an article about the launch of "Doctor Who" Season 3 which referenced T S Eliot's Burnt Norton and Milton's Lycidas, so I pulled up both poems online to re-read them and thought I would share portions of them both with you this week.

Burnt Norton

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
                  But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
                  Other echoes
Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?

The full poem is available here.


Lycidas

Return Alpheus, the dread voice is past,
That shrunk thy streams; Return Sicilian Muse,
And call the Vales, and bid them hither cast
Their Bels, and Flourets of a thousand hues.
Ye valleys low where the milde whispers use,
Of shades and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,
On whose fresh lap the swart Star sparely looks,
Throw hither all your quaint enameld eyes,
That on the green terf suck the honied showres,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowres.
Bring the rathe Primrose that forsaken dies.
The tufted Crow-toe, and pale Gessamine,
The white Pink, and the Pansie freakt with jeat,
The glowing Violet.
The Musk-rose, and the well attir'd Woodbine.
With Cowslips wan that hang the pensive hed,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears:
Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed,
And Daffadillies fill their cups with tears,
To strew the Laureat Herse where Lycid lies.
For so to interpose a little ease,
Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
Ay me! Whilst thee the shores, and sounding Seas
Wash far away, where ere thy bones are hurld,
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide
Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world;
Or whether thou to our moist vows deny'd,
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,
Where the great vision of the guarded Mount
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold;
Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth.
And, O ye Dolphins, waft the haples youth.

The full poem is online here.

I can just imagine the faces of some literary types I know - the association of Eliot and Milton with "Doctor Who" would make them look very sour indeed, but such combinations don't make me bat an eyelid - I have no problem linking "high culture" with "popular culture". In fact, I think it's an excellent way of introducing adherents of one to the joys of the other (note I'm not saying that either one is better, more valuable or more worthwhile than the other). This is an intelligent and well-written article about a popular culture show, that also references some beautiful poetry - of course, if you don't know either poem, both references will go straight over your head, but if you've read either one, then the references leap off the page to your attention. I think both the references are nicely done - and I've had the line "Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth" in my head all week...