"There is a new kind of literature abroad in the land, whose only obvious fault is that no one can understand it." Time (March 3, 1923)I found the above quote--thanks to Time's Web archives--after I found my old copy of T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land." The Time author was referring to "The Waste Land" as well as to Ulysses by James Joyce.
Eliot and I go pretty far back. I first encountered his poem "Ash Wednesday" when I was in high school. A classmate suggested that we do a reader's theatre performance of the poem for our advanced speech class. In part, the poem reads as follows:
"And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word."
I can see the Time author's point--this is not easily accessible writing. I can't say I usually sit down to read Eliot when I've got time off--but as I re-familiarize myself with this poem, I do think it uniquely expresses the frustration we all feel in life sometimes--the tension between seen and unseen, between what is and what is to be and what could be and what should be. There's a tension between intellect and faith, between love and hate, between life and death, between what we want the world to be and what it is. Sometimes it's heartbreaking, and I think Eliot knew that.
As part of a class I took in modern literature at Queens College, I wrote a paper on Eliot's "The Waste Land" and how Ezra Pound influenced Eliot's writing. Both Eliot and Pound worked to make poetry a different thing than it had been before---more of an object, almost, from which the reader could make his or or her own interpretation. They eschewed Romanticism's expressive language and emotional tones in order to make the poem more of an object, more like a plum sitting on the table that we can pick up and examine (rather than a sermon about why plums are good to eat).
How privileged I felt to study Eliot's work! In order to complete our project, we had to go to the New York City Public Library--the iconic one with the big lions out front--and request a manuscript, rarely printed, that shows Eliot's original handwriting with Pound's notes.
One author influenced another. Each expressed what he saw to be of value in the world, what he thought about, what he dreamed, what he wanted to create, what he loved, and what he hated. Each wanted to do this without forcing it on the reader, but by letting the reader draw his or her own conclusions.
Some writing is, by definition, opaque. Some writing is designed to let the reader make up his or her own mind. On the other hand, I've argued in a recent workshop that business writing should ALWAYS be extremely clear and error-free.
I can relate to what the Time writer expressed in terms of lack of clarity--I felt that way about Jacques Derrida (my apologies to those who love his work) when I was in graduate school. His main point seemed to be that we can never understand each other since language is imperfect. My question was this: if that's true, why write?
Eliot and Pound are men I admire, but I wouldn't use their writing style every day. I value it, though, as I value pretty much every form of literature. I sometimes prefer words that ask questions rather than those that give answers.
At the end of "The Wasteland," Eliot uses what I think is a reference to a Vedic prayer (the Vedas, from what I've gathered so far, are ancient texts sacred to Hindus, and I know very little about them):
"Shantih shantih shantih."
Next to that I wrote, "the peace that passes all understanding." I think my instructor said that, or I thought it. That was how we interpreted the end of the poem.
And perhaps that's the point of this entry. Interpretations may vary, even when there is an ultimate truth, an ultimate and everlasting Word, at the heart of the matter. Those who believe struggle to understand that this Word will never fail, even when we do.
We see through a keyhole, "through a glass dimly," as it were. One day we will see clearly. One day we will see the Word face to face, and we will no longer be afraid. Every tear we have ever cried will be wiped from our eyes forever, just as every failure on our part has already been forgotten in forgiveness.
Today, even words, something I unabashedly love, can fail us. "About the Word the unstilled world still whirls," wrote Eliot.
That might not be easy to understand. That might be the point.
