"The Wasteland" T.S. Eliot
One of the nice things about being out of school is that I can just read things for the sake of reading them. Or not read them for years at a time. I have the freedom to read through a poem, realize that I don't understand even a quarter of it, and go on about my day. Or, if I want, I can read footnotes and look up scholarly articles online--it's "The Wasteland." It's not like I have to poke around obscure journals in a dusty corner of a library to see if anyone has an opinion on it.
But it's April, and even though being an adult out of school means I almost never do whatever I want, when it comes to reading I get to do whatever I want. And this morning I read "The Wasteland" because I felt like it. I like the glimpses of people Eliot created. I like that it's an intentional mess. I like the fractured thoughts.
It's not even my favorite Eliot poem, but I don't know what is. So whatever. But I liked reading it this morning and thought you might, too.