The Whole World In His Hands

"All significant truths are private truths. As they become public they cease to become truths; they become facts, or at best, part of the public character; or at worst, catchwords."
-T.S. Eliot

As much as I would love to write a post about Heidegger (and believe me, I do) I'll save some of that juicy metaphysical awesomeness for class tomorrow and the upcoming paper. For now, though, let's talk about T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land, which I'm sure NO ONE has talked about. Looking at the five stanzas of the poem, there is clearly A LOT to talk about. A scholar could probably spend an entire week digging into The Waste Land and still have things to find. There are contradictions, predictions, double meanings, hope, despair, truth, lies, the elements, and even God Himself in a strange sort of way can be derived from this one poem. I could try to focus in on one particular aspect of this poem like we've done in class so far, but to do so at this point would be superfluous. To try to place my focus on one particular aspect of the poem while there is so much else to discuss would not do the poem justice.

Since my choice to pursue the path of literature as the primary focus of my education and career, I have taken up the ancient art of poetry. I have tried to make it good, I have tried to make it my own, and I have tried to make it truthful, but if poetry is an art that can be perfected I am certainly very far from it. A typical techinque of poets is to focus on one particular aspect of life and show it for what it is through language, which even Heidegger agrees is perhaps the most incredible power in the world. Eliot, however, I'm sure, is the poetic master, because he doesn't just focus on one particular thing in his poetry-he creates an entire world. I have never in my life read a non-epic poem that is as all-emcompassing as this one, one from which can be derived so much, one that is so confusing and unclear that only the most valuable of truths can be derived from it.

Yes, it is incredibly disorienting, but so is the world we live in. It cannot be understood in a simple read-through and analysis because it is a microcosm of the modern world. All its darkness, all its anguish, all its hidden beauty-all in one poem, the wasteland. It may seem like a wasteland as far as poetry is concerned, but there is so much to be found that suddenly, lines like "fear in a handful of dirt" and the imagery of flowers rising from corpses suddenly takes on a whole new meaning. Suddenly, as with all great poetry, what once seemed too incomprehensible and cunning to be understood is life defining. Suddenly, as with all great realizations, our life, which once seemed to dizzying and distressing to be enjoyed becomes something more than just a wasteland but a garden that can be cultivated, a collection of horrors that can be overcome to find beauty, and suddenly the salvation that Jesus died to establish becomes full and complete.

Well, thanks for reading through all of that, I hope you realize I'm not just laying on hyperbole but am sincere in what I'm saying. Please feel free to comment or respond as you please. I commented on Amanda Gaster's Hiking Through "The Waste Land" With Heidegger.