I learned about poetry in an unusual way, thanks to my sister, Dawn. When I was in my early teens, Dawn would have her college friends over for the holidays. After a few cocktails, they would often start reciting T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” It was always a lively performance; they…
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When I read the following thoughts on creativity from the pen of the poet TS Eliot, I asked myself what’s happening in his 12th house? “I know, for instance, that some forms of ill-health, debility or anaemia, may (if other circumstances are favourable) produce an efflux of poetry in a way approaching the condition of automatic writing — though, in contrast to the claims sometimes made for the latter, the material has obviously been incubating within the poet, and cannot be suspected of being a present form a friendly or impertinent demon. What one writes in this way may succeed in standing the […]
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