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T. S. EliotA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Given the context of Four Quartets and the copious commentary T. S. Eliot provided about the poems’ genesis and their intention, there is little interpretative doubt that the speaker is Eliot himself, an intellectual, fiercely learned student of comparative religion; a passionate convert to Anglican Catholicism with an unshakeable conviction in the viability and reality of the transcendent Christian plane that provides meaning and hope to the material world; a man in late middle age beginning to understand the depth of the realities of mortality; and, perhaps most importantly, a naturalized British citizen horrified by the devastation of Nazi aggression and torn by doubts over whether Britain would even survive the nightly onslaught of the Blitzkrieg.
Of each of the Four Quartets, in “Little Gidding” Eliot speaks most directly, most emotionally, to the reader. The poetic line is not exactly conversational (after all, Eliot seeks here to articulate mysteries that are, by his admission in Section 2, beyond the reach of words). Eliot speaks to the reader with urgency and immediacy, despite layers of complex and dense meaning. The speaker then wrestles to share the paradox of Christian faith: hope in a dark time is possible only through the purification of suffering itself and the uncompromising embrace of the terrifying and beautiful energy of Christ’s inscrutable love.
Like the other poems in Four Quartets, “Little Gidding” is executed in five sections of varying length, the longest (Section 2) captures the empty feeling of Eliot’s soul-wrenching walk through bombed-out London where he meets the stranger; the shortest, Section 4, lyrically hymns the beauty and mystery of Christ’s love.
The poem is executed in free verse with lines of varying length. Only Section 2, which Eliot admitted in letters published after his death posed the greatest challenge to him formally, upends that patterning. The section opens with a dramatic rhythmic pattern: nearly 20 lines alternating between trimeter (six beats per line) with tetrameter (eight beats per line). The clipped form contrasts to the subject itself, creating a dark irony—after all, these lines, which can read like a child’s nursery rhyme, recreate London in ruins and capture the speaker’s dazed confusion over the depths of the destruction. When the speaker meets the stranger, Eliot uses terza rima, a poetic form made up of three-line units with intricate internal rhythmic variations. The form itself is most associated with Dante’s Inferno, which gives the meeting between the stranger and the speaker amid the ruins of London the gravitas of Dante’s Virgil meeting the poet and in turn serving as the poet’s mentor and guide through the forbidding wasteland of the Dante’s Hell.
Much like the poem’s theme, the poem’s metrics juxtapose urgency against calm, panic against stillness. Although Eliot offers a traditional affirmation of the power of faith, he executes the lines of “Little Gidding” in a richly textured free verse that moves line to line with differing rhythms created by Eliot’s subtle musical effect (appropriate for a larger work that uses the motif of music itself). Eliot worked for months crafting the lines, creating a sonic effect through the use of long vowels and sibilant (hissing) consonants that act as stops against the sharp chop of guttural g’s and d’s and t’s that create an urgency and rush.
“Little Gidding” records the speaker’s grand movement toward the affirmation of the transcendent love of Christ. Within that Christian experience, ending itself is an illusion. The poem moves toward that transformative ending when the speaker celebrates how death is a beginning.
To capture that urgent movement toward an ending that defies ending, the speaker manipulates a poetic device known as enjambment, lines that close with no end punctuation but move quickly, swiftly to the next line. Lines run over, one to the next creating an aurally urgent sense of continuation, a forward momentum despite the speaker’s immersion in a claustrophobic world of death and ruin. By minimizing end-stops, by resisting periods, commas, question marks, and semicolons, the poetic lines allow a movement forward. The lines themselves capture the speaker’s emotional ascent to the calm stillness of the transcendent even as the speaker struggles against the chaos of the horizontal world. The subtlety of the sonic effect of enjambment can be heard in Eliot’s recording of the poem—his voice rises and falls, pauses and then rushes, capturing at once the tension of despair and the grand flow toward affirmation.
By T. S. Eliot