a blow to the head

blog-postOne of my fondest high school memories was staring at this poem being reflecting from one of those early 90s overhead projectors in English class. Staring at it, and then absorbing it.

It struck me, it hit me.
It was a blow to the head.
It was cutting, raw, horrific and filled with such blunt honesty.

It is overlapping and fragmented, much like my then angst-filled, teenage mind. Check out 1st stanza here:

(A penny for the Old Guy)
By T. S. Eliot

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broke glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without color,
Paralyzed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us — if at all – not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.