Rating: 
Summary: Trying to capture the REAL in a net of words and images
Review: This, Eliot's last work, is by far his finest. In it he explores the nature of reality (where do we come from, where are we, where do we go) in an ever opening play of language that rewards numerous re-readings (I have carried this book EVERYWHERE in the nine years I've owned it. Not a week goes by that I don't read, quote or pawn it off upon someone). Like a rose it opens and, like truth, it's impossible to pin down or draw into some box that is easily describable; able to be shown as parts that construct some whole. The "Bhagavad Gita" heavily influenced Eliot at this time, and you can see references both to the players (Arjuna and Krishna) and ideas of that text in each of the poems contained in "Four Quartets" (in much the same way as "The Golden Bough" informed "The Waste Lands"). Indeed, the entire book feels decidely Eastern (with every statement being balanced somewhere by it's complimentary didatic-opposite), or at least of the Classical, if any, Western period (the cyclical nature of both the ideas and the structure of the poems feels like a Zoraster or Golden Dawn, see Yeats' "Second Coming" or "Sailing To Byzantium", manuscript). All of this is just to say, these poems cover a lot of mythical and actual ground. They may not appear as lush and vibrant on first reading as, say, "The Waste Lands"- but this is only due to thier precision and conciseness ("The Waste Lands", although a wonderful piece, being more of a sculpture than a poem, with whole segments being dropped, moved, added, rewritten, tweaked and recalibrated numerous times by two people other than Eliot over a span of decades). These meditations are firmly planted in place (each pieces name coming from a place) and time ("And yet, they call this Good Friday" [paraphrasing]); and, with his life drawing to a close, they are focused, as well, upon death. Buy these poems and plant them in your breast. You'll be amazed at the tree that grows there.
Rating:
Summary: Making the 20th century speak with Dante's tongue
Review: This, quite frankly, is the best poem of the 20th century, and it gets better everytime you read it. From the apparent darkness of the first stanzas of Burnt Norton to the broadening towards lucidity of the last lines, there is much to love, much to admire, and much to quote. You will find lines that speak to the heart directly: you will also find, after numerous readings, splendid little details, which reveal the craftiness with which Eliot handled this superb adieu - for it is the last great work in poetry he has written. The greatest achieve of Eliot in Four Quartets, is the way he manages to reach out to the greatest poet in history, who lived a number of centuries ago, and have the language speak with his tongue, simultaneously admitting that Dante's world view cannot be copied in today's world - but that does not mean that his form of structure and vivid allusions should not be employed: in this poem, the Trecento and the century of the atomic bomb have found common ground to behold each other as not quite congenial, yet deeply related brothers. The past is not dead - it's not even past yet.
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