T S Eliot

T.S. Eliot seemed to us as inevitable as Shakespeare. The first words of his we read were the first he published as a mature poet, beginning with that magisterial and irresistible invitation, "Let us go then, you and I / When the evening is spread out against the sky. . . ." Entranced, we followed, as we followed no other poet and as most of us were never to follow one again. Why? It was the meter, the diction, the address.

Like every other form of art, operas can be inspired by just about anything - historical events, myths, epic poems, plays, even movies. Often, such operas go on to eclipse their inspiration. Puccini's "Tosca," derived from a play by Victorien Sardou, is a good example; so is Verdi's "Rigoletto," based on a tragedy by Victor Hugo. But not all make that leap. Some remain in the shadow of their progenitors. How that affects an opera's appeal varies. But it's a topic worth raising as several such works are soon to be featured on Southern California stages, beginning Saturday with a production at San Diego Opera of Ildebrando Pizzetti's "Murder in the Cathedral," based on T.S. Eliot's verse play.

A 22-cent stamp honoring T.S. Eliot will be issued Sept. 26 at the Missouri Historical Society, the U.S. Postal Service said today. The Nobel laureate, author of "The Waste Land," was born in St. Louis in 1888 and died in London in 1965.

Thomas Cassidy Longtime classical music radio announcer in L.A. Thomas Cassidy, 95, an announcer who was the longtime host of classical music programs on the now-defunct KFAC radio station, died Nov. 5 at Northridge Hospital Medical Center, his daughter Peggy Friedman said. The cause was not given. From December 1943 until January 1987, Cassidy was the host of KFAC's "Evening Concert" series. He also hosted the station's "Musical Masterpieces" and "Luncheon at the Music Center" shows for many years.

With an opening blast like "April is the cruellest month," it was probably inevitable that someone would link that most modern of poems, T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land," with the day many modern Americans find odiously cruel: April 15, Tax Day. And so poetry boosters in seven big cities will be handing out pocket-size copies of Eliot's poem at post offices Tuesday night as taxpayers scurry to get that all-important pre-midnight postmark. ("Hurry up please its time," Eliot wrote.

It is astonishing to me to think that the centenary of T.S. Eliot's birth was last Monday and that I am perhaps his only living intimate friend, due to the fact that he was 59 and I was 25 when we met. Eliot spoofed his pedantic image in a poem that begins, "How unpleasant to meet Mr. Eliot." After our first meeting, which inaugurated an 18-year friendship, until his death in 1965, I wrote to thank him for tea at his office in London, saying, "How pleasant to meet Mr. Eliot!"

The greenhouse effect. The ozone hole. Acid rain. Ocean sewage. How ironic that just as the danger of nuclear war seems to be receding, we are suddenly faced by looming ecological disaster everywhere we look. Perhaps T.S. Eliot was more prophetic than he knew when he wrote, "This is the way the world ends/ Not with a bang but a whimper." MAX SHAPIRO Los Angeles

Two finalists for the T.S. Eliot Prize for poetry have withdrawn, saying they objected to investment company Aurum Funds sponsoring the United Kingdom award. The Poetry Book Society, which runs the annual award for a collection of poetry, lost funding from Arts Council England as part of government spending cuts. "I fully understand why the Poetry Book Society has looked elsewhere for funding," said Australian John Kinsella, who was shortlisted for his work "Armour. " But as "an anticapitalist in full-on form," he said, he had to withdraw on ethical grounds.

"April is the cruelest month." Yes, even in May. Last Friday morning, the opening line of "The Waste Land," T.S. Eliot's most famous poem, became one of the most explosively Googled phrases in America. (Eliot spelled "cruellest" with two L's, but I'm all in favor of editing poets for brevity.) The line appeared on Google's aptly named Hot Trends list, a utility offered by the company that offers a glimpse of what the online nation is most furiously searching for at any given moment.

Along with millions of idealistic young men who were cut to pieces by machine guns and obliterated by artillery shells, there was another major casualty of World War I: traditional ideas about Western art. The Great War of 1914-18 tilted culture on its axis, particularly in Europe and the United States. Nearly 100 years later, that legacy is being wrestled with in film, visual art, music, television shows like the gauzily nostalgic PBS soaper "Downton Abbey" and plays including the Tony Award-winning"War Horse," concluding its run at the Ahmanson Theatre.

Two finalists for the T.S. Eliot Prize for poetry have withdrawn, saying they objected to investment company Aurum Funds sponsoring the United Kingdom award. The Poetry Book Society, which runs the annual award for a collection of poetry, lost funding from Arts Council England as part of government spending cuts. "I fully understand why the Poetry Book Society has looked elsewhere for funding," said Australian John Kinsella, who was shortlisted for his work "Armour. " But as "an anticapitalist in full-on form," he said, he had to withdraw on ethical grounds.

"April is the cruelest month." Yes, even in May. Last Friday morning, the opening line of "The Waste Land," T.S. Eliot's most famous poem, became one of the most explosively Googled phrases in America. (Eliot spelled "cruellest" with two L's, but I'm all in favor of editing poets for brevity.) The line appeared on Google's aptly named Hot Trends list, a utility offered by the company that offers a glimpse of what the online nation is most furiously searching for at any given moment.

T.S. Eliot seemed to us as inevitable as Shakespeare. The first words of his we read were the first he published as a mature poet, beginning with that magisterial and irresistible invitation, "Let us go then, you and I / When the evening is spread out against the sky. . . ." Entranced, we followed, as we followed no other poet and as most of us were never to follow one again. Why? It was the meter, the diction, the address.

With an opening blast like "April is the cruellest month," it was probably inevitable that someone would link that most modern of poems, T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land," with the day many modern Americans find odiously cruel: April 15, Tax Day. And so poetry boosters in seven big cities will be handing out pocket-size copies of Eliot's poem at post offices Tuesday night as taxpayers scurry to get that all-important pre-midnight postmark. ("Hurry up please its time," Eliot wrote.

When there's a crowd on stage, the small moments are usually lost. In a spare work of chamber theater, the moments suddenly loom large.

The greenhouse effect. The ozone hole. Acid rain. Ocean sewage. How ironic that just as the danger of nuclear war seems to be receding, we are suddenly faced by looming ecological disaster everywhere we look. Perhaps T.S. Eliot was more prophetic than he knew when he wrote, "This is the way the world ends/ Not with a bang but a whimper." MAX SHAPIRO Los Angeles

When there's a crowd on stage, the small moments are usually lost. In a spare work of chamber theater, the moments suddenly loom large.

In a large, overheated room within the imposing structure of Lloyd's Bank in the heart of London's financial district, about 100 people gathered to honor a former bank employee. A hush came over the crowd as Sir Jeremy Morse, host of the gathering, delivered a speech in tribute to this staff member--a model worker--who started out interpreting the balance sheets of foreign banks and graduated to the information department of Lloyd's head office. In his spare time, this employee wrote poetry.

In a large, overheated room within the imposing structure of Lloyd's Bank in the heart of London's financial district, about 100 people gathered to honor a former bank employee. A hush came over the crowd as Sir Jeremy Morse, host of the gathering, delivered a speech in tribute to this staff member--a model worker--who started out interpreting the balance sheets of foreign banks and graduated to the information department of Lloyd's head office. In his spare time, this employee wrote poetry.

It is astonishing to me to think that the centenary of T.S. Eliot's birth was last Monday and that I am perhaps his only living intimate friend, due to the fact that he was 59 and I was 25 when we met. Eliot spoofed his pedantic image in a poem that begins, "How unpleasant to meet Mr. Eliot." After our first meeting, which inaugurated an 18-year friendship, until his death in 1965, I wrote to thank him for tea at his office in London, saying, "How pleasant to meet Mr. Eliot!"