An Aesthetic Smorgasbord

My first two blog posts during this trip were written within the first few days of our stay. Needless to say, we have all encountered many places, people, and situations worthy of note since then. To avoid a mindless catalog of "things Jay has come across," I'll relate some of my findings as directly conflicting with T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land."

As most will assume, "The Waste Land" doesn't capture the beauties and wonders people often associate with Switzerland. Instead, Eliot chooses to focus his thoughts on "Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit" (340) and "red sullen faces [that] sneer and snarl" (345). While traveling through such majestic scenes as Paris and Lausanne, Eliot still keeps his concerns base: "You cannot say, or guess, for you know only / A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, / And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, / And the dry stone no sound of water" (21-4). One should note, though, the reason for Eliot's trip to Lausanne. He travels from England to Paris, and ultimately to Lausanne in search of some cure for his psychological nervous breakdown. This ailment could help explain his somber perspective.

Still, while reading through the poem, I can't fathom Eliot's inability to appreciate the innate beauty of his surroundings. The past three weeks have presented the most picturesque images that will later become fond memories of my short experience with the sublime. A quick glance to the skies where the mountains pierce the clouds inherently takes away any problems you think you may have. A true appreciation of these mountains involves your own realization of your insignificance when compared to such majesty. Your individual, egotistical troubles become nothing when considering the immutability of the Alps.

Therefore, Eliot's failure to disregard himself in favor of his surroundings leads to the dystopic view in "The Waste Land." In my opinion (and I believe all of my fellow classmates' opinions), if nothing else, the views encapsulate the very cure Eliot was searching for. In all fairness, Eliot's "The Waste Land" is considered one of the finest poems ever written, and for good reason. It is just extremely difficult to understand Eliot's bleak outlook when considering the physical appearance of that which he describes.