April is the cruelest month

In every English major’s life, he or she is blessed with hearing a recording of T.S. Eliot speaking. The first time I heard him was in my modern American lit. class. The second time was today. For those of you who haven’t heard him speak, here’s a little taste. And no, I really don’t expect you to listen to the entire thing.



Keep in mind, friends, the man is from St. Louis, AMERICA. He’s just some expat who decided he wanted an English accent. He’s like the original Madonna, rubber bracelets included (I hope). Some people are annoyed by people who speak in accents that aren’t originally their own. I, for one, think that they’re awesome. I adopt multiple accents a day, all of them equally terrible.

Since hearing ol’ T.S. for the first time, his accent has been put into my repertoire. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t throw him around haphazardly. I don’t shout, “Marie! Marie! Hold on tight!” to the cab driver or the kid behind the counter at the coffee shop. No, he is reserved for only those I care about most deeply.

Here’s an example from a conversation between my mother and I this past weekend:

PQK: (in the voice of T.S. Eliot) Winter are the cruelest months.
Mom: Don’t you mean “April?”
PQK: (still as Eliot) No.
Mom: It’s “April.”
PQK: (as myself)No! I… (as Eliot) Yes.
Mom: Ha.
PQK: (as Eliot) Shut up. It’s my poem and I can do whatever I (pausing for dramatic effect) want with it.

Excluding telling my mom to shut up, that’s relatively endearing, right? Not if you ask my poor friend Dustin, one of the main victims of my impersonation. Not only does he have to listen to it, but he has to listen to it as I freestyle poetry… poetry about him. Once, I recited one on the way to the dog fair (yes, dog fair) that lasted almost ten minutes. It went vaguely like this:

PQK: (as Eliot)
Dustin… How he used to laugh and play,
Crying “Mama, mama! Unleash the dog!”
Now his hands, cracked and long, they stretch
Toward the sky, stained with clouds like a soiled blouse.
“We will get coffee. No, we shan’t get coffee.”
This is our day. This is our day
You must listen to whatever I say.
Dustin: (exasperated) The end!
PQK:(as Eliot)The end!—is not yet here!

I think that I have now thoroughly demonstrated (A) what an amazing modernist poet I am and (B) why you should never be friends with me.